Page 11

SATURDAY MORNING, FOR the first time in ages, I woke up after a nightmare-free sleep, feeling…

excited. I wasn’t anxious, weighed down by dread, nor overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’d left behind—I was just excited.

I stretched in bed, blinking up at the ceiling of the little apartment over Harriet’s garage, and a smile tugged at my lips.

It felt strange, as though I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, but it was there.

And not even the two messages from the auditors sitting unread on my phone or the email from my lawyer was going to ruin it.

The city was down there, far enough away to feel like another life.

And I was up here, in snowy New Hampshire, with fresh air, quiet mornings, and something like peace beginning to settle in my chest. Maybe I wanted to smile.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed my phone to silence the notifications without reading them.

Today wasn’t about the city or lawyers or any of that crap.

Today was about the farm, the gathering, and—if I were being honest—seeing Sam again.

The thought made me grin like an idiot.

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair as I stood and headed to the bathroom.

The shower was hot, the steam filling the small space as I let the water wash over me.

For once, I wasn’t running through arguments in my head or mentally drafting emails I didn’t want to send.

I wasn’t thinking about the things I’d lost or didn’t know how to rebuild.

Instead, I imagined the day ahead—the snow crunching underfoot, the sugarbush, hot coffee, and donuts, and how Sam might look when he smiled at me, his blue eyes bright with enthusiasm.

I shook the smile away as I reached for the soap, but it lingered, warm and persistent.

Today felt different.

Better. And I was hard for the first time in what felt like forever.

I tried not to make a big deal of it, but as I lathered up, my mind wandered.

It had been months since I’d felt anything close to arousal.

What happened in Boston had stolen so much from me: money, my career, my boyfriend, and my libido.

But here it was, making an unexpected appearance on a random Saturday.

The warm water cascaded over my shoulders, and I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation.

It was more than physical—it felt like waking up after a long, dreamless sleep.

I allowed my hand to drift lower, curious and a little hesitant, afraid the moment would slip away.

I gasped at the contact, overwhelmed after so long, but in the best possible way.

My breath quickened as I leaned against the cool tile wall.

I considered indulging further for a moment, but I was due down at breakfast in thirty minutes.

“How long do you think it’s gonna take?” I asked the shampoo bottle.

It’s a quick release to prove it all works.

I bit my lip, hesitating before giving in to temptation.

My hand moved slowly at first, relearning familiar rhythms. The water pounded my back as I stroked myself, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift.

For once, the memories of Boston didn’t intrude.

Instead, I imagined strong hands, the brush of Sam’s lips over mine, the press of his body, and the longing to be touched again.

My movements grew faster, more urgent.

With my free hand, I braced myself against the wall.

The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might snap.

I imagined Sam’s piercing blue eyes gazing up at me, full of desire.

In my mind’s eye, I saw him on his knees before me, his hair even darker from the shower spray.

The thought of his full lips parting, his tongue darting out to taste me, sent a jolt through my body.

My fingers tightened around my shaft as I pictured Sam’s strong hands gripping my thighs.

I could almost feel the heat of his mouth, the wet slide of his tongue.

My hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the phantom sensation.

The coil of pleasure wound impossibly tighter.

I bit back a moan, my teeth digging into my lower lip.

My legs trembled as I approached the edge, Sam’s imagined touch pushing me closer and closer.

Those blue eyes, looking up at me with such intensity…

With a choked gasp, I came.

Waves of pleasure crashed over me as I spilled into my hand, shuddering with release.

My mind went blank, awash in sensation for a few blissful moments.

I leaned heavily against the shower wall as I came down from the high, letting the hot water rinse away the evidence.

My breathing slowly returned to normal, but my heart still raced.

The vivid fantasy of Sam lingered, and those blue eyes seared into my memory.

Guilt crept in at the edges of my consciousness.

I shouldn’t be thinking of Sam that way, but I couldn’t deny the electric charge I felt whenever Sam was near or the way my skin tingled when he touched me.

I finished rinsing off, knowing I was running out of time.

As I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist, I saw myself in the mirror.

I was still too thin to be healthy, and my cheeks were flushed, but there was a spark in my eyes I hadn’t seen in months.

I dressed quickly, pulling on a soft blue Henley and jeans.

As I entered the main house, the scent of coffee and bacon filled the air.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I had more than one appetite returning.

When I reached the kitchen, Aunt Harriet was at the stove, her back to me as she flipped pancakes.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said without turning around.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

I smiled, settling onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“Starving.”

Aunt Harriet glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she took me in.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said, a pleased note in her voice.

“There’s some color in your cheeks. Did you sleep well?”

