Page 18

I WAS AT the stove, flipping pancakes, when I heard Ben’s soft footsteps behind me.

I didn’t turn around immediately because I wanted to finish the last batch, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

I saw him standing in the doorway, wearing my sweatshirt and looking as if he belonged here.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I teased, sliding another pancake onto the growing stack.

“I was beginning to think you’d sleep all day.”

Ben laughed, padding over to lean against the counter.

“Your bed is too comfortable. I might never leave.”

I set the pan aside and turned to him, pulling him closer by the hem of his borrowed sweatshirt.

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t,” I murmured before kissing him.

When we parted, I handed him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” I said, returning to the stove.

He eyed me over the rim of the mug.

“You make the best coffee.”

I carried the plate of pancakes to the table, “Do you have any plans today?”

He shook his head, settling into a chair.

“No.”

I hesitated, glancing out of the window at the bright morning light.

“I was thinking about heading to a local trail. Want to come?”

Ben’s face lit up with that shy smile.

“You don’t have to work?”

“I usually take two or three days to decompress and randomly check in on things, but apart from that, no.”

He glanced at his phone and frowned, but when he glanced up, he was smiling.

“A walk sounds perfect.”

The pancakes tasted better than usual, though I’d never admit it was due to the company.

Over breakfast, we discussed the trail, what we’d pack, and how long it might take.

It wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a quiet morning in my kitchen—but it felt like everything I’d ever wanted when I stole some kisses.

After we cleaned up, we packed a bag with snacks and water.

He put on his clothes, and then we grabbed our coats and headed out.

The hike was slow, with the ground still damp and muddy in places from the melting snow.

Ben stumbled a few times, and I caught his arm, teasing him about needing better boots.

He laughed it off, but he clung to me a little longer than necessary each time.

I heard Ben’s breath hitch when we reached the clearing I had aimed for.

The sunlight was muted, and the stream gurgled nearby, with ice cracking at the edges.

It was as beautiful as ever, but seeing it through Ben’s eyes made it feel brand-new.

I couldn’t stop glancing at Ben as we walked, his eyes bright with wonder as the trail opened into the clearing.

The view never failed to move me—Caldwell Crossing stretched out below, the lake shimmering in the distance, its surface mirroring the brilliant blue sky.

But this time, it wasn’t the landscape that caught my attention.

It was Ben.

Perfect.

Beautiful. Ben.

“This is incredible,” he remarked as he absorbed the view.

“You can see the entire town from up here.”

I stepped closer, slipping my arm around his waist. “It’s my favorite spot,” I admitted.

“I come here when I need to think.”

He leaned into me, his head resting on my shoulder.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

The world fell away as the moment stretched.

This felt right—it was meant to happen exactly this way.

“Ben?” I asked, turning to face him.

“Yeah?” His green eyes lifted to meet mine, and I swore I could see every vulnerable, hopeful thought swimming there.

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but… I like you. And I’d love to see where this could go. Maybe when you go back to Boston, I could visit, or you could come here?”

His lips parted, and my heart lodged in my throat for a second.

He frowned, and I waited for him to voice all the fears in my head—that this had been nothing more than an interlude, something to tide him over until he returned to the city.

He hesitated before letting out a breath.

“Sure,” was all he said.

Sure? I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that single word, but he held my hand, and we walked in silence until we reached the trailhead, and whatever was between us felt real.

I let myself believe I could convince Ben to stay.

As soon as we were close to a signal, his phone exploded with notifications, and his smile dropped again as he glanced at the screen.

“Okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

But nothing was okay—his smile was less, his laughter quieter, and if I found out who was making him so sad, I’d drop them in boiling syrup.

Or worse, sic my friends on them.

I dropped him at Harriet’s place and gave him a few more kisses, not caring who saw us.

“Remember, I would do anything to be with you forever,” he whispered, and I smiled.

“Same.”

Then I waited until he was inside the house, waving as he shut the door.

Jesus. I have it bad.

I HEADED STRAIGHT to the fire station, hoping Conor was on shift.

I was in luck—he was leaning against the side of the fire truck, scrolling through his phone, impossibly relaxed for someone on duty.

“Hey,” I called out, and he glanced up, grinning when he saw me.

“Sam Caldwell,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“What brings you to my kingdom of fire and heroism?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I need to talk.”

His grin softened into something more genuine.

“Sure thing. What’s up?”

I shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck.

“It’s… about Ben.”

Conor’s face lit up like Christmas morning.

“Oh, this is gonna be good. Hang on.” He pulled out his phone, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Let me summon the troops.”

“Wait—what?”

Ten minutes later, I was crammed into a room at the back of the fire station.

Coats lined the walls, and the faint scent of leather mixed with chocolate—Haider’s contribution from the shop.

It was a tight fit, with me squished between Ryan and Haider on one side, while Conor perched across from me, his feet propped up on a bench.

“So,” Conor said, clapping his hands together.

“Let’s talk about Samuel Caldwell and his feelings.”

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, my face heating up as Ryan and Haider exchanged amused glances.

“No, this is necessary,” Ryan said, giving me a gentle elbow nudge.

“You brought this on yourself by coming to Conor.”

“Exactly,” Conor said.

“Now, spill. What’s going on with you and Ben?”

I hesitated, glancing at Haider, who was unusually quiet, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“I… I don’t know. He makes me feel all weird.”

“‘Weird’?” Ryan repeated, grinning.

“Define weird.”

“Like…” I struggled for the words, gesturing helplessly.

