Page 7

A WEEK HAD passed since Haider’s party, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake Ben from my mind.

It was ridiculous. Why should a guy I barely knew occupy space in my head?

Was it because he’d fit perfectly in my arms that night, light and fragile, as if I’d break him if I weren’t careful?

Or was it the sadness in his eyes that you wouldn’t see unless you were really looking?

Maybe it was how he smiled when he thanked me for helping him find things in the grocery store—hesitant, yet grateful in a way that felt too big for the moment.

Maybe it was because he differed from Byron in so many ways, and I felt I could trust him.

I’m an idiot. I trusted Byron.

I needed to head into the city and get laid.

That was it.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the task at hand, and today, it was clearing the north line of sap tubing after a storm had knocked down a tree.

Typically, this would’ve been a solo job, but for some reason, Mom had bundled up against the cold and insisted on helping.

Only, instead of helping, she stood a few feet away, wrapped in a thick coat and scarf, her gloved hands holding a pair of pruning shears, and she was observing.

Precisely what she did when she had something to say.

“Who’s watching the store?” I asked, tossing a branch to the side as I worked along the line.

The Sugarworks Store wasn’t big, nothing more than three aisles with a register at the front.

It held some of Ryan’s carvings, souvenirs from New Hampshire, homemade ice-cream, bottles of syrup, but it did get busy at times.

Luckily that was mom and dad’s domain and not mine.

Although I did get involved in ideas about what we stocked and was me who suggested had some moose plushies wearing Sugarworks T’s, because the kids who came here to visit loved them.

“Your dad is doing it,” she said, her tone light but pointed.

I stopped mid-motion and raised an eyebrow.

“Dad volunteered to watch the store?”

She smirked, adjusting her gloves.

“Voluntold is more like it. You know how much he loves chatting with customers.”

I snorted.

Dad wasn’t the warm-and-welcoming type.

He was great with the farm work but put him behind the counter for even an hour, and he started acting like a bear trapped in a cage.

“He’ll scare off half our regulars.”

“Oh, stop. He’ll manage,” she said, waving me off.

“Besides, it gives me a chance to spend time with you out here.”

“Okay,” I said with caution because any minute now…

“So, the craft group chat was fun last night. We discussed how our farm should consider setting up an online shop.”

Mom and the rest of the group—where she was the youngest, and her attendance brought the average age down to seventy—had been talking about computer stuff.

“An online shop?” I echoed; not sure I’d heard her right.

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“It’s time. Everyone is doing it. If Ryan can sell his art to people in California, why can’t we sell our maple syrup?”

She had a point, but the idea of handling all that tech made my stomach churn.

“You know my IT skills are limited to turning things off and on again, right?”

She waved away my comment as if that didn’t matter.

“So anyway, Harriet started telling us about her young Ben, and I understand you met him in the grocery store?”

Ah, so this was a Ben thing.

I sent her a pointed glance, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

She snipped at a stray branch I’d removed as if that helped.

“Anyway, Ben’s at a loose end, so she’s asking him to help her in the library, but it seems he’s got a knack for computers.”

“Okay,” I said as I cleared what she’d cut.

“Well, I saw an opportunity and told Harriet that you and Ben should conference in, or whatever the young people call it these days,” she said brightly.

“He can help you with the shop.”

I dropped the branch I was holding and gave her a look.

“Mom.”

“What?” she asked, all innocence, but I caught the glint in her eye.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned.

“I know that matchmaking tone. Leave the poor guy alone.” Please leave me alone.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning offense.

“I wasn’t matchmaking.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, bending to pick up another branch.

“I don’t need your help to meet someone.”

“You’re twenty-nine, Sam; someone has to. And he’s thirty-eight and single.”

“Mom…”

“Fine, fine,” she said, but the smile tugging at her lips told me she wasn’t convinced.

“Still, asking that cutie about the website wouldn’t hurt. It’s not matchmaking if it’s work.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue.

