Page 15

THE LIVING ROOM was small but warm, a haven of coziness that immediately put me at ease.

The kind of place where every corner told a story.

The sofa I sat on was deep and comfortable, and in front of us, the fireplace crackled, casting a soft, flickering glow over the room.

On the mantel, framed photos showed the generations of Sam’s family—smiling faces in front of the farmhouse, kids climbing trees, and even an old black-and-white picture of Samuel P.

Caldwell himself, standing proud beside a towering maple.

Syrup seemed to touch everything here, not just in scent but in spirit.

A carved plaque on the wall read Maple Life , and a little ceramic syrup bottle sat on the coffee table, its paint chipped, as though it had seen years of use and love.

The faint sweetness of maple mingled with the earthy aroma of burning wood, wrapping around me like a blanket.

I wasn’t shaky in here.

The city wasn’t intruding.

After using the bathroom to fix whatever we could, Sam made me sit on the sofa, the heat from the fire crackling in the hearth filling the room, then he sat beside me after making us hot drinks, glancing toward me occasionally as if to check that I was still okay, but he didn’t push.

That was one of the things I liked about him—he didn’t fill the silence unless it needed filling.

My mug of cocoa was still too hot to drink, so I held it between my hands, feeling the heat seep into my fingers.

It was grounding, a small connection to the present as my mind swirled with everything I couldn’t express.

The past I was trying to escape had followed me here, settling over me like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

“I love it here,” I said quietly, more to myself than Sam.

“It’s so quiet, and I can think.”

“I guess it’s not like the city,” he replied, his voice light but probing.

“Nothing like the city,” I admitted, sighing heavily.

“You miss it?”

“No. Yes… no.” My gaze fixed on the swirl of steam rising from my mug.

“Everything I tried to hold on to in the city just… slipped away. My boyfriend left me when I didn’t have a job, my best friend Brad… well, he…” I trailed off, the words tangling in my throat.

“Fuck, it’s a long story, and now I don’t even have my apartment, and…”

“And you burned out,” Sam finished for me, his tone understanding.

I didn’t correct him.

How could I? It was what I let everyone believe—even Aunt Harriet.

Anyway, he wasn’t wrong, not entirely.

I had burned out—flown too high, crashed to the ground in pieces.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

He couldn’t know the weight of what had driven me to this place, the mess I’d left behind, and how every decision I’d made seemed to ripple outward, ruining more lives than my own.

Sam couldn’t know that, and he didn’t need to.

Not yet.

“Yeah,” I said instead, my voice strained.

Sam leaned back in his chair, studying me.

“You’re happy in Caldwell Crossing, then stay. Simple.”

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” he said, his words so matter-of-fact they hung between us.

He made it sound easy—too easy.

I wanted to believe that staying was as simple as he made it sound.

But I knew better. I knew the city wasn’t done with me yet, so I changed the subject.

“You know,” I murmured, my voice low and teasing, “your mom was staring out the window when we came in.”

Sam groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“I bet she’s already messaging Harriet about us.”

I chuckled, my breath brushing against his neck.

“Let her. Whatever plan they cooked up seems to be working.”

Sam pulled back, just enough to meet my gaze.

His sapphire eyes softened as he looked at me.

“I’m glad it did,” he said, his hand cupping my cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding me.

“Kissing you is addictive.”

My smile widened, and I leaned in, brushing my lips over his.

“Good,” I murmured against his mouth.

“I want you addicted.”

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if we had all the time in the world.

Everything else—his farm, my worries, the endless noise of my mind—faded away.

There was only Sam, his solid warmth, the way his lips moved against mine.

But then he yawned, breaking the moment with a groan.

He pulled back reluctantly, his thumb brushing along my jaw in a way that made me shiver.

“I’d love to take you upstairs and show you how much I want you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “but I’m not sure I can make it without falling over.”

I smirked, poking his firm stomach.

“Eat first. Then sleep. I’ll even make it easy for you.”

I slid off the sofa and headed to the kitchen, rummaging through his fridge and pantry.

It wasn’t fancy, but I pulled together some sandwiches and chips, brought everything back to the couch, and we ate together, snuggled close, the fire casting a warm glow over us.

As he leaned into me more and more, I could feel his exhaustion.

His body relaxed against mine, his breathing slowing.

When we finished eating, his head rested heavily on my shoulder, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Sam,” I whispered, shaking him a little.

“You need to go to bed.”

“Stay,” he mumbled, his hand tugging weakly at mine as I tried to help him up.

