Page 12

WHEN WE MOVED into the main house, the party had wound down, the energy shifting from lively celebration to something quieter, more intimate.

Only a few of us were left now—Mom and Dad, who headed upstairs.

Mom had her book in hand, Dad a mug of coffee, leaving me and my friends alone in the large front room.

We’d started a tradition a few years after the tapping ceremony—a way to unwind, just me, Haider, Conor, and Ryan, sharing drinks and laughs long after everyone else had gone.

But today, there was someone new in the mix.

Ben stood near the door; his scarf half-wrapped around his neck as if he were seconds away from leaving.

He hesitated, his eyes darting around the room as though he wasn’t sure if he should stay.

It was a little awkward, and I could tell he was debating whether to slip out before anyone noticed.

Something about that hit me.

I didn’t want him to leave.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer to him, catching his eye before he could get away.

“You don’t have to leave yet.”

Surprised, he glanced up at me, his cheeks faintly pink from the warmth of the house or maybe something else.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” he said, stepping back like he was gearing up to bolt.

“You’re not intruding,” I said, my voice lighter than usual.

“I usually have a drink with my friends after the ceremony and you’re a new friend now, right?”

He blinked, startled, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I—yeah, I guess so. If that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay. Stay,” I said, smiling.

His expression changed, his uncertainty softening into something warmer.

He tugged at his scarf, hesitating, and I realized I was holding my breath.

It only loosened when he nodded and stepped closer to the group.

Haider, sprawled across the couch as if he owned it, grinned at Ben.

“The more, the merrier,” he said, motioning for him to sit.

Ben settled into a chair on the edge of the group, and I couldn’t help but feel like the night had gotten a little brighter.

The room settled into an easy rhythm that always happened when it was only the four of us.

Well, five now, given that Ben was laughing at another of Conor’s stories and had stopped acting as though he was going bolt for the door.

“All right, so who’s got the next story tonight?” Conor asked, leaning back in his chair with a bottle of beer in hand.

“What about you, Haider? You have some wild chocolate-related disaster?”

“‘Disaster’?” Haider scoffed, sitting straighter on the couch.

“Please. My work is art. No disasters. But if you must know, I did have a small issue with my new molds. Turns out, if you use too much heat, the whole batch—”

“—melts. Like chocolate tends to do?” Ryan cut in, smirking.

“Don’t mock the process!” Haider exclaimed, tossing a pillow at him.

Ryan dodged, laughing, and Haider turned his attention to me.

“Sam, tell them how much syrup I bought from your parents. Enough to drown in, right?”

I rolled my eyes but smirked.

“You’re probably single-handedly funding the farm this season.”

“See?” Haider grinned, pointing at me.

“The Caldwells believe in my genius.”

“Sure,” Conor said, deadpan.

“‘Genius’. That’s the word I’d use.”

The group dissolved into laughter, and I glanced over at Ben.

He watched us, a small smile tugging at his lips, but he wasn’t saying much.

“Ben,” I said, catching his attention.

“You doing okay over there? Don’t let them scare you off.”

He blinked, straightening a little.

“Oh, I’m good. Just… soaking it all in.”

“Get used to it,” I said with a grin.

“This is pretty much every gathering we have. A lot of noise, a lot of sarcasm.”

“And a lot of alcohol,” Ryan added, holding up his glass.

Ben laughed, and even though the sound was barely audible over the banter, it hit me anyway—a warm, quiet note settling deep in my chest.

“So,” Haider said, leaning forward suddenly, focused on Ben.

“What brings you to Caldwell Crossing, anyway?”

All eyes turned to Ben.

His smile faltered, and I could see the tension creep into his shoulders as he searched for an answer.

His eyes darted toward me.

“I… I just needed a change,” he said, his voice hesitant.

“Work stuff, you know.”

That was when I stepped in.

“Haider,” I said, my tone light but firm, giving him a gentle warning to ease up.

Haider held up his hands, feigning innocence.

“Just making conversation.”

“Yeah, well, let’s give him a break,” I said, glancing at Ben.

