Page 14

AFTER SIX WEEKS of long-ass days that I loved, Sugar season was ending, and as much as I did love it, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t ready for a break.

The last of the sap had slowed to a trickle, the trees giving us everything they had for the season.

By now, the buckets had been emptied, cleaned, and stored, and the sap lines coiled in the storage shed.

The sugarhouse, usually humming with steam and activity, felt almost still.

Almost.

The final step was cleaning everything—tanks, evaporators, pans—top to bottom.

Maple syrup wasn’t just about tapping and boiling—it was about ensuring everything was ready for next year.

It was tedious work, but it mattered.

The season didn’t feel over until the sugarhouse gleamed like new, the equipment ready to sleep until the next flow.

I wiped my brow, glancing at the bottles we’d need to label and pack for shipping.

If I played my cards right, I could leave this task to the seasonal workers and my parents.

Mom loved double-checking the orders, and Dad always acted like he hated the paperwork but enjoyed grumbling over it.

Once the sugarhouse production part was shut down for the year, I’d have a few days to catch my breath, sleep in, and maybe get off the farm.

It didn’t happen often, but I’d earned it this year.

Between the heavier-than-usual flow and Ben showing up like a whirlwind of distraction and curiosity, it felt as if I hadn’t stopped moving since the first tap had gone in.

I spotted Ben outside, waiting for me to finish after I promised him I could take an hour to check out something he’d found on the property.

I didn’t know what it was and didn’t care—I wanted to be in his company, and I’d use any excuse to make that happen.

He’d started to stay longer than the few hours he’d volunteered for, and out there, bundled in his thick coat and scarf, he was entirely at home, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

A pang of something warm and vaguely terrifying went through me as I watched Ben.

He had that faraway expression again, the one he got when he thought no one was watching.

His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his scarf loose and windblown, and for a second, he looked so much as if he belonged here that it almost hurt.

Maybe those days off wouldn’t be about resting alone.

Perhaps I’d spend them figuring out how to tell him this farm wouldn’t feel the same without him being around.

And not sound like an idiot.

The sugarhouse door creaked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see my mom coming in, brushing snow from her sleeves.

She’d been double-checking the inventory in the back, a task she insisted on doing herself every year.

She stopped next to me, her sharp eyes following my gaze.

I returned to the task of scrubbing at a stubborn patch on the evaporator pan, trying not to seem too obvious.

“How’d the cleaning go?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“I’m finishing for now. There’s still more to do, though.” Her voice had that knowing lilt that set me on edge.

She stayed quiet for a beat, then in a sing-song voice she asked, “So Mom, how did you know your father was the one for you?”

The question threw me off, and I straightened, wiping my hands on a rag.

“Uh, what?”

She gave me a sly smile, her eyes darting back toward the window.

“Well, you were about to ask me, weren’t you?”

Heat crept up the back of my neck.

“I wasn’t—” I started, but the expression on her face made me stop.

I sighed. “Okay, fine. How did you know?”

Mom crossed her arms, leaning against the workbench as though she had all the time in the world.

“It wasn’t some big moment,” she said.

“We were young, working hard on the farm, and one day, I realized I couldn’t picture a single part of my life without him in it. Even the bad parts, even the struggles. I wanted him there for all of it. He made me laugh when I wanted to cry and made me feel strong when I didn’t think I could be. That was how I knew.”

I glanced over to the window again, where Ben was still standing, his breath visible in the cold air.

“And you’ve never… doubted it?”

“Not for a second! When you know, you know. And, sweetheart,” she added, her tone softening, “it doesn’t hurt if he’s got a good heart. Like Ben does.”

I snapped my head toward her.

“I didn’t say it was Ben.”

Her smile widened, pure smugness radiating from her.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Mom…” I groaned, but the teasing glint in her eye didn’t fade.

“Harriet and I knew you two would hit it off,” she said, proud of herself.

“She’s been saying for weeks how nice it’d be if her great-nephew found someone here, and I—”

“Mom!” I interrupted, feeling a mix of exasperation and something I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“Seriously?”