“I’ll sleep here next to you, just an hour. Message Harriet. Stay the whole night. Sleep in my bed.”

I smiled, grabbing my phone and typing a quick message to Harriet, letting her know I would be home late and that I was with Sam—I added a couple of exclamation marks, imagining her smile when she read it.

I didn’t think he really meant I should stay overnight.

Then I settled back against the couch, tucking myself under Sam’s chin.

His arms wrapped around me, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back as his breathing evened out again.

As he drifted off, his steady heartbeat against my ear, I found myself thinking that there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and as I closed my eyes, I let myself hope this would never end.

SAM SLEPT FOR about an hour, startling awake and knocking paperwork I’d been leafing through to the floor.

“My bad,” he said on a yawn and scooped them up for me.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Sam stretched.

“Coffee. Bathroom.”

I nodded as if he had just completed a sentence, then watched him stalk out to the kitchen, start the coffee, and vanish into the small bathroom.

I observed him, his strides purposeful and his shoulders set.

Something about his movements made me feel all kinds of hot and bothered.

Who was I kidding—everything about him made me hot and bothered.

My phone lit up with a message in the book club chat, which had been silent since I’d left Boston—they’d probably made a new one without me—and my stomach dropped.

It was from Rachel, the only person in the book club who still occasionally reached out.

Although that was starting to feel like walking on broken glass because she knew people who knew people and kept throwing dire warnings at me about the review I’d left on that damn book.

Rachel: Call me.

I ignored it.

I left it sitting there, the notification glaring at me.

Then I stared at it, the words looping in my head.

Call me. Why? What now?

I tried to shake it off, but the curiosity gnawed at me until I caved and messaged back.

Me: Why?

It didn’t take long for her to respond.

Rachel: Adam Nelson’s Publisher - press release tomorrow about the review you wrote and repercussions.

Repercussions. The word hit like a sucker punch.

Me: What does it say?

Rachel: I don’t know, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.

I couldn’t do anything.

There was no way these repercussions would reach Caldwell Crossing—I’d left it all in Boston with the other mess.

This was stupid—it was just a book review.

Shit. Why had she told me?

I didn’t want to know.

I put the phone down, the screen dimming as I stared at the wall.

A press release. About my review.

The scathing critique written in the heat of temper on a bad day, venting every ounce of anger and frustration on an author I admired, seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.

I didn’t know what to think.

It was too far away to care about.

Boston, the book review mess, all of that—it wasn’t part of my life anymore.

Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

The phone lit up again.

This time, it was my lawyer.

Theo: Call me. We need to talk .

I stared at the notification, my jaw tightening.

What now? I didn’t want to know.

I didn’t want to hear any of it.

With a sharp motion, I ignored the message, tossed the phone onto the couch, and then shoved it under a cushion as if that might silence the world trying to intrude on my fragile peace.

My chest felt tight, my jaw ached from clenching it too hard, and I was about done with everything.

Why couldn’t everything in Boston leave me alone?

Why couldn’t I have one damn day where the chaos of my past didn’t find a way to claw itself into my present?

But then, because I’m the most responsible freaking man on the planet, I called out to Sam that I was taking a call and went outside to phone Theo.

“You need to come back in a few days, Ben. There’s been a development,” he said without a hello.

Theo’s voice was calm but clipped, the kind of tone that set me on edge.

“Have you found the missing audits?” I asked, gripping the phone tighter.

As I paced the tiny porch, my breath fogged in the chilly night air.

I’d forgotten my damn coat again.

“Not exactly,” Theo replied, his words measured.

My stomach sank. “What does that mean?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and the faint sound of a car engine in the background.

“It means I need you in my office in person, but not yet, okay? I’ll send you the details, and we’ll review everything then.”

I stopped pacing, staring into the dark.

“Theo, I need more than that. Is this good news or bad?”

There was another pause, and then, “It’s… complicated. It’s better if we talk in person.”

Complicated.

Great. My pulse quickened, and I felt a knot tighten in my chest. “This doesn’t sound good,” I said, my voice quieter now.

“It’s not something to panic over, Ben. We’ll figure it out.”

Not something to panic over.

Easy for Theo to say—he wasn’t the one with his entire life hanging in the balance.

“And you’ll—”

“I’m joining the freeway, Ben. I’ll send you a confirmation when I’m home.”

He ended the call, and I stared at my phone as though the meeting confirmation would pop up immediately.

I shoved it into my pocket and cursed at the sky when it didn’t.

This wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than bad.

It was the kind of nothing-to-say that made my stomach churn.

What could he want me for?

A new accusation? A witness flipping?