He glanced at me, a tiny flicker of relief in his eyes, and I gave him a nod.

“We’ve got plenty of time for questions later.”

Haider sighed dramatically but leaned back, switching gears almost immediately.

“Fine. But you can’t blame me for being curious.”

Ben relaxed a little, his fingers curling around the arm of his chair, and I couldn’t help but wish I knew what had sent him here.

Only, this was supposed to be a safe space, and I intended to keep it that way—he didn’t need to tell us anything.

“There are some legal complications,” he began, then stopped.

“Go on,” Haider encouraged.

I sent him a glare. “Leave the man alone,” I snapped.

Haider wrinkled his nose.

“Okay, okay!” he said with one of his grins.

Ben relaxed slightly, his shoulders dropping, and I decided to make my move.

“Hey,” I said, catching his attention again.

“There’s something I want to show you. Come with me.”

Haider let out a low whistle as I gestured for Ben to follow me toward the office.

“Oh no,” Haider called after us, his tone dripping with mock concern.

“Sam’s abducting the cute guy. Five minutes, Ben, or we’ll send out a search party.”

“Shut up,” I said over my shoulder, rolling my eyes but grinning.

Ben hesitated for a split second before following me, his cheeks still pink.

“Sorry about Haider,” I said as I opened the door to the office, motioning Ben inside.

“He’s used to teasing us and sometimes doesn’t know when to back off. What brought you to town is your business.”

Ben nodded, his scarf still loose around his neck, his cheeks pink—not from embarrassment this time, but from the cold.

“It’s fine. He’s… lively.”

I chuckled.

“That’s one way to put it.”

I walked to the bookshelves along the wall, grabbing the pile of journals I’d set aside earlier.

They were worn, their leather bindings cracked and faded, but they were intact—a tangible piece of the farm’s history.

I set them on the table and gestured for Ben to take a seat.

“These are growing journals,” I explained, opening the top one with care.

“Seasonal stuff—rainfall, frosts, dates, the growth of harvests. But my great-great-grandfather, Samuel P Caldwell, from your letters, also put personal notes in here. If you’re trying to match places, these might help.”

Ben leaned forward, scanning the stack with curiosity and reverence.

“These are incredible.”

I flipped through one of the journals; the pages were fragile but still legible in most places.

“We can look for the places mentioned in the letters if you want. The farm hasn’t changed much, not in the big ways.”

“You’d do that?” Ben asked, looking up at me with a hint of surprise.

“After the season, sure,” I said with a shrug.

“If you’re still here?”

“I’ll be here a while,” was all Ben gave me, and it had to be enough.

As I flipped through another journal, my fingers paused on a particular entry.

The handwriting was small and tightly packed, and the ink smudged in places.

“This one’s interesting,” I said, angling it so he could see.

“It’s from a trip to the city—though I’m not sure which one. He’s talking about buying a gift, but I can’t quite make out the writing here.” I pointed to the faded scrawl.

“Thought you might have better luck.”

Ben glanced at me, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t you want to go through it yourself?”

I hesitated, leaning back slightly.

“I would but tapping season’s about to start. It’s short, but it’s wild. I won’t have much time until it’s over.”

He tilted his head, curiosity lighting his expression.

“How insane are we talking?”

I smiled, shaking my head.

“Up before dawn, out in the sugarbush at sunrise, sometimes before. It’s freezing, and there are sap buckets to check, tubing to clear, and spiles to replace. And that’s just the first hour.”

I could see him trying to imagine it, so I went on.

“Once the sap’s flowing, we’re running back and forth, collecting it or checking the lines. By mid-morning, the sugarhouse is a wall of steam, and you’re boiling down hundreds of gallons of sap to make syrup. It takes about forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup, so the boil goes on all day—and sometimes all night. And while all that’s happening, we’ve got to keep an eye on the evaporator, ensure nothing burns, and stay ahead of the flow.”

“That sounds…” He trailed off, his lips quirking in a small smile.

“Exhausting.”

“It is,” I admitted, but there was pride in my voice too.

