Page 30 of Love Story

I ran my hand over the spiles, counting one last time out of habit.It felt strange, this calm before everything started—like standing on the edge of something bigger.Soon, the sugarhouse would be filled with steam and the smell of boiling sap.Soon, we’d be chasing the flow, tapping hundreds of trees, moving fast to keep up with the season that waited for no one.

I glanced at Mom and Dad.These moments, standing here with them before the rush hit, were the ones that stuck with me year after year.Small, quiet, and significant in ways I didn’t always know how to put into words.

“Saturday it is,” I said, the words feeling like a promise.“Tap the Year.”

The season was almost here.I could feel it.And there was no stopping it now.

Mom’s phone pinged from her coat pocket, and she pulled it out, squinting at the screen.Her eyebrows lifted slightly before she smoothed her expression as if I wouldn’t notice.

“We have to go,” she announced.

“Everything okay?”I asked.

“Oh, yes, fine,” she said too quickly, tucking the phone back into her pocket.“I just remembered I need to check on something in the main house.”She turned toward Dad, placing a hand on his arm.“Come on, dear, I need your help.”

Dad frowned, still bent over the hydrometer.“I’m in the middle of—”

“Now, Arthur.”She was firm, giving him a pointed look that clearly said don’t-argue-with-me.

Dad sighed, setting the tool down with a resigned grunt.“Fine, fine.”

“Come on,” she said, already ushering him toward the door, her tone bright and just a little forced.

I stood and watched as they left, Mom herding Dad out like he was some unruly sheep.“Uh… okay,” I muttered, half under my breath.“Bye, I guess.”

The door closed behind them, leaving the prep room unusually quiet.I stared at it briefly, then shook my head, returning to the spiles.It wasn’t like Mom to make flimsy excuses—she wasn’t subtle when she wanted to get something done.

“What the hell was that about?”I muttered to myself but didn’t linger on it too long.If it were something important, she’d tell me.Eventually.

Probably.

I had sap lines to get in order and a season to prepare for, and whatever Mom was up to could wait—though I couldn’t shake the feeling she was up tosomething.

“SAM?”

I turned and looked up to see what could only be described as a massive bundle of clothing, with Ben’s face barely visible beneath it.

“Your mom sent me down here,” he said, his voice muffled by the thick layers.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the work table.“Sent you to help?You don’t exactly look prepared to wrestle sap lines.”

“No, no.”He tugged the scarf down enough for me to see his mouth, and sure enough, his face was flushed—whether from cold or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell.“Not to help.I needed to talk to you about… something I found, and your mom said it would be something you’d want to know about.”

Something about his tone piqued my curiosity.“Oh?”

“Yeah.”His brown eyes brightened with enthusiasm.“I’ve been helping Harriet organize old donations at the library, and I came across a set of letters.They’re… Samuel P.Caldwell’s letters.Or at least, they’re addressed to him—from Clara, his wife.”

“TheSamuel P.Caldwell?”

Ben nodded, his excitement growing.“The founder of Caldwell Crossing.I’ve read a couple of them, and they’re incredible.”He paused as though he wasn’t sure if he was oversharing.“Anyway, some letters even mention Stonebridge Maple Farm locations, and your mom says you’d know better than she does.About your family’s farm, I mean.”

Well, that was a crock of shit.My parents had shown me every nook and cranny of our acreage, so why would she…

And then it hit me.

She hadn’t sent Ben here because I was an expert—she was matchmaking.Again.

“Isn’t that exciting?”Ben added and waited for me to answer.

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