The truth was, she wasn’t wrong.

We needed an online presence, and if Ben had the skills, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

Not that I was about to admit that to her.

The grocery store had caught me off guard—Ben, standing there with those intense eyes, the kind of green you could drown in, and this vulnerable expression that made my chest ache.

I’d never felt so off-balance, and now, thinking about finding an excuse to see him again, I felt…

nervous… excited. That was new—this restless, jittery energy that had nothing to do with sap lines or tapping season.

All I knew was I wanted to see him and find out more about the man who managed to look so lost.

“Maybe I’ll ask him,” I conceded, and thank God, Mom left it there.

We worked in comfortable silence for a while after that, the sound of branches snapping and the occasional hum of the wind filling the space between us.

Mom broke the quiet, mentioning how lucky we were to have savings to weather bad years, the land paid off, and the farm steady under our feet.

I nodded, the weight of it all grounding me.

My whole future was tied up here, and I was okay with that.

More than okay—I was happy.

Even if my mom couldn’t help but call Ben a cutie.

And even though I was desperate to see him again.

I PARKED OUTSIDE the library, the truck’s tires crunching over the snow-packed lot for my Friday catch-up with Conor, Haider, and Ryan, putting the world to rights and downing beer—well, not me; I was driving and would stick to soda, but the intent was there.

I was eager to tell them about Mom’s matchmaking because they could reassure me that she was meddling, and that Ben wasn’t my type.

Only, as I stepped out into the crisp air, ready to head to Lucy’s Bar, I spotted Ben himself standing on the steps of the library, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a heavy coat.

He turned toward me as I approached, his face lighting up for half a second before shifting into something more reserved.

Awkwardness radiated from him as we both mumbled greetings.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi,” he replied.

Small talk was not my thing, and I was about to comment on the weather because I was that desperate when Ben stepped closer, his boots catching on a patch of snow.

He slipped.

Without thinking, I grabbed him around the waist before he could hit the ground.

His hands landed on my chest, steadying himself as I pulled him upright.

“Whoa,” I said, my voice lower than I intended.

For that split second, I held him tight and all my protective instincts rushed to the fore.

He was bulky under all those layers, small but strong in a quiet way.

His face was inches from mine, his breath visible in the cold air.

For a moment, it was just us, too close, the world blurring into the background.

If I tilted my head a little—

I didn’t.

I set him upright instead, feeling the faint tremble in his frame, as though he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to stand.

But he did, and I let my hands drop away before I could forget to let go.

“You’ve saved me again,” Ben muttered, his face redder than the scarf around his neck.

“I promise I’m not usually this clumsy.”

Before I could respond, Haider’s voice rang out, bright and unmistakable.

“Hey, Ben!”

I turned to see Haider bounding up the steps, his energy as blinding as his sparkly winter coat—some iridescent thing in greens and silvers that only he could pull off without looking ridiculous.

He glittered under the streetlamp, his curls bouncing with each step, a grin plastered across his face as if he’d won the lottery.

Haider made a beeline straight for him, threading his arm through Ben’s as if they’d been best friends for years.

Ben was startled, his mouth opening, caught mid-breath as Haider leaned in with his trademark charm.

“Ben! It’s so good to see you!” Haider exclaimed, his voice warm and effusive, like running into Ben on the library steps was the highlight of his week.

Ben blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh… um.”

“Haider,” he finished.

“I’ve heard all about you, Ben-from-Boston.”

“You have,” Ben said, meeting my gaze, panicked.

“Look how well we fit together,” Haider said, holding their linked arms aloft as if he were showing off a prize.

His grin turned sly as he added, “Don’t you think we make the perfect pair?”

Ben flushed red.

“I… I’m not sure what—”

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Haider said, patting Ben’s arm and leaning closer.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Ben glanced at me, looking for help, but I could only raise an eyebrow.