“It’s a rhythm, though. We have seasonal, temporary hires from the day after tomorrow, plus me, Mom, and Dad, and we fall into it, and by the end of the season, we’ve got something tangible to show for all the chaos. But it’s nonstop. There’s no room for distractions.”

“Did you ever want to do anything else?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, searching for the right words.

“The farm. It’s… everything. It’s in my blood. My great-great-grandparents started it, and every generation since has poured their lives into making it what it is today. I don’t think I ever imagined doing anything else. This place isn’t just where I work—it’s who I am.”

Ben didn’t interrupt, just let me keep going, his silence urging me to dig deeper.

“I love it,” I confessed, my gaze dropping to my hands.

“I love the rhythm of the seasons, the first tapping of a tree when the sap begins to flow, the smell of boiling syrup in the sugarhouse. I need the connection to the land.” I glanced at him, his soft expression encouraging me to continue.

“The farm, and Caldwell Crossing is home in every sense of the word. My parents, friends, and this community… mean everything to me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

I paused, my chest tightening as I let myself be honest in a way I wasn’t used to.

“But… sometimes I think about what’s missing. Someone to share it with. To build this life with. I mean… I have my friends and family, and that’s more than enough most days. But still…”

I let the words hang, unsure if I should’ve said them.

The vulnerability left me feeling exposed, but Ben didn’t look away.

He reached out, his hand resting on mine.

“You deserve that, Sam,” he said.

“Someone to share it all with. Someone who sees this incredible life you’ve built and wants to be a part of it.”

I swallowed hard, his words settling deep in my chest. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll find that person. If they’ll even want this kind of life.”

Ben’s grip on my hand tightened, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“You might be surprised,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it felt as if it was meant for me alone.

I looked at him then, really looked at him, and something in his gaze made my heart skip a beat.

Maybe I didn’t need to wonder anymore.

Could someone like Ben, with the life of Boston in his veins, ever settle for something as small and simple as a quiet town and a maple farmer?

Ben blinked, stared at the journal in his hands, and then back at me.

“You sound busy, so I’ll do the reading.”

That was a good change of subject.

“Cool.”

“When you’re this busy, do you have any volunteers helping you?” Ben asked, glancing up from the journal in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, leaning back.

“Alongside the seasonal workers, people from town come over sometimes, and the guys help when they can. Well, Conor and Ryan, for sure. Haider’s more moral support than actual labor.”

Ben chuckled, his fingers brushing over the edge of the page.

“What if I wanted to volunteer?”

I blinked at him, surprised.

“You want to help?”

He nodded, then hesitated, his expression shifting as if he wasn’t sure how I’d take it.

“I thought… maybe it could be a good way to learn more about Sam P—your great-great-granddad—I mean, if that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure him out.

He was interested, but the idea of him helping out felt…

strange. Not bad, just unexpected.

“If you’re serious, there’s a simple job you could do. Daily, if you wanted to, it’d last through the whole season—six weeks, give or take.”

Ben perked up, his eyes brightening.

“What kind of job?”

“Checking the buckets,” I said.

“We have the newer piping, but we still use a few buckets in some areas of the sugarbush, especially for tradition’s sake. Someone checks them every morning, empties them into the collection tanks, and ensures they flow right. It’s not hard, but it’s consistent work.”

He tilted his head, considering.

“Every morning?”

“Seven days a week… six weeks… very early mornings,” I clarified with a slight smirk.

“Sunrise, maybe a little earlier. You’ll be out in the cold, probably knee-deep in snow some days. And you’ll need to move quickly—it’s not a job for taking your time.”

“I can handle that,” he said, his voice steady, as if he were already convincing himself.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“You sure? It’s not glamorous.”

“I’m sure,” he said, nodding.

“It sounds… good. Something real.”

Something about how he said that hit me, but I didn’t let it show.

I just nodded back. “It’s not a paid job.”

“I don’t need a paid job. I need…” He stopped and dropped his gaze, and I wish he’d finished the sentence.

