Page 23 of Love Story

Inside, the library was warm.Old radiators warmed the corners, surrounded by wooden book stacks arranged in neat rows, their shelves crammed with books of every shape and size.The smell of books had always been my favorite—paper, ink, a hint of dust—it was like stepping into a sanctuary.Libraries had been my safe haven, providing an escape from chaos as a child, cramming for exams in college, and even later, fitting in visits during my lunch breaks in Boston.No matter where I was, a library always felt like home.

Two computers sat on a desk near the front, next to a sign offering internet access, and a bulletin board beside it listed community events in uneven rows of colorful flyers.

Harriet gestured toward the back.“Come on, let’s get you settled.I’ll show you the coffee machine and then the archive room.”

I nodded, following her deeper into the library, my footsteps echoing on the worn wooden floors.For the first time in what felt like ages, I felt as if I could breathe.

A WEEK HADpassed 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 werereallylooking?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 thiswasa 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.

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