Page 27 of Treated to a Mountain Man
Belinda put on a show with her over-the-top speech about "the marriage of Old World elegance with New World flavor." The judges nodded politely, each taking one of her petit fours.
Caleb's natural warmth had the judges relaxing, talking about fall traditions and family recipes. His enthusiasm was genuine and infectious—even I found myself wanting to try his candy.
Miriam turned her presentation into entertainment, her jokes and seasonal puns having Theo chuckling. Her candy corn creams were certainly eye-catching, the colors vibrant in the afternoon sun.
Then they reached our booth.
"Ms. Moretti," Josephine said, her tone neutral. "Please present your entry."
I lifted the platter of truffles, offering one to each judge. "These are Midnight Maple Shadows. The recipe comes from my grandmother—she brought it from Northern Italy and taught me to make them when I was fourteen. I've adapted it usingBlackwood Sugar Grove's late-harvest syrup, which Sawyer Blackwood and I collected by hand under last week's full moon. Local tradition says the sap runs strongest then, and I believe it—the syrup has a complexity you can't achieve any other time of year."
Conrad selected a truffle, examining it carefully before taking a bite. His eyes closed as he chewed slowly, and I swore I saw his stern expression soften for just a moment. Josephine and Theo followed suit, but their faces revealed nothing.
"The chocolate tempering," Josephine said finally. "Tell me about your process."
"My grandmother always said candy-making was about patience and love. These truffles were the last recipe she taught me before she passed. We tested ratios until we found the ideal balance. The gold dust contains cardamom—her secret ingredient—and represents moonlight on maple leaves."
"You actually harvested under the full moon?" Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Every bucket," I confirmed. "Sawyer's family has been following that tradition for three generations. You can taste the difference—there's an almost mineral quality that comes through."
"Interesting choice, using such a dark chocolate with maple," Theo commented. "Most competitors went sweeter."
"Maple syrup is already sweet," I replied. "The darker chocolate lets the maple's complex flavors shine without overwhelming the palate. It's about balance—letting each flavor enhance the others rather than compete for attention."
They thanked me and moved on to Jonas's booth for the final presentation. I watched him discuss the coastal influence on his caramels, the way sea salt enhanced the maple's natural minerals. His presentation was polished, professional.
"Breathe," Sawyer murmured, his hand finding mine behind the table.
The rest of the afternoon blurred into a cycle of smiling, selling, and trying not to wonder about the judges’ deliberations as the festival continued to swirl around us.
Finally, mercifully, five o'clock arrived. Lucy started packing up our remaining inventory while Sawyer dismantled the display.
"You should be proud," Lucy said, hugging me tightly, "You made something amazing under impossible circumstances."
She headed home, promising to be back early to help with Sunday's booth. As the square began to empty of the day's visitors, orange light slanting through the trees and casting long shadows, Sawyer turned to me.
"Come home with me tonight," he said. It wasn't really a question. "We'll order pizza, sit by the fire. Let me help you not think about tomorrow for a while."
"I should probably do more cleaning at the shop, make more candy—"
"Cinn." He cupped my face in his calloused hands. "You've done everything you can. Come home with me."
The drive up the mountain was quiet but companionable. The setting sun painted the leaves in shades of copper and gold, and I found myself relaxing despite everything. Whatever happened tomorrow, I'd given it my best shot.
Sawyer's cabin welcomed us with warmth and the scent of cedar. He started a fire while I called in a pizza order to the only place that delivered this far up the mountain—an hour and a half, they said, but they'd make the trek for an extra delivery fee.
"Wine?" Sawyer offered, holding up a bottle of red.
"God, yes."
We settled on the couch, my legs tucked under me, his arm around my shoulders. The fire crackled, casting warm lightacross the log walls. I should have been ready to collapse—we'd barely slept after working through the night—but instead I felt wired, hyperaware of every place our bodies touched.
"Thank you," I said softly. "For everything. The syrup, the help, standing by me even after—"
"Stop." He turned to face me fully. "We're past that."
"Are we?"
