Page 21 of Love Songs

“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Mrs. Caldwell said, and the man, who I had a feeling was a real firecracker, turned fully toward me expectantly.

Conor groaned and waved a hand toward him. “Dallas meet Haider, one of the troublemakers I was telling you about.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Haider. “What are you doing here?”

“Moi?” Haider said far too innocently, his eyebrows raised. “I only stopped by to get some syrup for a new confectionary creation.”

“Ha-ha,” Conor intoned and then addressed me. “Haider owns Harmony Chocolates. Best truffles in the county.”

“Best truffles in the world, you mean,” Haider corrected, propping a hand on his hip and nodding his head to make the point.

I chuckled at their antics. Haider was cute, and the interaction between these two lifelong friends charmed me.

“Are the rest of the jokers going to unexpectedly drop in, too?” Conor asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Haider said with a cheeky grin before turning on his heel. “Have a fun date.”

“Well,” Conor said as Haider sashayed away. “Shall we?”

Like any good host, Conor shared the history of the farm as he led me through the sugar shack and loosely explained the process of sugaring. We passed several displays of unique farm art, including a few wood carvings of life-sized aliens with elongated bodies and big heads. But instead of being scary, they all had a welcoming feeling with their cute little smiles.

“One of my best friends carved those,” Conor said as he motioned toward the wooden aliens.

“Who doesn’t love a friendly alien,” I said with a grin, and wondered if his friend carved smaller ones. Jaylin would get a kick out of them. “He’s talented.”

Conor nodded with a soft lift to his lips and carried on with my tour.

“You’re good at this,” I said, taking in the sights as we ambled along. “Did you work here growing up?”

“No, but we all help during sugaring season,” he said. “Takes a lot of work to make syrup.”

Leaving the alien art behind, we followed an easy trail that meandered through a forest of tall maple trees, their verdant leaves twisting and fluttering on a sweet, faintly vanilla-scented breeze.

“The air smells sweet,” I said, looking up at the sunlight filtering through the forest canopy.

“That’s the trees,” Conor said. “Their scents are strongest in spring and fall, and the harder the maple the sweeter the aroma.”

“Huh.”

“I’ve never seen you perform live before,” Conor said after a few minutes of walking in companionable silence. “But I thought your voice sounded different.”

I winced. Not my favorite topic.

“It is. I had vocal surgery recently,” I said, and of course, now that I was thinking about it, my throat felt tight. “For the second time.”

“Twice?” Conor turned to me with genuine concern in his eyes. “Is it serious? Are you losing your voice?”

My chest tightened. That right there was my greatest fear. Right out in the open.

“No, I’m not going to lose my voice,” I said, more to convince myself than to assure Conor. “But I don’t know how extensive the damage to my upper range is. That’s why we did the Founders Day show. A small audience to test out how my voice is going perform.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I like the deeper raspy sound,” Conor said, holding my gaze with his piercing eyes. “It’s soulful.”

I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. I felt like some sort of magnetic energy buzzed in the space between us, drawing us together and locking us into place. Until I stumbled on the well-groomed trail.

Conor reached out and grabbed my arm to support me, sending firebombs blasting through my veins. Heat rushed up my neck and flooded into my cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked, his hand slowly sliding away as I regained my balance.

“Just a couple of left feet,” I joked, drawing a boyish grin from him that warmed my cheeks for another reason. I cleared my throat. “So, uh. What’s next?”

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