Page 43 of Love Story

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head.“Worse.A couple came into the shop this week.They were super nice and polite and asked if I could make them a bed frame, but not just any bed frame but with added functionality,” Ryan said, his grin widening.

Haider leaned forward; his interest piqued.“Wait, you mean—”

“Yep,” Ryan said, popping thepwith exaggerated emphasis.“They showed me this sketch with all these details—hidden compartments in the posts, spots for straps.”

Conor let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.“Sounds ambitious.”

“It is,” Ryan said.“And honestly?I’m kind of into it.I mean, I get to work on something one-of-a-kind.Plus, they’re paying me well, so I’m not complaining.How often do you get a project like this?The craftsmanship alone will be a challenge—and I like a challenge.The tricky part has been keeping a straight face when they come by to check in because they’re very clear about what they want and why.The wife especially—she’s got notes.‘Can you make the posts slimmer because I’m not that tall?’‘Will the compartments hold everything we need, like extra lube?’“

Conor tilted his head, thoughtful.“You could carve little hearts into the posts.Lean into the whole ‘Bound by Love’ theme.”

Ryan laughed, pointing his beer bottle at him.“Not a bad idea.I might suggest that if they stop by again.”

Haider leaned back, shaking his head in admiration.“Man, you get the most interesting clients.Meanwhile, I’m just here trying to figure out if I can drizzle maple syrup over chocolates without ruining the tempering.”

The room filled with easy laughter, and for a moment, everything felt light.I tried to focus on the conversation, but my mind drifted back to the kiss, and I was hyper-aware of Ben’s every movement: the way he leaned forward to grab another cracker, the sound of his laugh, the brush of his arm against mine as he settled back into the couch.It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.

“So, Ben,” Ryan said, a mischievous glint in his eye.“What do you think of our little town so far?”

I shot Ryan a warning glare, but Ben just chuckled.“It’s not Boston, that’s for sure,” he said, his voice warm.“Better.Also, I volunteered for bucket duty.”

“Bucket duty, huh?”Conor raised an eyebrow.“That’s not for the faint of heart.You sure you’re up for it, city boy?”

Ben nodded.“I want to try.”He glanced at me, and I felt a flutter in my stomach.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Haider chimed in.“The real test comes when you’re out in the cold, sap flying everywhere, and you’ve got to keep your cool.”

“Like you know,” Ryan huffed, “you usually show up when it’s all done.”

Haider pouted.“Early mornings in the snow aren’t good for my delicate chocolate-making hands,” he said, and everyone laughed—even Ben.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ben said, his enthusiasm genuine.“It’s all part of the experience, right?”

By the time our evening was done, I felt warm and happy and excited for the tapping and for more kissing.I didn’t get to kiss Ben goodbye because he was following Conor home, so he didn’t end up in the ditch again—his words, not mine— but he’d be here tomorrow at five a.m., and hell, maybe I’d steal a kiss then.

Damn right, I would.

LIFE MOVED ONso fast and today marked the fifth day of my early morning bucket collections, and I was up before dawn again, bundled in my goofy coat and boots, ready to face the cold and carry buckets of sap.Sam had walked me through everything on that first morning—checking the taps, emptying the buckets, hauling them to the sled—but it wasn’t hard to learn.The real challenge was not spilling half of it, and okay, maybe I had been a bit clumsy that first day, but I wasn’t as bad as Haider, according to Sam.That was a win in my book.

Every day, I showed up, the sugarhouse humming with life and heat, and each morning, Sam let me hang around for breakfast with everyone—seasonal workers, his parents, and sometimes random visitors.Over coffee and breakfast sandwiches, I’d soak in the syrup-focused conversations, so different from the numbers-and-coding world I’d left behind.

It felt good to be part of this, even if it was just for now.

And maybe that was why I kept coming back—because here, for a few hours, I could forget about the rest of my life.About the increasingly loud feedback on the WordBook platform, where, yes, my review of Nelson’s book had gone viral.

I’d never meant for that stupid review to spiral into this.I’d written the original summary in a moment of raw frustration, my life falling apart around me, and the flaws in the book—especially the glaring lack of research on financial and tech matters—felt like a personal attack.I’d said as much, harsher than I should have, and then I’d pulled the review down when I realized it wasn’t the author’s fault my life was in ruins.

But his super fans had screenshotted my ranting, unhinged review, shared it, debated it, and somehow turned it into a full-blown conspiracy about ghostwriting and the legitimacy of Nelson’s entire body of work.The fandom was tearing itself apart, and though I’d posted a more reasoned follow-up review focusing on the emotions the book had evoked rather than its technical failings, it was too late.

Whenever I checked WordBook or other social media, my handle was plastered across comment threads, accusations, and think pieces.Some people agreed with me—most didn’t.And while I’d tried to distance myself from the chaos, I couldn’t quite bring myself to log out entirely.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Theo had been making noises about me returning to Boston in his best neutral-lawyer tone.Brad hadn’t given enough information to close the case on the other participants.The prosecution needed me, the case was moving, and there was a real chance I’d have to testify in person.

Sixty-forty had become eighty-twenty, and the thought of stepping back into the city made my stomach churn.I wasn’t ready to face Boston—or the ghosts I’d left behind there.But Theo wasn’t optimistic about keeping me out of it.

I wasn’t ready to leave Sam and here in the sugarhouse, none of what was going on outside mattered.The scent of boiling sap, the laughter around the picnic benches where we ate breakfast under heat lights, and Sam’s quiet, steady presence were enough to drown out the noise, at least for a while.But even as I scraped the last of my egg sandwich from its wrapper, I couldn’t stop the faint prickle of anxiety creeping up my spine.

How much longer could I stay off the grid before everything I’d left behind caught up with me?

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