Maple Sugar Crush

by Beth Labonte

  I tried to make small talk about things I thought he’d be interested in—tombstone engravings, the outrageous cost of floral arrangements—but he was never very chatty. He was always busy with meetings, and paperwork, and sometimes he’d even disappear down to the casket showroom where, believe me, I wasn’t ever setting foot. Usually I’d end up back at the reception desk, chatting with Maggie or Artie Goldwyn. Those two loved to talk about tombstone engravings and the outrageous cost of floral arrangements.

  But one day, as Riley was passing the reception desk on his way out for a lunchtime walk, he invited me along. He’d seemed nervous, and the invitation had taken me completely by surprise. We ended up playing Pokémon Go all over town. As we walked, I rambled away about my life, and he offered up some behind-the-scenes stories from his job (which led to more than a few sleepless nights, and not in a good way). After that, I started doubling the amount of time I spent at the funeral home, and we went on more and more walks, and that’s when the butterflies started.

  I puttered around by the entrance to the inn, delaying my decision to leave, while Riley took out his phone. I watched his dark brown eyes dart around the screen, wondering, for a moment, not what life would have been like had I never won the lottery, but what life would have been like had smartphones never been invented. As if he’d read my mind, Riley suddenly looked straight at me.

  “What?” I asked, my cheeks warming. Was there something stuck to my face? I swiped at my chin. “What is it?”

  “There’s an Aerodactyl on your head. Hold very, very still.” He held up his phone and started tapping at the screen.

  I sighed, but held still until he’d finished.

  “All set. I was just kidding about not moving, by the way.”

  I rolled my eyes and picked up the stapler, then put it down again. Righted the pencil cup. I wished Kit and Amy would hurry up with whatever they were doing in the kitchen. Hopefully, if they were going to do it, they’d at least have had the decency to go upstairs. Since I hadn’t seen them sneak out of the kitchen, they were probably just making out. But still. I could always just leave, like I’d planned, but now I felt bad abandoning Riley here by himself. Not that he seemed to care.

  “So, are you all packed?” I asked, walking over and sitting down in the chair across from him.

  “For what?”

  “Pennsylvania? Thanksgiving?”

  “Why would I go to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving?” He jabbed at his phone screen several more times, still not looking up.

  I sighed. “I don’t know, maybe because Kit’s going and you’re a member of his family? Or have you gone and married your phone?”

  His fingers stopped moving, his eyes finally looking up in my direction. He flipped the phone facedown on his lap. “Sorry. No, I’m not going with them.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said, suddenly realizing, like a big dope, why he wasn’t going. “You’re spending the holiday with Catrina’s family. Duh.”

  One day, toward the end of the summer, as I’d been heading to the funeral home with a fresh Maple Sugar Crush and a flock of dim-witted butterflies in my belly, I’d seen Riley already out on the common. He was sitting in a tire swing and drinking a Maple Sugar Crush, alongside Catrina Corman. Catrina’s dad owned Corman Memorials over in Summerboro—which worked closely with Goldwyn & Hays—so, those two obviously had a ton in common. Riley was really laughing it up, and his phone wasn’t anywhere in sight, which never happened when he was with me. Never mind that stuffy, one-word-answer Riley was sitting in a freaking tire swing and smiling about it. But that was fine. I’d started out trying to be his friend, and he clearly hadn’t needed one as much as I’d thought. He had Catrina, so he wasn’t lonely like I was, and that was a good thing.

  I’d stopped going by the funeral home after that.

  Chapter 3

  “Catrina?” asked Riley.

  He looked completely puzzled. Was he for real? Okay, maybe I hadn’t exactly seen the two of them together after the tire swing incident, but I’d asked Amy and she’d definitely confirmed they were dating. I’d asked her if Riley was seeing anybody, and she’d said “Of course he is,” which, now that I think about it, may have been sarcasm.

  In the few seconds that it took me to respond, I’d lost him again. He’d flipped his phone over in his lap, and was lovingly stroking the side of it with his thumb.

  I watched his fingers for a few seconds, mesmerized, before clearing my throat.

  “Never mind,” I said. “So, um, why aren’t you going to Pennsylvania, then?”

  “Work gets busy this time of year.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t take that much time off. You going to the Cape?”

  “No, I’m staying here,” I said, shocked that he had actually remembered my usual Thanksgiving plans. “I’m thinking of hosting a meal for all the people who have no place to go. Did you see the article in The Autumnboro Times? It was awful.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think anyone on that staff is up for the Pulitzer.”

  “I didn’t mean that it was written terribly,” I said, although he did have a point. “I meant the subject matter. So many people all alone for the holidays. It’s just so sad.” I put one hand on my chest, a sudden knot in my throat. “I’ve decided that if I’m going to choose to avoid my own family on Thanksgiving, I’d like to help those who don’t have a choice, you know?”

