Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm (31 page)

People were clinking glasses, cheering each course of food. I gave Henry a hug, and hurried over to help the girls serve. As soon as I approached them Lil broke away and picked up the microphone, standing pretty on the stage in her yellow polka-dot dress, her round belly prominent now.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks. But as most of you know, Lucy is leaving us soon to head over to Paris.” There were murmurs of aww. “I know, I know, it’s always sad saying goodbye. But she’ll be back. CeeCee says it’s true, so it must be.” Laughter rang out over CeeCee’s alleged visions. “Lucy,” Lil turned to me. “We all chipped in, for a thank you present to help you on your travels. Getting to know you has been a highlight over these last few months, and me and the rest of the gang are going to miss you.” She jumped down from the stage, and presented me with a proper leather suitcase and matching art portfolio.

I held in a gasp of surprise, unable to talk, touched by their generosity. People milled around hugging me, and wishing me well on my travels. I shook hands, and thanked everyone profusely, trying my best to see through a blur of tears. Balloons popped in the distance as children ran around clutching forks, and bursting them. Their parents chased after them, wrenching cutlery back, and giving the giggling kids a stern talking-to.

“Go mingle,” Lil said, when I went back for the third time to help serve. “We’ve got this covered.” She was giving me the chance to say goodbye properly.

I smiled, crossing my arms and walking away, taking in the sights around me, soaking it up so I could remember it later. The joy on their faces, tables laden with food, the spilled drinks, a crimson splash across white tablecloths. The scent of maple syrup, hanging above like a cloud of sugar. Children playing kiss chasey, their squeals punctuating the day. Women, in clusters, heads bent over their wine glasses, gossiping. Couples flirting, one girl fluttering fake lashes like a movie star. I committed it all to memory, every single thing, the pulse of fairy lights above like stars in the daytime. I would paint this scene, so it would last forever. I’d paint Clay in the picture too. I knew every plane and groove on his face, the feel and fire of his lips, the flecks in his eyes. And the way he made me feel like no one ever had.

The party kicked on, well into the late afternoon. The stage was filled with people dancing, languidly as the heat, and the wine, made people sleepy. Streamers were scattered over the grass like ribbons.

It had been a successful day, and I was proud of it. I bent to pick up balloon carcasses, and napkins that had flown away in the wind. There were still stragglers, people who didn’t want the day to end. I thanked them all for coming, and sold them bottles of maple syrup, shocked to see how many we’d sold throughout the course of the day. Clay wouldn’t have any more to sell until the following year.

***

Once the pandemonium was over, I took a deep breath and wondered where on earth to start cleaning first. The last few couples strode back down the driveway, hand in hand. Moving to the tables, I picked up plates, and put the cutlery on top.

Balancing dishes in my hands, I ferried them into the kitchen in the cottage. Washing up would be a monumental task, with blackened cookie sheets, and sticky saucepans galore, but I’d convinced the girls I’d do it alone later. They’d protested, but I was resolute. They’d worked so hard these last few weeks, they needed a break. It had been exhilarating pulling off the festival for such a huge amount of people, with only a few accidents, like a speaker blowing up, and a smashed plate or two, that needed fixing throughout the day.

Outside, CeeCee and Lil sat nursing iced tea, spent, after a busy day.

I joined them, falling into a sun lounger, and shading my eyes.

“Walt’s clearing the chairs over yonder,” CeeCee said. “Man won’t listen when I said we’d do it.”

I followed her gaze, to see Walt’s stooped figure slowly nesting the white plastic chairs. “He’s waiting for, Clay too,” I said.

Lil and CeeCee averted their eyes, while Becca and Sarah chatted over a table by the stage, eating a plate of food that had probably gone cold by now. Poor girls had been run off their feet all day and hadn’t once stopped to catch their breath. My own stomach rumbled but I was too keyed up to contemplate eating.

“He surely is,” CeeCee said.

I didn’t think it would end like this. My stay in Ashford. I mustered a fake smile, and said, “I’m going for a quick walk, and then I better get things packed up.”

“Want some company? Lil asked.

“It’s OK,” I said, pointing to her glass. “You enjoy your drink, I won’t be long.”