“Okay, then. Welcome to tapping season.” I extended my hand, and Ben took it, his grip warm and firm, but neither of us let go.

His hesitant gaze met mine, eyes wide, but something else was there—so sweet it made my chest tighten.

The silence between us stretched, and yet it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was charged, like the crackle of static before a storm, a moment holding its breath.

Without thinking, I gave his hand a slight tug, a wordless invitation, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

Ben stepped closer, his movements slow, as though he wasn’t sure of what he was doing, but I didn’t let go.

His face was so close now I could see the faint freckles scattered across his nose, the way his breath puffed in the cold air between us.

And then, I leaned in the rest of the way.

Our lips met in a tentative kiss, barely more than a brush, but it sent a spark rushing through me as if I’d touched an open flame.

His lips were warm, a contrast to the winter chill around us, and the way he leaned into me, hesitant but willing, stole the breath right out of my lungs.

I pulled back slightly, my eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze.

His pupils were dilated, dark with desire, and I could see my own longing reflected there.

For a moment, we simply stared at each other, breath mingling between us and for a moment, nothing else existed—just the quiet, the cold, and Ben, his hand still in mine, grounding me and setting me alight all at once.

I felt a flush in my cheeks.

Ben was a bit dazed, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

For a moment, we just gazed at each other, the quiet of the office wrapping around us like a cocoon.

“I, um…” Ben started, then stopped.

“That was… unexpected,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips despite my attempt to remain professional.

Ben nodded; his cheeks flushed.

“It was,” he said and seemed unsure, and he backed away a little.

I tried not to be too disappointed.

“So,” he said, his voice husky.

“About the bucket stuff, will I get training? I mean, I don’t know anything about… anything.”

“Five a.m. sharp, here, and I’ll walk you through it.”

He seemed both nervous and excited.

“I’ll be here.”

I hesitated for a moment, knowing I should maintain professional boundaries.

“I should go,” he said.

“Okay.”

I should have let him go, but the warmth in Ben’s eyes and the lingering taste on my lips from our first kiss proved too tempting to resist.

“Can I kiss you again?” I asked.

Ben’s smile widened as he met me halfway.

This time, there was no hesitation.

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close as our lips met again.

I allowed myself to melt into it, savoring the warmth of his body against mine and the gentle caress of his fingers over the small of my back.

When we parted, both breathless, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know,” I murmured, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined my day going when I woke up this morning.”

Ben blushed—his arms still around me.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

I stepped back, aware that we needed to return to reality.

“We should keep this professional, at least during your volunteering hours, and I won’t be able to… but I want to…” Was I making any sense?

He nodded, understanding in his eyes.

“Me too… whatever this is.”

“‘Whatever this is’,” I repeated, excitement and trepidation swirling in my chest. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We should go back down,” he murmured.

“Your friends…”

I tugged him close, “One more kiss…”

Ben leaned in for one more quick, soft touch.

It was gentle at first, but sweetness ignited into something more heated and urgent as our lips met.

My fingers tangled in his hair as his arms tightened around me, drawing me flush against him.

The world fell away until there was nothing but Ben, the warmth of his body, the taste of his lips.

A laugh from below jerked us back to reality.

We separated, breaths unsteady, foreheads still pressed together.

“We really should go downstairs,” Ben said, his voice husky.

I nodded reluctantly, not trusting myself to speak.

As we made our way back down, my mind raced.

What did this mean for us?

How would things change?

Would what this kiss meant even last the insanity of the tapping season?

When we reached downstairs, Haider was busy plating up crackers and cheese.

Conor was trying to help but got his hand slapped for the audacity of messing with Haider’s circular display.

“There you two are,” Haider said, glancing up from his meticulous arrangement.

“I wondered if you’d gotten lost up there, Joker.”

“Just, uh, showing Ben something.” I tilted my chin, daring anyone to say a word but feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

Haider snorted. “I bet you were showing him something. He made air quotes with his fingers, earning himself a swat from Conor.

“Leave them be,” Conor chided, but there was a knowing glint in his eye as he looked between Ben and me and shared a grin with Ryan.