“Like I want to be around him all the time. And when I’m not, I’m thinking about him. And when he smiles at me, it’s like nothing else matters.”

Haider’s face lit up.

“Sam, my dude, that’s not weird. That’s love.”

I froze.

“Love?”

“Yes, love,” Conor said emphatically.

“And you’re an idiot if you don’t do something about it.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair.

“And I think I fucked up.”

“How?”

“I said that I could imagine forever with him.”

Everyone stared at me with open-mouthed shock, and I forged ahead.

“But he’s going back to Boston, and what if I screw it up by being all ‘don’t go back to Boston and stay here with me instead.’” I added that last part with an exasperated sigh.

What did I know about falling in love?

“That’s what love is,” Haider said.

“Taking the risk. Go forth and boyfriend.”

Conor snickered, nodding.

“‘Go forth and boyfriend’. Solid advice.”

Ryan, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke up, his voice dry.

“Well, Conor’s off the hook for that thirty-year marriage pact.”

Conor barked out a laugh.

“Damn straight. I knew you’d find someone before I had to make good on that deal.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

“You’re all useless.”

“We’re supportive,” Ryan corrected, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“I can’t move to Boston,” I announced loudly.

There was a chorus of agreement.

“And if he leaves…”

“Convince him to stay.” Conor made it sound easy.

“Yep,” Ryan agreed.

Haider nodded.

“Someone may as well get to stay in town,” he sighed.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he said, way too fast. “Just, y’know, options are limited for jobs here, and I might need to think about…”

“About what?” None of this sounded like a good thing.

“Nothing!” Haider announced with a grin.

“Ignore me and go do your thing with the impossibly cute guy from the city.”

I sighed.

“He is cute, right?”

Haider rolled his eyes, “Yes, he’s cute.”

“So cute,” Ryan added.

“The cutest,” Conor said with a smirk.

I elbowed Ryan and Haider, then smacked Conor on the chest.

“I’ll go over in the morning and talk to him.”

“Why not now?” Conor asked, “Strike while the iron is hot.”

“Because I’m not… because…” I don’t know, but I needed time to think and develop a plan and script words that didn’t just dribble from my brain.

I was going to ask a man I’d only known a few months to stay in small-town New Hampshire with me, and that was big, particularly when I lost myself in his green eyes.

“Tomorrow,” I said with a stubborn tilt to my chin.

“Good call,” Haider said.

“Sleep on it,” Ryan added.

That was a plan.

I WISHED I’D gotten to Harriet’s house in the morning to talk to Ben, but the farm had other plans.

The sap collection might have been completed for the season, but that didn’t mean the work was done, and my two rest days were over.

One of the storage tanks had developed a slow leak overnight, and I spent half the morning scrambling to transfer the remaining syrup into backup containers before we lost too much.

Sticky floors, sticky hands, and sticky boots—it was a mess.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mom was down with a migraine, and I had to step in to deal with the local elementary school for their annual field trip to the farm.

Wired with excitement, ten kids tromped through the sugarhouse while I tried to explain how syrup was made.

Meanwhile, their teacher and a few frazzled parents kept offering me apologetic smiles as they wrangled the chaos.

I felt exhausted after the kids left, each of them clutching tiny syrup bottles like prized possessions.

I wiped my hands on a towel and glanced at the clock.

The morning had slipped away, and the farm was still a mess, but what could I do?

The farm always took priority; today, it needed me more than ever.

I managed to send Ben a couple of messages.

He hadn’t replied, but that was okay; I was seeing him now and was already smiling when Harriet answered the door.

“I’m here for Ben,” I began, but she shook her head to stop me and pressed a finger to trembling lips.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Ben’s left for Boston, Sam.”

“What? When? He didn’t tell me he was going—”

She handed me a note folded in four.

“What’s this?”

“He said I should give you that.”

I opened it up and read it to myself.

Sorry .

I turned it over for more—he hadn’t signed his name or put initials on it or anything.

What the hell?

“He never said… He got messages, but he said they were nothing. Has something happened?” Why wouldn’t he have messaged me?

Fear gripped me. Had trouble found him?

Was he in danger?

“He didn’t say,” Harriet said.

“He packed his luggage, said goodbye, and left.”

“Is he coming back?”

She shook her head, and her eyes, so much like Ben’s, were bright with emotion.

“He said he’d try his hardest to come back.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

I was upsetting her, and I backed off.

“Are you okay, Harriet?” I asked, ignoring the fact my heart was breaking.

He’d left. No goodbye, no message, just a sorry?

“Are you?” she countered, and although I was far from fucking okay, I nodded.

I was broken into pieces, but I didn’t say anything.

After we’d exchanged goodbyes, I headed down the path, checking my cell—maybe he’d finally left a message?

Still nothing.

I scared him away.

I told him he was my forever and freaking made him leave.

Had he ghosted me? Was this ghosting?

He would have messaged me if he meant me to know, right?

As I returned to my car, I moved from sadness to regret to anger and started to write a message.

Why did you go without saying goodbye…

backspace and delete

Why would you do this without telling me…

backspace and delete

Are you coming back …

backspace and delete

Sam: Hope you made it to Boston okay.

When I pressed send, I waited for a reply, but it was left on send for the ten minutes I stared at it, and I realized one thing.

If he was in trouble, he would have messaged me.

I told him I’d help.

I thought we’d gotten to a place where he could tell me if he was scared.

Had he gone back to Boston to confront this fucking trouble?

Or…

Maybe he wasn’t interested in me.

He’d lied, left, and taken my heart with him.

And then the anger mixed with the fear.

What if he was no different to Byron?