I nodded, accepting a coffee.

“Better than I have in a while,” I admitted, wrapping my hands around the hot mug.

She hummed with approval, turning back to the stove.

“It’s the Caldwell Crossing magic,” she said, and I wasn’t going to argue.

Something was working, whether it was the town, the books, the letters…

Or Sam.

I sipped my coffee, savoring the rich flavor.

Aunt Harriet’s brew was perfect—strong and smooth, with just a hint of bitterness.

As I drank, I found myself thinking about Sam again.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and his voice deepened when he’d spoken with passion about today’s tapping ceremony.

“Earth to Ben,” Aunt Harriet’s voice cut through my reverie.

She was standing before me, a plate piled high with pancakes and bacon in her hand.

“Where’d you go just now?”

I felt heat creep up my neck.

“Nowhere,” I said quickly, accepting the plate.

“Just… thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Uh-huh.” She slid the plate toward me.

“ Do you have any plans for this morning?”

I hesitated; fork poised over my breakfast. “No, but I might research more into those letters, and Sam invited me to the tapping ceremony.”

“Will you be okay making your way there alone? I’m being picked up to get there early to help set up.”

“Of course. I promise not to drive into any ditches.”

She rolled her eyes at me, then smiled.

“I love that blue sweater on you.”

I glanced down at what I was wearing—my favorite sweater, a little thin on the elbows but so comfortable and soft.

“Thank you.”

“You should wear that color more.”

“Okay.”

“It makes your green eyes pop,” she added.

“Thank you.” What else was I going to say?

I’d never argued with Aunt Harriet, and I wasn’t about to start now.

THE ANNUAL “TAP the Year” gathering at the Stonebridge Maple Farm was more than I expected.

It was a scene pulled straight from a postcard—snow blanketed the ground, blurring every hard edge, and the trees stood tall and bare, their branches reaching for the bright blue sky.

A crowd had gathered near the sugarbush, bundled in thick coats and scarves, chatting and laughing as steam curled from thermoses and mugs of coffee.

I stood on the edge, unsure where to go, when someone called me with a bouncy, enthusiastic tone.

“There you are!”

Before I could respond, Haider grabbed my arm, tugging me forward with all the insistence of a determined tour guide.

“Sam said to get you!”

“He did?”

“Come on, Ben. You’ve got to see this. It’s all tradition and heritage and blah, blah, blah—but what I’m really here for is the maple syrup. Do you know how perfect this stuff is for my next batch of chocolates?”

“Uh—”

“No, seriously,” Haider continued, barely giving me time to breathe.

“Last week, I made maple-infused truffles, a hint of dark chocolate, with sea salt on top. And don’t even get me started on the bonbons I’ve been perfecting.” He tugged me closer to the crowd, weaving us through clusters of people like a man on a mission.

“You’re going to love it. This syrup? It’s liquid gold. I’ve already got ideas for an entire new line of—”

I nodded along, half-listening to Haider’s endless monologue about chocolate.

Then I saw him.

Sam.

He stood near one of the larger trees, a bucket in hand.

His head bent as he spoke to an older man I didn’t recognize.

His dark hair caught the sunlight, his boots crunched over the snow as he moved, and his stance was steady and sure, as though he was as much a part of the land as the trees he cared for.

Haider’s voice faded as though someone had turned the volume down on the world.

All I could see was Sam.

Something about his quiet strength made it impossible to look away.

He turned slightly, his profile sharp against the white snow, and I forgot how to breathe.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Haider’s voice cut back in, dragging me out of my thoughts.

I blinked, startled, and turned to him.

“What? No, I—sorry, what were you saying?”

Haider grinned, following my gaze.

His expression shifted to something smug and knowing.

“Oh, I see. Chocolate’s not on your mind. Sam is.”

I flushed, my cheeks burning from the cold, and shook my head.

“It’s not—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.

“You’re staring at him like he’s the last piece of triple-layer chocolate ganache. Go talk to him.”

“I can’t just—”

“Sure, you can,” Haider interrupted, nudging me forward.

“It’s a party, Ben. Everyone’s here to celebrate. Go celebrate.”

I hesitated, but then I moved toward Sam.

Now what?

I stood there like an idiot, hovering just out of Sam’s line of sight, my breath clouding in the cold air.

My feet were rooted to the snowy ground, and I wasn’t sure why this felt so damn difficult.

I’d never had trouble talking to someone before.

Then again, I’d never been in this position before, either.

Back in Boston, I’d always had a steady life—work, money, structure.

I’d known who I was, or at least who I was supposed to be.