“I hate you all,” I muttered, and then before I could second-guess myself, I took the books from Ben, placed them next to Haider’s display, and then sat on the small sofa, gesturing for Ben to sit with me.

Ben hesitated but sat with me, his thigh pressed against mine.

His warmth was a constant reminder of what had happened upstairs.

I could feel the others’ eyes on us, but I refused to acknowledge their knowing expressions.

“Is Joker your nickname?” he asked, confused.

“I was born on April Fool’s Day, hence Joker.”

“Oh.”

“Not that anyone calls me that.” I glared at my friends, who all grinned back at me.

“Assholes. All of you.”

Haider cleared his throat, breaking the charged silence.

“Well, now that everyone’s here, let’s dig in. I didn’t spend all this time arranging these crackers for nothing.”

As we reached for the snacks, the conversation picked up, and Ryan leaned back in his chair with a grin that spelled trouble.

“All right,” he said, his beer in hand, “I’ve got a story for you. My latest project? Let’s say it’s been… an adventure.”

Haider perked up, popping another chocolate into his mouth.

“Do tell. I’m already intrigued if it’s like the rocking chair debacle.”

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head.

“Worse. A couple came into the shop this week. They were super nice and polite and asked if I could make them a bed frame, but not just any bed frame but with added functionality,” Ryan said, his grin widening.

Haider leaned forward; his interest piqued.

“Wait, you mean—”

“Yep,” Ryan said, popping the p with exaggerated emphasis.

“They showed me this sketch with all these details—hidden compartments in the posts, spots for straps.”

Conor let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Sounds ambitious.”

“It is,” Ryan said.

“And honestly? I’m kind of into it. I mean, I get to work on something one-of-a-kind. Plus, they’re paying me well, so I’m not complaining. How often do you get a project like this? The craftsmanship alone will be a challenge—and I like a challenge. The tricky part has been keeping a straight face when they come by to check in because they’re very clear about what they want and why. The wife especially—she’s got notes. ‘Can you make the posts slimmer because I’m not that tall?’ ‘Will the compartments hold everything we need, like extra lube?’“

Conor tilted his head, thoughtful.

“You could carve little hearts into the posts. Lean into the whole ‘Bound by Love’ theme.”

Ryan laughed, pointing his beer bottle at him.

“Not a bad idea. I might suggest that if they stop by again.”

Haider leaned back, shaking his head in admiration.

“Man, you get the most interesting clients. Meanwhile, I’m just here trying to figure out if I can drizzle maple syrup over chocolates without ruining the tempering.”

The room filled with easy laughter, and for a moment, everything felt light.

I tried to focus on the conversation, but my mind drifted back to the kiss, and I was hyper-aware of Ben’s every movement: the way he leaned forward to grab another cracker, the sound of his laugh, the brush of his arm against mine as he settled back into the couch.

It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.

“So, Ben,” Ryan said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What do you think of our little town so far?”

I shot Ryan a warning glare, but Ben just chuckled.

“It’s not Boston, that’s for sure,” he said, his voice warm.

“Better. Also, I volunteered for bucket duty.”

“Bucket duty, huh?” Conor raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not for the faint of heart. You sure you’re up for it, city boy?”

Ben nodded.

“I want to try.” He glanced at me, and I felt a flutter in my stomach.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Haider chimed in.

“The real test comes when you’re out in the cold, sap flying everywhere, and you’ve got to keep your cool.”

“Like you know,” Ryan huffed, “you usually show up when it’s all done.”

Haider pouted.

“Early mornings in the snow aren’t good for my delicate chocolate-making hands,” he said, and everyone laughed—even Ben.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ben said, his enthusiasm genuine.

“It’s all part of the experience, right?”

By the time our evening was done, I felt warm and happy and excited for the tapping and for more kissing.

I didn’t get to kiss Ben goodbye because he was following Conor home, so he didn’t end up in the ditch again—his words, not mine— but he’d be here tomorrow at five a.m., and hell, maybe I’d steal a kiss then.

Damn right, I would.