Page 47 of Love Story

I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to shake off the thoughts, but they clung to me like the scent of maple in the sugar shack.I’d spent so long chasing something I couldn’t define that I’d let go of everything that once mattered.Could I have both?Could I have him and a future that looked nothing like the one I’d once imagined?

Was I setting myself up to lose it all over again?

The moment felt quiet and perfect, but before I could say more, the two other workers in the sugarhouse came over for the remaining candy.The spell broke, and I was wrapping up to leave.

Sam helped me with my coat and then walked me to the door, and when we stepped into the cold night, he followed, lingering a little longer than he needed to.I turned back to say goodbye, but before I could, he was there, close enough to steal my breath.

“Thanks for letting me help,” I said, my voice almost lost in the icy air.

“Thanks for coming,” he replied, his voice low and warm.And then he leaned in.

His lips met mine, light at first and almost hesitant, but even that slight touch sent a wave of warmth through me.The cold, the snow, and the night itself faded, leaving only the heat between us.My fingers curled into his shirt, holding him there as if letting go might break the moment.

When we finally pulled apart, his gaze locked onto mine, his breath uneven, and I knew mine was no steadier.A shiver ran through him, and I realized then—he was the one trembling, not me.

“You don’t have a coat on,” I murmured, my hand pressing against his chest as if that could warm him.

He caught my fingers, his grip firm yet careful, and lifted them to his lips.A slow kiss brushed my palm before he folded my hand into a loose fist, his thumb smoothing over my knuckles.

“I don’t feel cold,” he whispered.“Not right now.”He gave me a small wave.“See you in the morning,” he murmured, his voice rough and quiet.

“Yeah,” I said, my heart racing as I stepped back.“See you then.”

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but wish I didn’t have to leave.

And I didn’t open my hand until I reached my car.

AFTER SIX WEEKSof long-ass days that I loved, Sugar season was ending, and as much as I did love it, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t ready for a break.The last of the sap had slowed to a trickle, the trees giving us everything they had for the season.By now, the buckets had been emptied, cleaned, and stored, and the sap lines coiled in the storage shed.The sugarhouse, usually humming with steam and activity, felt almost still.Almost.

The final step was cleaning everything—tanks, evaporators, pans—top to bottom.Maple syrup wasn’t just about tapping and boiling—it was about ensuring everything was ready for next year.It was tedious work, but it mattered.The season didn’t feel over until the sugarhouse gleamed like new, the equipment ready to sleep until the next flow.

I wiped my brow, glancing at the bottles we’d need to label and pack for shipping.If I played my cards right, I could leave this task to the seasonal workers and my parents.Mom loved double-checking the orders, and Dad always acted like he hated the paperwork but enjoyed grumbling over it.

Once the sugarhouse production part was shut down for the year, I’d have a few days to catch my breath, sleep in, and maybe get off the farm.It didn’t happen often, but I’d earned it this year.Between the heavier-than-usual flow and Ben showing up like a whirlwind of distraction and curiosity, it felt as if I hadn’t stopped moving since the first tap had gone in.

I spotted Ben outside, waiting for me to finish after I promised him I could take an hour to check out something he’d found on the property.I didn’t know what it was and didn’t care—I wanted to be in his company, and I’d use any excuse to make that happen.He’d started to stay longer than the few hours he’d volunteered for, and out there, bundled in his thick coat and scarf, he was entirely at home, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

A pang of something warm and vaguely terrifying went through me as I watched Ben.He had that faraway expression again, the one he got when he thought no one was watching.His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his scarf loose and windblown, and for a second, he looked so much as if he belonged here that it almost hurt.Maybe those days off wouldn’t be about resting alone.Perhaps I’d spend them figuring out how to tell him this farm wouldn’t feel the same without him being around.

And not sound like an idiot.

The sugarhouse door creaked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see my mom coming in, brushing snow from her sleeves.She’d been double-checking the inventory in the back, a task she insisted on doing herself every year.

She stopped next to me, her sharp eyes following my gaze.I returned to the task of scrubbing at a stubborn patch on the evaporator pan, trying not to seem too obvious.

“How’d the cleaning go?”I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“I’m finishing for now.There’s still more to do, though.”Her voice had that knowing lilt that set me on edge.She stayed quiet for a beat, then in a sing-song voice she asked, “So Mom, how did you know your father was the one for you?”

The question threw me off, and I straightened, wiping my hands on a rag.“Uh, what?”

She gave me a sly smile, her eyes darting back toward the window.“Well, you were about to ask me, weren’t you?”

Heat crept up the back of my neck.“I wasn’t—” I started, but the expression on her face made me stop.I sighed.“Okay, fine.How did you know?”

Mom crossed her arms, leaning against the workbench as though she had all the time in the world.“It wasn’t some big moment,” she said.“We were young, working hard on the farm, and one day, I realized I couldn’t picture a single part of my life without him in it.Even the bad parts, even the struggles.I wanted him there for all of it.He made me laugh when I wanted to cry and made me feel strong when I didn’t think I could be.That was how I knew.”

I glanced over to the window again, where Ben was still standing, his breath visible in the cold air.“And you’ve never… doubted it?”

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