Page 48 of Love Story

“Not for a second!When you know, you know.And, sweetheart,” she added, her tone softening, “it doesn’t hurt if he’s got a good heart.Like Ben does.”

I snapped my head toward her.“I didn’t say it was Ben.”

Her smile widened, pure smugness radiating from her.“You didn’t have to.”

“Mom…” I groaned, but the teasing glint in her eye didn’t fade.

“Harriet and I knew you two would hit it off,” she said, proud of herself.“She’s been saying for weeks how nice it’d be if her great-nephew found someone here, and I—”

“Mom!”I interrupted, feeling a mix of exasperation and something I didn’t want to examine too closely.“Seriously?”

She chuckled, patting my arm as she turned back for the door.“Just don’t take too long figuring it out, Sam.Life’s too short.”

As the door swung shut behind her, I let out a long breath, my gaze returning to the window.Ben checked his watch and then started walking back to the sugarhouse, his steps slow and measured.And for all my mom’s meddling, one thing she’d said stuck in my head—when you know, you know.

Maybe she was right.

I pulled on my coat, gave the sugarhouse one last check, and waited until he came inside.

“Am I too early?”he asked, but before I could tell him it was all good, he tugged me into a hug, warm and tight, as if he couldn’t help himself.I didn’t mind.Not one bit.

“Okay, so,” he started as he pulled back, his words spilling out in a rush.“I’ve been reading more about Sam P.and Clara, digging into what the letters say, and there’s so much drama!Like, actual soap opera-levels.”

I raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to grin.“Yeah?”

“Yeah!All these issues involved them falling in love because their families were rivals—like, full-on, Hatfield-and-McCoy style, rival farms.”He was talking fast, his hands waving for emphasis, and I was drawn into his energy.“Clara’s dad and Samuel’s dad hated each other, and it all came down to this land.They didn’t want them to be together, but Sam P.and Clara didn’t care what people thought.It’s so romantic.”

He paused, rummaging through the bag slung over his shoulder, and pulled out an old, folded map.The edges were frayed, and the paper was yellowed with age.“Look at this.See?”He spread it out on a bench, pointing to the lines that divided the property.“Your land used to be split over the ridge.Samuel’s family had one side, and Clara’s had the other.When they married, and after Clara’s father passed, all this”—he waved over the map—”became Caldwell land.”

I leaned in as if studying the layout, but mostly, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.He was bouncing on his toes, his enthusiasm infectious.

“This would make such a good story for an Adam Nelson book,” he said.“Of course, he’d have to add in a murder or two.Maybe a poisoning—farm drama and a mystery.Perfect.I should send the idea to him, but… yeah, I doubt he’d talk to me if he ever found out what I did.”

“What are you talking about—”

“Never mind,” he said with a frown.Then his expression brightened even more than when I first saw him, which I didn’t think was possible.“Can you show me the grove today?I was happy to go alone, but I really want to share it with you.”

I hesitated, glancing out of the window.The snow had melted over the past few days, leaving the ground muddy.“It’s at least a mile away,” I said, watching closely for any sign of hesitation, but the mud didn’t deter him.

He straightened; his jaw set in determination.“Let’s go.”

“All right.But don’t hold me responsible if you lose a boot in the mud.”

He shot me a glance over his shoulder, all challenge and excitement.“I won’t.But if I do, you’ll have to rescue me again.”

I smirked as I followed him out the door.If there was one thing I was learning about Ben, it was that he had a way of making the mundane feel like an adventure, and I didn’t mind being dragged along.

The grove came into view as we crested a small hill, and I could feel Ben’s energy shift beside me.He wasn’t bouncing anymore, but there was something almost reverent in how he walked now, his gaze darting around as if he were trying to soak it all in.

The space was open and quieter than I remembered.The trees here weren’t in straight rows like those closer to the sugarhouse.Instead, they were scattered, a mix of towering old maples and other hardwoods, their branches forming a sprawling canopy overhead with just a hint of green budding at the tips now that spring was approaching—and the stream cutting through the grove caught the light, sparkling in places as it twisted over rocks and moss.

Ben stopped at the stream’s edge, his boots sinking into the soft ground, and turned to me.“This place is beautiful,” he said in awe.

I nodded, glancing around.“Yeah, it is.Haven’t been out here in years.”

He gave me a curious glance.“Why not?”

“They’re maples,” I said, stepping closer to a particularly gnarled trunk, its bark scarred and cracked with age.“But they’re old.Too old to tap.The sugar content in their sap wouldn’t be worth the effort.Plus…” I gestured at the uneven ground.“It’s not exactly easy to run lines out here.”

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