She chuckled, patting my arm as she turned back for the door.

“Just don’t take too long figuring it out, Sam. Life’s too short.”

As the door swung shut behind her, I let out a long breath, my gaze returning to the window.

Ben checked his watch and then started walking back to the sugarhouse, his steps slow and measured.

And for all my mom’s meddling, one thing she’d said stuck in my head—when you know, you know.

Maybe she was right.

I pulled on my coat, gave the sugarhouse one last check, and waited until he came inside.

“Am I too early?” he asked, but before I could tell him it was all good, he tugged me into a hug, warm and tight, as if he couldn’t help himself.

I didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“Okay, so,” he started as he pulled back, his words spilling out in a rush.

“I’ve been reading more about Sam P. and Clara, digging into what the letters say, and there’s so much drama! Like, actual soap opera-levels.”

I raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! All these issues involved them falling in love because their families were rivals—like, full-on, Hatfield-and-McCoy style, rival farms.” He was talking fast, his hands waving for emphasis, and I was drawn into his energy.

“Clara’s dad and Samuel’s dad hated each other, and it all came down to this land. They didn’t want them to be together, but Sam P. and Clara didn’t care what people thought. It’s so romantic.”

He paused, rummaging through the bag slung over his shoulder, and pulled out an old, folded map.

The edges were frayed, and the paper was yellowed with age.

“Look at this. See?” He spread it out on a bench, pointing to the lines that divided the property.

“Your land used to be split over the ridge. Samuel’s family had one side, and Clara’s had the other. When they married, and after Clara’s father passed, all this”—he waved over the map—”became Caldwell land.

”

I leaned in as if studying the layout, but mostly, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

He was bouncing on his toes, his enthusiasm infectious.

“This would make such a good story for an Adam Nelson book,” he said.

“Of course, he’d have to add in a murder or two. Maybe a poisoning—farm drama and a mystery. Perfect. I should send the idea to him, but… yeah, I doubt he’d talk to me if he ever found out what I did.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Never mind,” he said with a frown.

Then his expression brightened even more than when I first saw him, which I didn’t think was possible.

“Can you show me the grove today? I was happy to go alone, but I really want to share it with you.”

I hesitated, glancing out of the window.

The snow had melted over the past few days, leaving the ground muddy.

“It’s at least a mile away,” I said, watching closely for any sign of hesitation, but the mud didn’t deter him.

He straightened; his jaw set in determination.

“Let’s go.”

“All right. But don’t hold me responsible if you lose a boot in the mud.”

He shot me a glance over his shoulder, all challenge and excitement.

“I won’t. But if I do, you’ll have to rescue me again.”

I smirked as I followed him out the door.

If there was one thing I was learning about Ben, it was that he had a way of making the mundane feel like an adventure, and I didn’t mind being dragged along.

The grove came into view as we crested a small hill, and I could feel Ben’s energy shift beside me.

He wasn’t bouncing anymore, but there was something almost reverent in how he walked now, his gaze darting around as if he were trying to soak it all in.

The space was open and quieter than I remembered.

The trees here weren’t in straight rows like those closer to the sugarhouse.

Instead, they were scattered, a mix of towering old maples and other hardwoods, their branches forming a sprawling canopy overhead with just a hint of green budding at the tips now that spring was approaching—and the stream cutting through the grove caught the light, sparkling in places as it twisted over rocks and moss.

Ben stopped at the stream’s edge, his boots sinking into the soft ground, and turned to me.

“This place is beautiful,” he said in awe.

I nodded, glancing around.

“Yeah, it is. Haven’t been out here in years.”

He gave me a curious glance.

“Why not?”

“They’re maples,” I said, stepping closer to a particularly gnarled trunk, its bark scarred and cracked with age.

“But they’re old. Too old to tap. The sugar content in their sap wouldn’t be worth the effort. Plus…” I gestured at the uneven ground.

“It’s not exactly easy to run lines out here.”

Ben nodded, thoughtful.