Haider was a storm that you waited to pass, and I wasn’t getting in the way despite my visceral feeling Haider shouldn’t have his hands on my Ben.

Ben.

Not my Ben. For fuck’s sake.

“Come have a drink with us,” Haider said, tugging Ben toward the door as though the decision had already been made.

“I really shouldn’t intrude,” Ben protested, his tone hesitant and his feet dragging as Haider led him down the sidewalk.

“Of course, you can,” Haider replied breezily, his grip on Ben’s arm firm and his confidence unwavering.

“I insist.”

Ben cast one last pleading glance in my direction, his expression a mix of uncertainty and embarrassment, but I didn’t step in.

Haider had this way of sweeping people along, and to be honest, I was curious to see how Ben handled it.

As they passed me, Haider glanced back, his grin widening, making me want to roll my eyes.

He tilted his head, locked eyes with me, and mouthed one word: “Dibs.”

I groaned under my breath, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as I followed them toward the bar.

Haider’s flirting was like a freight train—unstoppable, relentless, and borderline absurd.

Ben had no idea what to do with it, and I couldn’t tell if that would make things better or worse.

But one thing was clear—Haider was in full pursuit, and whether Ben realized it or not, he’d just been pulled into the chaos of Haider’s orbit.

I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Lucy’s Bar was our usual haunt, and we always claimed the same corner booth and sat in the same places—until tonight.

Ben sat between Haider and Conor, throwing off the balance of things.

Haider was glued to his side, chatting and laughing as if they’d known each other forever.

It irritated me, though I couldn’t figure out why at first. Maybe it was because Ben wasn’t part of our foursome.

He was an outsider, an interloper.

The dynamic felt off.

Wrong.

Or maybe it was the way Haider kept touching him.

Not in an obvious way—Haider was always tactile, always draping himself over Conor, Ryan, or me—but it felt different tonight.

He rested a hand on Ben’s arm, leaned close when Ben spoke, and reached up to adjust Ben’s scarf as if they were an old married couple.

Usually, Haider would’ve been curled up next to Conor, calling him his “favorite pillow.” But tonight?

He was focused on Ben.

Ben, for his part, seemed a little uncomfortable, not about the touching—he appeared to lean into that and blushed as though he couldn’t understand the affection.

Or maybe I was imagining it.

He tried to keep up with the conversation and explained his job in Boston in as few words as possible.

“I worked in IT,” he said, his voice steady but not relaxed.

“Supported a dealing desk in an investment company. Burned out.”

There was more to the story.

I could feel the weight behind his words and saw how he glanced down when he said, “burned out,” like it didn’t begin to cover it.

Before I could ask, Conor jumped in, steering the conversation toward Founder’s Day in May.

“So… Fire risk management is a nightmare for the stage this year,” he said, shaking his head.

“The manager for one of the acts wants a bunch of pyrotechnics for their show and isn’t taking no for an answer.”

“Who’s the act?” I asked.

Conor leaned forward, lowering his voice as if he were about to spill state secrets.

“No sharing, but it’s The Dallas Blade Band.”

I blinked.

“Uh… who?”

Haider’s mouth dropped open as if I’d insulted his mother.

Ryan froze mid-sip, then set it down with care, as though he couldn’t trust himself not to hurl it across the table.

“You’re kidding, right?” Ryan said.

I glanced between them, confused.

“Are they… famous?”

Conor let out a disbelieving laugh.

“You have no idea.”

“What’s the big deal?” I asked, still not getting it.

“Why are they playing here, in Caldwell Crossing? Did they lose a bet?”

Conor shrugged, looking as baffled as me.

“No freaking idea.”

“It’s not all stress, though, Con; tell them about the parrot,” Ryan prompted.

Conor leaned back in his chair, beer in hand, his grin stretching wide as he prepared to launch into another story.

“All right, you’ll love this one,” he said, glancing at the rest of us, including Ben.