The partygoers had left with full bellies, and big smiles after the festivities. The laughter and music had been replaced with quiet—the sudden halt of music and chatter—that somehow gave me a headache.

I wanted one last wander through the maples, while the light was still good.

Once I got to the clearing between the trees, I craned my neck up to the bright blue above. The sky was awash with maple leaves. Shades of red and orange, daubs of yellow. The leaves fluttered in the wind, like they were waving. I slowly inched around the maples, touching each trunk like I’d done before when I warned them about the tapping season. Now though, I said their names and whispered goodbye. The marks from the spiles were healing. It would take time, but they’d be forever changed. Like childbirth, the indelible scars, the wounds, amounting to something special, a marker that you were now greater than yourself. That’s what the maples had.

I thought of Jessup. And the two lives he led, beautiful in its own poignant way. He’d had the kind of love that some people only dream about. And while it ended too soon, she remained in his heart for the rest of his days. He felt her presence, her soul close by, helping him heal, urging him to live on without her.

I’d come so far in the time I’d been here. I’d learned to relax, and laugh. I’d learned what a mother’s love is capable of. And I had also learned what true, once-in-a-lifetime love felt like, even though I’d lost it. It wouldn’t fade—I was now certain—that grip he had on my heart.

The lake glistened under the sunlight, making me squint. I crouched down and ran my fingers through the cool water, as though it was holy, and would heal me.

The sound of a car rumbled in the distance. The front gate creaked open. It didn’t sound like Clay’s truck crunching down the graveled driveway but I stood quickly, drying my hands, on the swell of my skirt.

A cloud of dust rose up around the car as it made its way to us. A small silver sedan, with an unfamiliar license plate. The car crawled to a stop, and out jumped Clay, dwarfing the car with his big solid frame.

He walked straight to Walt and shook his hand, mumbling a few words. I stood frozen to the spot, not knowing what to do.

The girls exchanged glances, and then made a show of looking the other way, as Clay made his way to me.

We stood inches apart. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I couldn’t gauge his mood. “I’m so sorry, Lucy,” he said, causing my heart to skip a beat. “I had to go.”

I gave him the ghost of a smile. “I know.”

He nodded. “I should’ve let you explain properly. It was almost like déjà vu - I thought it was happening all over again.”

Reaching for my hands, he entwined his fingers through mine. “But that didn’t give me the right to leave you like that. Especially with the festival. I went to my mom’s house, in a fit of pique, to find out the truth. And then my return flight was delayed, so I had to hire a car to get back. A disaster, really. I’ve been trying to call your cell phone all day.”

I’d forgotten about my cell! It lay on the porch, cast aside. “What did your mom say?”

He took a deep steadying breath. “That Jessup never got over losing his wife, Claire. Nothing mattered to him after that. And I can understand him in a way I couldn’t before.”

“Why now? Because of the paintings?” I asked.

“No, Lucy. Not because of them. Because of you. The thought of you leaving rips me up inside, and even more now that I know you’ve struggled with your life, that things haven’t been easy for you. How am I supposed to live without you? You’ve changed my whole life, Lucy, and without you, I’ll be lost.”

I closed my eyes, and let his words sink in.

“I love you, Lucy.”

My eyes flicked open. It was everything and more than I’d hoped for. “I love you too,” I said quietly. He turned and led me back to the maples only stopping when we got to our usual spot. “Do you have to leave?” he asked. “I want you to stay.”

I ran a finger along his jawline, over the soft flesh of his lips. Thinking how lucky I was to have someone like Clay love me. “I have to go… I found out this morning I was accepted into the institute.” In the hubbub, I’d merely tossed the letter aside, and planned to obsess over it later.

“So you’re really leaving?” He cast his eyes downward.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, at the thought of being away from him even for just one day. Not being able to caress his bare chest when we lay in bed, the warmth of his body pressed up against mine. The flush of pleasure as he called out my name, gripping my hands above my head. And the long nights, under the stars, where we just held each other. How could I go on without that?

“I’m really leaving,” I said, while my mind screamed no.

He let out a guttural moan, and bent to kiss me, desire flooding me. When we broke apart, his eyes glittered.

“Why don’t you come with me, Clay? We’ve just about sold out of syrup, and the next tapping season is six months away. Come away with me.” My voice had a pleading note to it I couldn’t disguise.

