Page 29 of Love Story

I blinked, completely thrown.“What about him?”

She laughed, shaking her head.“It would be best if you took these to him and his parents.I’m sure he’d be fascinated, and they can decide if they want to donate to the historical society.”

I stared at the letters, my mind spinning.Of course, it had to be Sam.The guy who’d pulled me out of the ditch helped me when I didn’t even ask for it, then caught me on steps and stared at me as though I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

“Okay.”

“Here.”She handed me two books—both thrillers I hadn’t read yet, and both still in plastic wrap.“These need to go to Stonebridge Farm, reserved by Sam’s dad.You can take them over now.Kill two birds and all that.”

“I can what now?”I asked.Was this a thing?Hand-delivering reserved books to readers?

She rooted in her voluminous purse and pulled out keys.“Take my car.It has snow tires.Head back out of town, and on the road that you slid off from, carry on down there.That is where the Caldwell family farm is.Stonebridge, it’s called.You have to go over the covered bridge, which isn’t stone but wood, so why they call it Stonebridge, I don’t know.”All the time she talked, she was collecting the letters, putting them into a Caldwell Crossing library bag, and adding the two wrapped books, and somehow I was outside the door, with my coat on, holding the bag and keys, and I genuinely had no idea how she did all that.

“Oh well, guess I’m delivering books,” I muttered, walking the short distance to Harriet’s place and opening her solid-looking Toyota, noting its snow tires as I did.“Go, Harriet,” I said to the car, then closed the door, belted up, adjusted the seat, and headed away from town.“Let’s hope I don’t end up in another ditch.”

I WAS INthe prep room, elbow-deep in a box of fresh spiles, counting them out for the upcoming runs, when Mom’s voice floated over my shoulder.

“You know, Haider’s chocolates were a hit in the store yesterday,” she said, all casual, as if she wasn’t trying to bait me into another conversation about cross-promotion.I was too busy waiting for day one of tapping to get into issues in the shop.We hadn’t decided yet whether to carry them permanently because that would mean an investment in more stock, and that kind of thing was decided at a family meeting.

However, Dad was also there when I glanced up, so this could be a family meeting.Typically, we’d sit in the kitchen with coffee and cookies, and the air here was chilly, but at least it smelled of woodsmoke and syrup—two scents that had been part of my life for as long as I could remember.

“You mean the chocolates he made with our syrup?”

“The very same,” Mom replied, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.With her arms crossed, she was leaning against an old worktable, while Dad sat on a stool nearby, tinkering with a hydrometer as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.“He’s calling them ‘Golden Drizzle.’I think they’ll sell like crazy if we do some boxed sets with our syrup.”

“‘Golden Drizzle,’” I muttered, shaking my head as I straightened up.“Sounds like he’s naming a soap, not a chocolate.”

Dad snorted, and Mom rolled her eyes at him.

“It doesn’t matter what they’re called,” she said.“People buy anything as long as it tastes good, and theydotaste good,” Mom added pointedly, leveling me with one of her stares.“I think we should talk to him about a partnership—maybe get our branding on those boxes.”

“‘Branding’?”I raised an eyebrow, wiping my hands on my jeans.“I thought we were maple syrup farmers, not corporate executives.”

“Can’t we be both?”she shot back with a grin.

I didn’t argue because she was probably right.Haider’s chocolates were excellent, and if they brought more attention to the syrup, then okay.It was good business.I crouched again, finishing my inventory, half-listening as Mom and Dad bickered over whether the Golden Drizzle needed a new name.

The place hummed with the quiet anticipation that always came right before the season started.Mom had been fussing over a clipboard for three days, Dad was rechecking equipment like he always did, and I was finishing up with the spiles when Mom broke the silence.

“So, we need to decide on the date for the annual Tap the Year gathering,” she said, not glancing up from her notes.

Tap the Year was one of those traditions that felt as though it had existed forever—the kind of thing no one in town questioned anymore.Every year, before the first tree was tapped and the chaos of sugaring season took over, we’d hold a small gathering out in the sugarbush—family, friends, a handful of neighbors, and anyone else who decided to drop by.Mom would bring coffee and donuts.Dad would say a few words about weather, history, or both, and then we’d tap the ceremonial first tree of the year together.

It wasn’t on a fixed date—it couldn’t be, not with how unpredictable the weather could be this time of year.The gathering happened a couple of days before the real tapping began, that brief window when the season was close enough to touch but hadn’t quite started yet.It was tradition, and tradition mattered around here.

“Feels like it’s going to happen early this year,” Dad said, straightening from where he’d been checking the evaporator valves.“If the weather holds.”

I nodded.He was right.You could feel it in the air—the mornings were cold enough to freeze your breath, but the afternoons were starting to get that little hint of warmth, and the snow was melting.The freeze-thaw swing was coming, and once it started, we’d be racing to keep up with the sap flow.

“The weekend, maybe?”Mom suggested, tapping the clipboard with the end of her pen.“That gives us a few days’ buffer before we start tapping in earnest.”

“Saturday works,” I said.“After that, it will be too busy to stop for anything.”

Dad grunted in agreement, folding his arms across his chest.“It always sneaks up.One day, we’re waiting; the next, we can barely keep up.”

He wasn’t wrong.Tapping season was a blur of cold hands, long days, and endless back-and-forth across the sugarbush.Once the trees woke up and the sap started flowing, there was no stopping until it was done.

Mom smiled, her gaze softening as she glanced between us.“The weather’s right.It’s been a cold winter, and the sap will be sweet this year.We’ll get everyone together for coffee and donuts and start the season right.Saturday.”

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