Page 35 of Love Story

Ben might be the same, a nagging voice whispered in my head.What if he looked at my friends and saw liabilities instead of blessings?What if he thought my routine—my early mornings and late nights at the sugar shack, my quiet evenings on the farm—was too small, too simple for someone used to the fast pace of the city?

But then I thought about how Ben had laughed with Haider, had listened when Ryan spoke, and joined in with Conor’s stories without hesitation.I remembered how he’d asked questions about the farm, as though he genuinely wanted to know the answers.

But he has secrets.He hasn’t told me what sent him here?He hasn’t said he won’t be going back.

Maybe Ben wasn’t Byron.Maybe Benwasdifferent.But the fear of being wrong, of opening my heart only to watch him leave, still clawed at my chest.

Later, in the quiet of my room, I opened the first box, pulling out faded photos of faces I barely recognized, and scraps of paper covered in my grandmother’s looping handwriting.Beneath the pile of photographs, I found a small, weathered leather ledger.

The name on the cover stopped me in my tracks.

Samuel Phineas Caldwell.I knew thePstood for something old-fashioned, and I was never so glad to hear I was named Samuel after him instead of Phineas.Imagine being at school with a name immortalized in a cartoon show.

My great-great-grandfather’s handwriting filled the pages, each line neat and deliberate.Most of it was what I expected—entries about sap yields, weather patterns, and the cost of supplies—but then there were the strange notations.Phrases that didn’t make sense were scattered among the practical notes:

Sweetheart’s Haven.

The beacon of the grove.

The words sent a jolt of curiosity through me.

I leaned back in my chair, turning the page carefully.Whatever Samuel had written here, it felt as though he’d left it for someone to find, and I bet Ben would love this.

And I’d love helping him.

SATURDAY MORNING, FORthe first time in ages, I woke up after a nightmare-free sleep, feeling… excited.I wasn’t anxious, weighed down by dread, nor overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’d left behind—I was just excited.

I stretched in bed, blinking up at the ceiling of the little apartment over Harriet’s garage, and a smile tugged at my lips.It felt strange, as though I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, but it was there.And not even the two messages from the auditors sitting unread on my phone or the email from my lawyer was going to ruin it.

The city was down there, far enough away to feel like another life.And I was up here, in snowy New Hampshire, with fresh air, quiet mornings, and something like peace beginning to settle in my chest.Maybe I wanted to smile.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed my phone to silence the notifications without reading them.Today wasn’t about the city or lawyers or any of that crap.Today was about the farm, the gathering, and—if I were being honest—seeing Sam again.

The thought made me grin like an idiot.I shook my head, running a hand through my hair as I stood and headed to the bathroom.

The shower was hot, the steam filling the small space as I let the water wash over me.For once, I wasn’t running through arguments in my head or mentally drafting emails I didn’t want to send.I wasn’t thinking about the things I’d lost or didn’t know how to rebuild.

Instead, I imagined the day ahead—the snow crunching underfoot, the sugarbush, hot coffee, and donuts, and how Sam might look when he smiled at me, his blue eyes bright with enthusiasm.

I shook the smile away as I reached for the soap, but it lingered, warm and persistent.Today felt different.Better.And I was hard for the first time in what felt like forever.

I tried not to make a big deal of it, but as I lathered up, my mind wandered.It had been months since I’d felt anything close to arousal.What happened in Boston had stolen so much from me: money, my career, my boyfriend, and my libido.But here it was, making an unexpected appearance on a random Saturday.

The warm water cascaded over my shoulders, and I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation.It was more than physical—it felt like waking up after a long, dreamless sleep.I allowed my hand to drift lower, curious and a little hesitant, afraid the moment would slip away.

I gasped at the contact, overwhelmed after so long, but in the best possible way.My breath quickened as I leaned against the cool tile wall.I considered indulging further for a moment, but I was due down at breakfast in thirty minutes.“How long do you think it’s gonna take?”I asked the shampoo bottle.

It’s a quick release to prove it all works.

I bit my lip, hesitating before giving in to temptation.My hand moved slowly at first, relearning familiar rhythms.The water pounded my back as I stroked myself, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift.For once, the memories of Boston didn’t intrude.Instead, I imagined strong hands, the brush of Sam’s lips over mine, the press of his body, and the longing to be touched again.My movements grew faster, more urgent.With my free hand, I braced myself against the wall.The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might snap.

I imagined Sam’s piercing blue eyes gazing up at me, full of desire.In my mind’s eye, I saw him on his knees before me, his hair even darker from the shower spray.The thought of his full lips parting, his tongue darting out to taste me, sent a jolt through my body.

My fingers tightened around my shaft as I pictured Sam’s strong hands gripping my thighs.I could almost feel the heat of his mouth, the wet slide of his tongue.My hips jerked involuntarily, chasing the phantom sensation.

The coil of pleasure wound impossibly tighter.I bit back a moan, my teeth digging into my lower lip.My legs trembled as I approached the edge, Sam’s imagined touch pushing me closer and closer.Those blue eyes, looking up at me with such intensity…

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