Was Brad placing me in the frame as he’d threatened?

Or worse, was there a new piece of evidence that somehow pointed back at me?

The thought made me dizzy, and I leaned against the porch railing for support.

My head was full of noise—Boston, the case, the weight of what I might be walking back into.

And then there was Sam, waiting for me.

I glanced back at the warm glow of the cabin, my chest tightening even more.

How could I leave this—leave him—for whatever mess I had to face i n the city?

And worse, how could I not?

If I didn’t return, I’d be running, and running wasn’t an option.

I took a deep breath to suppress the panic clawing at my chest and stepped back inside.

Sam was sitting on the sofa, my coat folded neatly in his lap, his brow furrowed as if he’d been replaying something in his head.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, his voice soft but careful.

“I was going to come out to give it to you, but you went outside so it must be private…”

He trailed off, leaving the unspoken question hanging in the air.

He wanted me to fill in the blanks to explain why I’d taken the call outside.

All I wanted was a hug, maybe a kiss, and then to steer this conversation in a different direction.

“I wasn’t cold,” I lied, waving it off.

“But coffee would be good.”

Sam didn’t move.

His gaze locked on me, searching for something I wasn’t ready to give him.

“Everything okay?”

“Huh?” I avoided his eyes, heading toward the kitchen, hoping distance might take some weight off the moment.

“With the call?” he asked, more insistent this time.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile over my shoulder.

He frowned, and the tension between us tightened, filling the space like an unspoken challenge.

I hated how easily he could see through me, how quickly he picked up on the things I tried to bury.

Most of all, I hated that I had no way to give him the answers he was searching for, not without risking everything.

The NDAs I had signed weren’t just words on paper; they were shackles.

A single misstep, a stray confession to the wrong person, and I could lose more than I already had.

The thought of legal battles, financial ruin, and the weight of accusations pressed down on me like a vice.

But worse than that—worse than all of it—was the idea of bringing Sam into it.

Could I visit that burden on him?

Could I let him get too close when the truth could hurt him as much as it had hurt me?

Did it matter that he didn’t know the whole story?

I turned away. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, because then I wouldn’t have to see the concern in them.

I wouldn’t have to decide whether I could trust him with the pieces of myself.

I wasn’t sure I understood anymore.

“Who was calling you?” Sam’s voice was careful now as if he feared pushing me too hard but couldn’t stop himself.

I hesitated, gripping the edge of the counter tighter than necessary.

“It was just an old friend,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“Nothing more.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

When I turned back to look at him, his expression had shifted—still soft, but now with an edge of uncertainty.

He didn’t believe me, not entirely, but he wouldn’t press.

Not yet.

His expression was tight.

“Okay,” he said at last. He hated I didn’t tell him, and he deserved to know more.

He should know more if he was falling for me as hard as I was falling for him.

“It was my old work, my… well I guess I still work there.”

“They want you to go back?”

I snorted.

That was the last thing Crendon would want.

“There was some trouble there, and I got myself too involved.” Horror hit me.

“No, I don’t mean I was involved in the trouble, I mean… shit… I found out something and I told people who could do something about the thing, and…” I wasn’t making any sense.

“NDAs,” I finished lamely.

“Okay,” he said after a pause, standing and draping my coat over the back of the sofa.

He walked into the kitchen, brushing past me with a kiss to my cheek that felt too brief, too polite.

“Okay.”

“And you’d tell me if you were in trouble?”

“I am in trouble,” I blurted and wished I hadn’t said a thing when he tensed as though he expected trouble to come through the door.

“What I did, what I found, it makes me part of something I don’t want to be part of.”

“Is it the kind of trouble that can hurt you?”

“No, and I promise I won’t let it follow me here.”

I’ll leave before it could.

“I don’t care about that,” he said as if that was the truth.

He probably thought that, but if my name was dragged any deeper into the swamp that was Crendon then no one in my orbit would go unscathed.

“You should care.”

He smiled at me.

“I care about you .”

“I wish I didn’t have secrets.”

“You’ll tell me when you can,” he murmured.

Then he searched my eyes, seemingly satisfied, and smiled.

“Let’s change the subject.”

“I’m good with that.” We hugged for a while, and somehow, he made me feel it was okay to have my stupid secrets for now.

“I have something I think you might want to see,” he said finally.

“I bet you do,” I teased with a wink.

He blushed—full-on red—and then dipped his gaze.

“Not that. Well, that , but not this time. Shit… wait a minute.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me with the uncomfortable weight of his acceptance without knowing everything, and the questions I wasn’t ready to answer.