“Makes sense, I guess. Still, it’s a shame you don’t visit. There’s so much of your family history here.”

I smiled at that.

“You’re probably the first person in years who’s thought about history when they look at this grove.”

He laughed; the sound warm in the quiet space.

“I doubt that. Clara and Samuel P. thought about it.” He motioned to the trees.

“The letters mention initials in a tree. Do you think they’re still here?”

The memory stirred as soon as he mentioned it, and I began walking, my boots crunching over twigs and patches of moss.

“Yeah. They’re here. I remember seeing them when I was a kid. “

Ben followed me, stepping carefully to avoid the mud, and I stopped at the base of a massive old maple, its trunk wide enough to take at least two of us to wrap our arms around it.

I reached out, running my fingers over the bark, searching for the spot I knew was there.

My fingers found the grooves, faint but still legible, the weathered heart, and the letters inside it —S + C.

“Your great-great-granddad carved that for your great-great-gran,” Ben murmured, his fingers brushing over the carving again.

His voice was filled with that same quiet awe he’d carried since we entered the grove.

Shivers ran down my spine.

I wasn’t sure if it was the crisp air or his words, but they struck me somewhere deep.

I stared at the carving, the faint, smooth edges of the heart deep in the rough bark.

I’d seen it before—plenty of times as a kid—but hearing it from Ben made it feel as if I were seeing it for the first time.

My ancestor had made those marks, pouring something real and raw into this tree, something that had endured for decades.

A declaration of love carved into a living thing.

It wasn’t just history; it was my history.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and managed, “That’s… kinda crazy. To think about them standing right here, carving that. They had no idea I’d be here, what, a hundred years later, looking at it.”

Ben’s gaze flicked to me, and his smile grew warmer.

“It’s more than crazy—it’s romantic. They didn’t care what anyone thought. This was their place, their haven.” His hand lingered on the carving before dropping to his side.

“It’s like they left a piece of themselves here.”

I nodded, still staring at the initials.

“Yeah. They did.”

A memory hit me, clear as day, and I tugged Ben to the next tree over.

The bark was rough under my fingers as I pointed to a second set of initials carved into the trunk— S R H C.

“Sam, Ryan, Conor, Haider,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

“I’d forgotten we did this.”

Ben tilted his head, studying the letters.

“Who carved it?”

“Ryan, technically,” I said, smiling.

“Well, he tried. Haider traced the letters for him, and then Ryan dug them out with the bluntest pocketknife I’ve ever seen. Took him forever, but it was a special reason.”

“What was the reason?” Ben asked.

I removed my gloves and ran my fingers over the letters, feeling the rough grooves against my palm.

“It was the day before I came out to my parents. We were all sitting under the trees, discussing everything and nothing.” I released a breath, the memory warming me in a way the winter sun couldn’t.

“I thought I might lose my family when I told them, and Haider, in all his dramatic flair, insisted we had to carve it into the tree to make it official that we’d be friends forever.”

“But you didn’t lose your family?”

“No, not at all. They said they loved me for who I was.” I went quiet then, recalling the moment I’d told them.

“I didn’t lose them.”

Ben’s gaze lingered on the initials, then shifted to me.

“How old were you?”

“I want to say thirteen. Fourteen, maybe?” I shrugged.

Ben traced the carved letters.

“I like your friends.”

“They like you.” I wanted to say more about my feelings, but the words were tangled in my head.

“Ben?” I said, my voice drawing his attention back to me.

“Hmm?” He turned.

I shook my head, a smile pulling at my lips.

“Nothing. Just… glad you came out here.”

He grinned, brushing his hands against his coat.

“Me too.” Then he turned back to the carving, his gaze lingering as if he were memorizing every detail.

“This place… it’s special. You’re lucky to have it.”

“I’m so lucky to have you here with me,” I said, the words spilling out and making him smile.

“Will you kiss me?” Ben asked, holding out a hand.

“Always.”

Our kisses were heated, and moans and whimpers filled the air, muffled by our lips and the crisp afternoon breeze.