But I’d blown all that up when I’d fucked everyone over, and now I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Scared. Sad. Starting over.

That was me in a nutshell.

And what in God’s name was I doing now?

I stepped back, ready to retreat, before Sam noticed me.

I could… not do this.

I could stay invisible, leave him to his world of trees and syrup and whatever made him seem so solid, while I stayed in mine—messy and uncertain and not ready.

But then Sam turned, and his eyes caught mine.

The widest smile spread across his face, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as if he were genuinely happy to see me.

“You came!” he said, his voice warm and full of something I couldn’t quite name, like relief, excitement, or maybe both.

Before I could respond, he stepped forward and hugged me.

I froze for half a second, caught off guard, but then his arms tightened around me, solid and strong, and all I could do was melt into them.

He smelled of woodsmoke and maple sweet.

His warmth seeped through all my layers, chasing away the chill of the snow-covered world around us.

His grip was firm and grounding as if saying, “You’re here, safe, and belong.”

Christ, I’m losing my shit here.

And then, for the briefest moment, he tightened his hold, draggin g me closer as if he didn’t want to let go.

Yep, I’m reading things into this hug.

My breath caught, and my heart did this strange, uneven thing in my chest. It wasn’t only the warmth or the closeness—it was him.

Steady, strong Sam, holding me as if I mattered, like he was glad I was there.

It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

When he pulled back, his hands lingered on my shoulders for a moment longer than necessary.

Even after he let go, the warmth of his embrace remained.

Heat rose in my face, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the way he looked at me, his smile unwavering.

I froze. Running was officially off the table now.

My throat tightened, but I forced myself to step forward, offering my small, awkward smile.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted.

“I, uh… didn’t want to miss it.”

His smile didn’t falter, and it made my chest ache.

How could one person be so steady, so welcoming, like the whole world could fall apart, and he’d still be standing there, ready to catch whatever was left?

“Are you okay,” he asked, taking a step closer, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

I shook my head, trying to find my voice.

“Yeah, of course. Excited for my first time.” He raised an eyebrow.

“First time tapping, I mean.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer, “you’re in for a treat.”

And just like that, I forgot why I’d been so scared in the first place.

Like everything about the farm, the tapping ceremony was simple and beautiful.

People gathered around one of the larger trees, bundled against the cold, their breaths misting in the air.

Sam stood front and center with what I guessed was the ceremonial first spile in hand, his dad beside him with a small drill.

Everyone was smiling and chatting quietly, the kind of easy, happy energy I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then Sam stepped forward.

His movements were steady and sure, and as he drilled into the tree—just enough to set the spile—there was a hush over the group.

When he tapped the spile in place, the faintest trickle of sap appeared, glistening in the morning light.

The crowd erupted into cheers, clapping and laughing as if that tiny drop of sap was the best thing they’d seen all winter.

“Before we start,” Sam’s mom said, her voice carrying easily over the quiet crowd, “I want to share something about this tradition that started with my husband’s great-grandfather, Samuel P Caldwell.”

Sam P.

I tucked the name away in my archive, recognizing it from the letters.

It seemed she was talking to me, and when I glanced around, I guessed maybe I was the only stranger there.

“He was the one who decided that tapping the first tree should be more than just the start of the season,” she continued.

“He wanted it to be a way to show gratitude for the trees, the land, and the harvest.” She smiled at the memory, staring down at the bucket in her hands.

“So, he started this little tradition. We mix a bit of the first sap with cider, a pinch of sugar, and something from the land—a sprig of pine and a handful of snow—then pour it out at the tree’s base. It’s our way of saying thank you for another season.”

The crowd murmured appreciatively, a few nodding.

She handed the bucket to Sam, and I couldn’t look away.

He moved with this quiet precision, every motion deliberate, his hands steady as he poured some of the sap into the bucket.

The morning light caught on his dark hair, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, and his expression—focused, thoughtful—was enough to make my chest ache.

His dad stepped up next, pouring a splash of cider into the bucket, followed by his mom, who sprinkled in a pinch of sugar from a small pouch.

Then, Sam tucked in a sprig of pine and carried the bucket to the tree.

Everyone fell quiet as he knelt and slowly poured the mixture onto the snow-covered roots.

It soaked in, darkening the white ground.

I couldn’t explain it, but the moment felt heavy with meaning, even to someone like me, who had no connection to this place beyond what I’d seen.

The silence broke with a soft cheer, and the crowd began to scatter, chatting again, the easy energy returning.

I stood where I was, watching Sam straighten and glance back at the group with a wide grin and blue eyes bright with emotion.

I couldn’t help but smile.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t just watching something. I was part of it.