“We got called out last week to a supposed ‘rescue situation.’ Big emergency, super-urgent. Turns out it’s a parrot stuck in a tree. Not a cat—a bird . That flies!”

“A parrot?” Haider snorted, nearly choking on his drink.

“Did you guys get it down?”

“Oh, we got it down,” Conor said, smirking.

“The owner is standing there, calling it down with the most ridiculous phrases—’Come here, sweet pea!’ ‘Polly want a cracker?’—you name it. Nothing works. Finally, one of the guys climbs up, and just as he’s reaching for the bird, the damn thing squawks, ‘Don’t touch me, asshole!’ and flies to another tree.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, as did everyone else.

Haider was wheezing, clutching his side.

“You’re telling me the parrot had an attitude?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Conor said, grinning.

“Took us an hour to catch the little fucker, and it cursed out every single one of us before we finally got it in the cage and back to the aviary.”

Ryan shook his head, still chuckling.

“I don’t know what’s funnier—the bird or the fact that someone called you guys for that.”

“Hey, we’re public servants,” Conor said, mock-serious.

“Even the rude parrots need saving.”

Haider laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, and I sat back, enjoying the moment.

Ben smiled, but I caught how he shifted in his seat, as though he was pulling back into himself.

As the night got louder, Conor and Haider swapped ridiculous stories.

All I knew was that I couldn’t stop watching him, even as we all said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, with Haider gripping Ben’s arm as though he was going to fall.

So much for Mom’s matchmaking when Haider was already interested.

Not that Ben was a side of meat we were lining up for.

I was almost at my car when someone called my name.

“Sam, wait!”

I turned in time to see Ben hurrying after me, his boots losing traction as he slid on the ice.

I stepped forward, reaching out to steady him before he could go down.

He didn’t.

That was good, right?

I didn’t have to scoop him up.

Shame.

Tiny flakes of snow drifted down in the lazy, quiet way that always made the world feel smaller, as though it was only the two of us standing there on the library steps.

The air was crisp, biting at my nose and ears, and the faint crunch of boots on snow from passing pedestrians was the only sound besides Ben’s voice.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said, his words a little hesitant, his eyes flicking up to meet mine before darting away.

“For helping me with the car thing. And taking me to the hospital. And in the store, and on the steps… for looking after me.”

“It’s all good,” I said, shrugging it off.

But my voice came out softer than I intended, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Ben shifted slightly, his breath visible in the frosty air, and I noticed how his hands tightened on the edges of his coat as if trying to steel himself.

“More importantly, the car accident,” he said, then swallowed.

“Most people would have called emergency services and gone.”

“I’m not most people,” I replied.

I wasn’t the kind to leave someone in a ditch and walk away.

He looked up at me, properly, his green gaze serious.

“I know,” he said. His hand brushed my arm, the touch barely there but enough to send a wave of warmth through me despite the cold.

“I’m not used to relying on people now.”

We were standing too close now, the space between us filled with falling snow and something heavier, something I couldn’t quite name but could feel all the same.

His touch lingered, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—as if this was where I was supposed to be, with him, in this moment.

I fought the urge to step closer, tilt my head, and close the gap between us.

It would’ve been easy.

Too easy. His lips were right there, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and his eyes had this quiet kind of vulnerability that made me want to pull him closer and promise I’d keep him safe from all kinds of ditches and library steps.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Instead, I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady as I said, “You’re tougher than you look.”

Ben blinked, his hand dropping back to his side.

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He smiled—small and shy—but it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I was in trouble, and I knew it.

Still, I shoved the thought aside, burying my hands deeper in my jacket pockets to stop myself from reaching for him.

Snow kept falling, silent and steady, and for one breathless moment, the world shrank to just the two of us and the cold bite of winter in the air.

“Okay, night,” Ben said and threw me a wave.

He only had a short way to go to Harriet’s place, but I watched him walk in that direction and waited until he turned the corner. Just in case.