“Leave the farm?” Clay’s face broke into a wide, sexy grin. “I thought you’d never ask. Meet me under the Eiffel Tower on Tuesday?”

I laughed. “Why Tuesday?”

“I’ve got to go pick up my truck, and work out what to do with the paintings.”

I looped my hands around his waist. “Hide them,” I said, solemnly. “Jessup didn’t want the world to have those pictures. They were private. His secret. They were an old man’s love story. One of the greatest loves stories of all time.”

“Hide them?” Clay repeated. “But the money, I was going to…”

“Shh,” I said, putting a finger to his lips. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t need it.”

“I never thought I’d find real love, Lucy. I was so opposed to letting anyone in ever again, and then you walked up that driveway in the middle of winter, that determined glint in your eye, and I knew it, the moment I laid eyes on you, that my life was going to change.” He smiled almost shyly. “I didn’t know love could feel like this.”

I blushed hearing the words. “My whole life has been one big race against time, Clay. And I want it to slow right down, so we can enjoy every moment we have together. I can’t wait to explore Paris with you by my side.” I wouldn’t lose Clay—another person wouldn’t walk out of my life. Instead this time they’d walk right beside to me. “I wasn’t expecting to find love under the maples.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

He bit down on his lip, a gesture that made me want to ravish him. “Me and you, in Paris for Christmas?” he asked.

“Me and you forever,” I said, and stood up on tiptoes to kiss him properly.

If you loved
Secrets at Maple Syrup Farm
then turn the page for an EXCLUSIVE extract from Rebecca Raisin’s brand new romance:

The Little Bookshop on the Seine

Coming October 2015

Chapter One

With a heavy heart I placed the sign in the display window.

All books 50% off.

If things didn’t pick up soon, it would read
Closing down sale
. The thought alone was enough to make me shiver. The fall sky was awash with purples and smudges of orange, as I stepped outside to survey the window from the sidewalk.

Star-shaped leaves crunched underfoot. I forced myself to smile. A sale wouldn’t hurt, and maybe it’d take the bookshop figures from the red, into the black, which I so desperately needed. My rent had been raised. The owner of the building, a sharp-featured, silver-tongued, forty-something man, had put the pressure on me lately to pay more, to declutter the shop, claiming the haphazard stacks of books were a fire risk. His sudden hostility was a mystery to me. I’d been renting his property for years without any fuss and the additional rent stretched the budget to breaking point.

The phone shrilled, and a grin split my face. It could only be Ridge at this time of the morning. The hero in my own
real-life
love story, who was due back from Canada the next day. It had been three weeks since I’d seen him, and I ached for him in a way that made me blush.

Dashing inside, I answered the phone, breathlessly. “The Bookshop on the Corner.”

“That’s the voice I know and love,” he said in his rich, husky tone. My heart fluttered, picturing him at the end of the line, his jet-black hair, and flirty blue eyes. He simply had to flick me a look loaded with suggestion, and I’d be jelly-legged, and lovestuck.

“What are you wearing?” he said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I held back a laugh, eager to drag it out. So far our relationship had been more long distance than anticipated, as he flew around the world reporting on location. I hadn’t expected our stints apart would leave such an ache in my heart, a numbness to my days. Luckily I had my books, and a sweeping romance or two helped keep the loneliness at bay.

“Tell me or I’ll be forced to Skype you and see for myself.”

Glancing down at my outfit, I grimaced: black tights, a black pencil skirt, and a pilled blue knit sweater, all as old as the hills of Ashford. Not exactly the type of answer Ridge was waiting for, or the way I wanted him to picture me, after so many weeks apart. “Those stockings you like, and…”

His voice returned with a growl. “
Those
stockings? With the little suspenders?”

I sat back into the chair behind the counter, fussing with my bangs. “The very same.”

He groaned. “You’re
killing
me. Take a photo…”

“There’s no need. If you’re good, I’ll wear the red ones tomorrow night.” I grinned wickedly. Our reunions were always passionate affairs; he was a very hands-on type of guy. When he was home we didn’t surface until one of us had to go to work. Loving Ridge had been a revelation for me, especially in the bedroom, where he took things achingly slow, drawing out every second. I was flush with desire for him.