“Yeah?” I ask, my voice soft. “I like taking care of you.”
He turns in my arms, suds sliding down his face. “You’re good at it. Makes a guy feel special.”
“You are special,” I murmur, surprised by how easily the words come.
Caspian’s eyes widen slightly, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Careful, Stone. Keep that up, and I might start to think you actually like me.”
I snort, reaching for the loofah. “Can’t have that, can we? Here, let me scrub your back. Purely for efficiency’s sake, of course.”
“Of course,” he agrees solemnly, but I catch the pleased flush on his cheeks.
After we’re clean and dressed, we head to the kitchen. While I grab ingredients from the pantry to make pancakes, Caspian wanders to the window. The snow is coming down harder now, blanketing everything in pristine white.
“I was really silly to try clearing the driveway earlier,” Caspian says, pressing his palm against the cold glass. “Do these storms happen a lot in winter?”
I measure out the flour for the pancakes, glancing up at him. “Pretty regularly. The location of the valley affects our weather patterns quite a bit.” I crack eggs into the bowl, whisking as I speak. “These storms can actually be good for the maple trees, believe it or not.”
“Really?” Caspian turns from the window, his curiosity piqued. “How so?”
“The freeze-thaw cycles are crucial for maple syrup production,” I explain, adding milk to the batter. “When temperatures drop below freezing at night but rise above freezing during the day, it creates pressure changes in the trees that make the sap flow. Without these winter conditions, we wouldn’t get that sweet maple syrup Vermont’s famous for.”
“Huh.” Caspian walks over to watch me cook. “I never knew that. So the cold is actually helpful?”
“Nature’s got it all figured out,” I say, pouring the first pancake onto the griddle. “These trees have evolved to thrive in these conditions. The snow also provides insulation for the root systems during the coldest months.”
The pancake bubbles, and I flip it with practiced ease. Caspian’s eyes follow my movements, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Look at you, being all knowledgeable about trees,” he teases. “It’s kind of hot.”
My cheeks warm, and not from the heat of the stove. “Just part of the job,” I mumble, sliding the finished pancake onto a plate.
As I pour more batter onto the griddle, Caspian hops onto the counter next to me, swinging his legs. “So, what other tree facts are you hiding in that handsome head of yours?”
I try to focus on the pancakes instead of how adorable he looks in my borrowed sweater, which is too big on him. “You really want to hear about trees?”
“I want to hear about anything that makes you light up like that,” he says softly. The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight.
Clearing my throat, I flip another pancake. “Well, did you know trees communicate with each other? Through an underground network of fungi, they can share nutrients and even warn each other about threats.”
“Like tree texting?” Caspian grins. “That’s amazing. Though I bet their emoji game is weak.”
A laugh escapes me. “Yeah, probably just leaf emojis all day long.”
“Tree memes,” he continues. “Just wait till you see this acorn! It’ll blow your mind!”
I hip-check him gently. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he says, then freezes slightly, like he’s worried he’s said too much.
To ease the sudden tension, I reach for the maple syrup—the real stuff, not that corn syrup nonsense. “Here, taste this. It’s from last season’s harvest.”
Caspian dips his finger in and licks it clean, his eyes widening. “Oh wow. That’s nothing like the stuff I had in Arizona.”
“It’s from Moon Meadows Maple Farm,” I tell him. “They’re just outside of town. Best maple syrup in the area, in my opinion.”
“Really?” Caspian perks up. “I’ve actually been looking for a local supplier for Special Blend. I’d love to use real Vermont maple syrup in some of our drinks and baked goods. Maybe I should check them out.”
We settle at my small kitchen table, and I watch as Caspian drowns his pancakes in syrup. The domesticity of the moment hits me hard—sharing breakfast, wearing comfortable clothes, snow falling outside. It seems dangerous how right it feels.
