Page 29 of Forbidden to Fall

I forced a laugh. “You don’t need my permission to stay with your mom, James.”

“Of course not,” he said. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

I knew that. I was buying time because what he wanted was for me to…absolve him. To sign a peace treaty on behalf of my brother.

“Your staying doesn’t change much,” I said. “I made an arrangement with your mom, and I’m going to see it through. I wasn’t planning to have her do much at all—obviously, I didn’t tell her that because…well, you get it.”

A warm, laughing light came into his eyes. “She wouldn’t stand for it.”

I smiled. “I love your mom. She’s the best.”

His gaze on me sharpened, then he looked down. “She is. She’s a pretty big fan of yours too.”

I let out a big breath, my mind returning to the real topic at hand. “Look, James, your mom needs you here. She’s so happy with you around, and I’d never want to get in the way of that. As for the stuff between you and Ryan? That’s your business. I can’t fix it, but I’m also not going to let it keep me from what I set out to do.”

Relief settled over James’s face. “Thank you.”

I turned and started walking again. “Maybe hold off on thanking me until we make some money. It could turn out that you’d be better off pouring your surplus of maple down the drain.”

We spent the last few minutes of the walk discussing a few of the businesses it might be worth talking to about carrying farm products. We came up with the candle shop, the inn, and the pumpkin patch when it opened. We figured the dental office probably wouldn’t be thrilled about selling sugary products.

“I can take that,” I said, nodding at my duffel bag when we reached the sugar shack.

It was perfectly placed to accentuate his strong chest—a mental image I didn’t particularly want emblazoned on my memory for the rest of eternity.

He looped it over his head, his gaze fixing on my forehead. “Are you really okay? Maybe you should be seen. Head injuries are serious.”

I reached for the duffel, but he slipped it over my head, careful to avoid my injury as he rested it on my shoulder.

I gave him a grateful smile. “I remember my humiliation in vivid detail, unfortunately, so I’m fine.”

He surveyed me, then nodded. “I’m going to check on Mama.” He moved, then hesitated.

“What?”

“Maybe you should take my number down,” he said. “Just in case you need anything or…get locked in any closets.”

Oh. My. Gosh. Was that a twinkle in James Carver’s eye? I didn’t even know those dark wells of brooding were capable of such a thing anymore.

“Har har, James,” I said, but I took out my phone anyway.

As he repeated his number to me and I tapped the digits into my phone, I felt a bit like a double agent, exchanging numbers with the enemy.

It was business, I reminded myself. James was the equivalent of May’s secretary. A go-between, nothing more.

Ryan was in finance. Surely, he worked with people he’d prefer not to. He’d understand my situation. He would because I’d explain it to him. Eventually. I didn’t like keeping uncomfortable secrets from the people I loved.

You know what else I didn’t like? Watching my non-existent savings dwindle as my future at Keller’s hung in the balance.

I saved James’s number under Maple Farm.

A few hours later, I had my first prototype of the next Carver Maple Farm product: maple brown butter cookies. Keller’s Bakehouse didn’t sell cookies. Apparently, they didn’t require enough skill to be worthy of the Keller brand. I’d incorporated maple syrup—opting for the dark syrup—into the dough.

I tasted the cookies, of course, but that was just a formality to make sure they didn’t induce sudden vomiting. They didn’t—a real win—but I had no idea how they tasted. For me, baking was like staring at a word for too long. After a while, it just looked wrong. Were these worthy of The Great British Bake-Off? Only fit for toddler palates?

I needed an unbiased judge.

I pulled up the brand new Maple Farm contact in my phone and stared at it for a few seconds. James would tell me if these were an affront to maple trees everywhere.