Between breathless kisses, Ben whispered into my ear, “I want to feel you.” He began to work on the buttons of my coat, his slender fingers deftly undoing them one by one.

I shivered as the cold air teased any part of my exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the anticipation coursing through me as Ben’s hands slipped inside my coat.

I gasped at the feeling of his cool fingers against my heated skin.

Wanting to return the favor, I fumbled with his zipper.

“Let me,” Ben murmured, his breath hot against my neck.

He unzipped his jacket and pressed himself to me, the warmth of his body radiating through our layers of clothing.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him even closer.

Our hips aligned, and I felt his hardness against mine.

A low groan escaped my throat as Ben began to rock, creating delicious friction.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his dark eyes searching mine.

“God, yes,” I breathed, capturing his lips in another searing kiss.

“Sam,” he whispered.

His fingers tangled in my hair as he arched into me.

I groaned at the friction, grinding my hips forward.

Ben was so slight compared to me, but he fit against me so perfectly.

I cupped his face as our coats created a cozy nest around us, sheltering us from the gusts of early March wind.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate.

I slid my hands down Ben’s back, holding him tight as we swayed together.

The tree’s lower branches pressed into my back, but I barely noticed, lost in the sensations of Ben’s body against mine.

“Sam,” Ben gasped, his breath coming in short pants.

“I’m close.”

I nodded, unable to form words as the need to come built within me.

Our hips moved in tandem, seeking that perfect friction.

I buried my face in Ben’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent with the crisp winter air.

Ben’s fingers dug into my shoulders as he tensed against me.

With a muffled cry, he shuddered in my arms, his release triggering my own.

Wave after wave of pleasure washed over me as I held Ben tight, our bodies trembling together.

As we came down from our high, I held Ben close, both of us catching our breath.

The world came back into focus—the rustling of bare branches overhead, the chill air nipping at our flushed cheeks.

But inside our cocoon of coats, we were warm and safe.

Ben lifted his head from my shoulder, his startling green eyes meeting mine as he brushed a strand of hair from my forehead.

“That was…”

“Amazing,” I finished, stealing another quick kiss.

He laughed, the sound light and musical.

“I was going to say unexpected, but ‘amazing’ works too.”

I grinned, running my hands along his sides.

“Unexpected, but not unwelcome, I hope?”

“Definitely not unwelcome,” Ben assured me.

He snuggled in, resting his head on my chest. “Though we have to walk back with wet underwear.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Worth it though.”

“Totally worth it,” I agreed.

“And we might need to find somewhere more private next time.”

I chuckled, the vibrations rumbling through my chest where Ben’s head rested.

“Probably a good idea. As much as I love this tree, I’d rather not give it a show every time.”

Ben lifted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“‘Every time’, huh? Planning on making this a regular occurrence, are we?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I met his gaze head-on.

“Well, if you’re into the idea…”

“Oh, I’m really into it,” Ben said, kissing my jaw.

“But maybe next time we could be somewhere with a bed… and heating.”

I laughed, tightening my arms around him.

“What, you mean you don’t enjoy freezing your ass off in the great outdoors?”

Ben chuckled; his breath huffed against my neck.

“As fun as this was, I’d prefer full access to all of you without risking frostbite in sensitive areas.”

“Fair point,” I conceded, running my hands up and down his back to warm him.

“We could head to my place and clean up, maybe get in some more um… kissing?”

Ben pulled back a little, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Are you sure? Can you stop working for a while? I mean, I don’t want to assume…”

I cupped his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I’m done for the day.” Exhaustion stole over me, and I covered my face as I yawned.

“You need sleep.”

“Probably.” With reluctance and more stolen kisses, we disentangled ourselves and began buttoning and zipping our coats.

As we stepped out from behind the tree, I took Ben’s gloved hand, and we headed back to the sugar shack.

I checked in one last time, and then we went on to my place, waving at Mom, who was peering out of the window.

The sky was turning a deep indigo, the first stars just beginning to peek out, and I was done for today. I’m so tired .