“I heard,” I reply, keeping my tone light but curious.
We pass by Cozy Corner Books, the quaint bookstore that seems to whisper stories from its very walls. “I can’t remember who used to own it, but now it’s Mrs. Harper’s store. She’s a retired librarian turned bookseller. She’ll recommend twenty novels you’ll never have time to read, but you’ll buy them anyway because she looks so hopeful it’s almost heartbreaking.”
“And the florist?” I probe, intrigued by his encyclopedic knowledge.
“Mr. Edgerton. He and his wife started it. Now he’s a widower, grumpy as they come, but he softens if you mention dahlias. He grows them in his backyard and pretends to despise the adoration they garner from the local old ladies.”
Ledger rattles off each name and backstory as if he’s reading from a well-worn script, his familiarity with each detail impressive. It’s as though Birchwood Springs is etched into his very essence, a part of him that’s as undeniable as his intense blue eyes.
“You seem to know a lot about everyone,” I comment, my voice tinged with a mix of admiration and a dash of skepticism.
“Small town, remember?” He smirks, but there’s something else there, something harder. “You don’t get to be anonymous here. Not forever, anyway. Even when we haven’t been here for years, we still know. If anyone moved out, Mom would call and tell me. If someone moved back in, it’d be the same deal. Births, deaths . . . you name it, she let us know. It was like living here without living here.”
As we turn onto a narrower street, the quaint charm of Birchwood Springs unfolds with each small store and home boasting tidy front porches. “So, what’s next on the grand tour?”
“See that?” Ledger gestures toward a tiny hardware store adorned with a hand-painted sign and a row of potted flowers neatly stacked out front. “McNally’s. They sell everything from nails to lawn flamingos. It’s run by Old Man McNally and his son, Felix.”
I can’t help but snort, eyeing the quirky yard decor. “Do people actually buy those flamingos?”
“Not me, but maybe someone does,” he replies with a shrug.
We then drive past the candy shop, Heavenly Sweets. “Remember the guy from earlier?” Ledger asks suddenly, his tone casual yet probing.
I blink, caught off guard by his sudden shift. “What guy?”
He shoots me a look that’s part amusement, part challenge. “Erick Stinson.”
“Oh,” I respond, striving for nonchalance. “Right, he mentioned he’s new in town and here on business.”
“New?” He snorts. “Did he say what kind of business?”
I shrug. “Didn’t say much other than maple syrup business.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Ledger mutters under his breath, his jaw clenching like he’s got something bitter stuck in his teeth.
I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “How do you know him?”
“Let’s just say he’s not someone you want to trust,” Ledger replies, his tone flat and devoid of its usual teasing edge.
I narrow my eyes, suspicion prickling at the back of my neck. “And why’s that?”
He exhales through his nose, his grip tightening on the steering wheel like he’s holding himself back. “I want to say because I said so, but I have the feeling that won’t be enough for you.” He throws me a sidelong glance. “But answer me this first: why haven’t you taken over Maple Haven yet?”
And there it is. The real reason for this joyride. I knew there was an angle. “Oh, I get it now. This is your grand plan. Lure me into your car, take me out to the woods, kill me, and suddenly you’re the only one left in the running for Maple Haven.”
He lets out a bark of laughter, his smirk snapping back into place. “You’ve got an overactive imagination, darling. Should I be worried you’re plotting my murder instead?”
“Is it that far-fetched?” I counter, crossing my arms. “You’re my mom’s half-cousin, right?”
He shakes his head, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “No. That would be Erik’s dad, not me.”
I blink. “Wait. What?”
“My theory?” he continues, ignoring my confusion. “Erik’s sniffing around because he thinks he can get his hands on your inheritance. It’s probably the only reason he was playing Mr. Charming.”
“And what about you?” I snap. “What’s your game plan? You seem pretty invested in all this.”
Ledger’s gaze flicks to me, his smirk lingering, but there’s something unreadable behind his eyes. “I’m just looking out for you, darling.”
