Page 25 of Treated to a Mountain Man
"As I'll ever be."
Lucy was already at our assigned booth when we arrived, her wheat-blonde braids bouncing as she unpacked boxes from her car. She'd spent the week prepping everything while I was harvesting with Sawyer—hand-lettered signs, fall garlands, and the vintage silver platters I'd borrowed from the antique shop. She'd already started transforming our bare table into something magical, each element placed with the careful attention of someone who understood that presentation could make or break a sale.
"These look amazing," Lucy whispered, peering at the chocolate spheres dusted with gold as we carefully arranged them on the platter. "Like little midnight moons."
"Midnight Maple Shadows," I corrected, unable to keep the pride from my voice. Despite everything—or maybe because of it—they were exactly what I'd envisioned.
We worked in easy rhythm as I directed our setup, creating a true autumn showcase. I filled glass jars with my 'Witch's Brew' sour apple drops that shifted from green to purple, and arranged my 'Harvest Moon' honeycomb candy—each piece dipped in dark chocolate and finished with sea salt. The 'Maple Leaf' candies I'd molded gleamed in amber and gold beside squares of 'Pumpkin Patch' fudge swirled with cream cheese and cinnamon.
I positioned my 'Bonfire Toffee' with its smoked almonds and cayenne kick alongside the traditional ribbon candy I'd pulled in burgundy, gold, and bronze. "Lucy, add the price signs as I arrange these," I directed, filling another jar with 'Apple Orchard' caramels—each wrapped in wax paper that Lucy had decorated with hand-drawn leaves. I placed the 'Ghost Pepper' white chocolate bark in its own corner, complete with the warning labels I'd asked Lucy to design.
The hand-lettered cards with their playful descriptions would make people stop and read:'Bonfire Toffee: Like camping, but fancier'and'Ghost Pepper Bark: We dare you.'
I arranged the centerpiece myself—a three-tiered stand wrapped in copper maple leaves, perfect for showcasing samples. The competition truffles on their silver platter held the place of honor at the center of our display, with twenty-one available for sale after the judges selected their three.
By nine o'clock, the festival was officially open. The town square turned into a wonderland of October magic. Vendors lined the pathways selling everything from fresh apple cider to hand-knitted scarves. Everything smelled amazing—kettle corn and wood smoke, cinnamon doughnuts and hay bales, plus that earthy smell of fallen leaves. Children ran between booths in costume despite Halloween still being a few days away—witches and superheroes, princesses and dinosaurs, their laughter mixing with fiddle music from the main stage.
Our booth drew steady traffic almost immediately.
"Back for more already, Mrs. Winters?" I called with a smile as she approached.
"Couldn't resist," she admitted, sampling the pumpkin spice fudge. "And I had to see your festival setup for myself."
Her gaze landed on Sawyer, eyes widening with barely concealed delight. "Sawyer Blackwood, as I live and breathe. Haven't seen you at a festival in years."
The morning flew by in a blur of transactions and compliments. I sold more candy in two hours than I usually did in a week. Sawyer worked beside me, charming customers with his knowledge of maple production, while Lucy handled the cash box and card reader with surprising ease—I'd trained her well these past weeks.
"This Ghost Pepper bark is insane!" a teenager exclaimed, fanning his mouth while his friends laughed. "Where has your shop been all my life?"
A couple from Lake Placid bought one of everything. "We need to tell our book club about you!"
"Your bourbon vanilla taffy is incredible," a woman from Saranac Lake told me, buying three bags. "Do you ship? My book club would die for these."
I was explaining my shipping policies when Lucy gave me a knowing smile and made herself busy at the far end of the booth.
"You two should go explore! I've got this covered."
"Lucy, I can't leave you—"
"The rush is over for now," she insisted, making shooing motions. "Besides, Sawyer needs to show you around since it's your first harvest festival in Woodbridge Falls. It's tradition!"
He raised an eyebrow in response, but Lucy just grinned wider. "Go! The judging isn't until three. Have some fun. Oh, and make sure you check out the other candy makers' booths—scope out the competition!"
The look Sawyer gave me was full of mischief. "You heard the boss. Let's go."
He took my hand—his warmth cutting through my frozen fingers—and led me into the fair. We passed a demonstration of traditional wool spinning, the elderly woman's fingers moving in hypnotic rhythm as she turned raw fleece into yarn. Next to her, a man carved wooden spoons from chunks of wood, explaining the grain patterns to fascinated onlookers.
We stopped first at the apple bobbing station, where Sawyer proved surprisingly terrible at the children's game.
"It's rigged," he grumbled, freezing water dripping from his beard, making him gasp.
"Sure it is. Those six-year-olds who beat you must be cheating."
He growled playfully and pulled me against him, shaking his wet beard against my neck while I shrieked with laughter. Several people stared, but I didn't care. For the first time in years, I felt young and carefree, like maybe my past didn't define my future.
The corn maze entrance beckoned next, hay bales stacked to create walls taller than Sawyer. We got thoroughly lost, taking wrong turn after wrong turn, laughing as we hit dead ends. At one point, we could hear children on the other side of a hay wall, their mother calling them back from taking shortcuts through the corn stalks.
"This way," Sawyer said confidently, then led us straight into another dead end.