  I expected Riley’s eyes to have wandered back to his phone at some point during my ramble, but they were still fixed on me. He was leaning forward, his forearms resting on his legs, and studying me with that same sort of perplexed, frozen expression I’d seen from my mother—minus the judgmental bit behind the eyes. There was something else in his eyes, but they were such a deep, intense shade of brown that I’d always found them hard to read. Most of the time they looked right through me. But now…my idiot stomach did a little flip.

  “That’s really nice of you,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

  “Thanks.” I swallowed as my eyes darted to the Christmas tree, then back to Riley. “You’re welcome to come, too, you know? Since you’re going to be alone.”

  My words broke whatever sort of moment we’d been having, and he slumped back into the chair.

  “Alone is fine,” he said, his eyes back on his phone. “A turkey sandwich alone in my apartment sounds like a dream, actually.”

  “Really?” I crinkled my nose. That sounded so sad and lonely and close to what I’d be doing if I didn’t have this dinner to host. Why would anybody choose that? I really didn’t understand him at all.

  Before he could answer, Kit and Amy reappeared on the main staircase, looking disheveled. That’s when I remembered the newly built back staircase that led from the kitchen up to the guest rooms. I held back a laugh as Riley looked up at them, his face slowly registering what was happening.

  “Riley! Hey!” said Amy. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  “Just dropping off Kit’s jacket.” He tipped his chin toward the reception desk. “Everything okay? You guys seem out of breath.”

  “Yeah,” she said, giving Kit some serious side-eye. His hair looked nothing like it had twenty minutes ago. “We were just doing some last-minute…dusting.”

  “And that’s why I never drop by unannounced,” Riley whispered to me, as he stood up to leave. “I’m going to grab a coffee before I head back to work, anybody want anything?”

  “No, thanks,” said Amy. “We’ve got some brewing in the kitchen.”

  “How about you, Moneybags? PSL? Maple Sugar Crush?” He gave me a wink.

  “Um, no, thanks,” I said, flustered at the mere mention of a Maple Sugar Crush. As if it were our coffee or something. Never mind the wink. What in the world was that about? After the door closed behind him, I found Amy watching me with a strange smile on her face.

  “What?”

  “What was that wink all about?”

  I shrugged.
“I used to bring him a Maple Sugar Crush once in a while, over the summer, while you and Kit were busy with the inn and the wedding and everything.”

  “Really?” said Amy, her eyebrows shooting up. “How did I not know about this?”

  “Because there was nothing to know. I bring people food and coffee all the time. It’s what I do.” I walked into the kitchen, Amy following closely behind.

  Even if Riley and Catrina weren’t dating, I’d still seen the way he’d looked when he was talking to someone who actually interested him. Someone who wasn’t an annoying, overly chatty, little sister type, tagging along on all his lunch breaks.

  “Sure, but bringing Deb a bagel at the senior center is slightly different than Riley.” Amy slid onto a stool at the island. “You deserve to be happy, Josie. You know that, right?”

  “I am happy,” I said, taking the seat across from her. “I’m rolling in money.”

  “Which doesn’t buy happiness. Haven’t you heard the old saying?”

  “I don’t think anybody had four hundred million bucks in the bank when they invented that saying.”

  Amy laughed. “Maybe not. Riley’s cute though, huh?”

  I just blinked back at her, trying to retain my poker face as my cheeks warmed. So what if Riley was cute? Lots of guys were cute. Dean had been really cute and he’d turned into the biggest buttface of them all.

  “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend?” she continued, sounding a lot like my mother.

  “None of your business.” I poured sugar into my coffee and stirred it with a cinnamon stick. There was a mason jar full of them on the center of the island, wrapped in an autumn plaid bow. “Besides, I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Wow, if you don’t want to talk about something, it must be really bad.”

  I stuck out my tongue and we sat in silence for a few moments, sipping our coffee.

  “His name was Dean,” I mumbled, at last.

  “Huh?”

  “My last boyfriend. His name was Dean, and I met him online a few months after I won the lottery.”

  “Oh,” said Amy, her face lighting up. “And?”

  “And, I didn’t even tell him about the money at first. I thought I was being really smart by waiting until we’d been dating for a couple of months before dropping the P-bomb.”

  “P-bomb?” She crinkled her nose.

  “Powerball.”

  “Ah, right. So…what did he say when he found out?”

  “He was shocked, obviously. But he was happy for me, too. He didn’t get all weird, or pressure me to spend it on him or anything, either. He was a totally genuine, totally nice guy back then.”

  Amy nodded. “I feel a but coming.”

  “But, after we’d been dating for almost two years, he told me about this great business idea he had.” I rolled my eyes. Everyone always had a great business idea. “Some sort of app that was going to be the next big social media thing. We’d already talked about getting married someday, and all the places we’d travel, and where we’d raise our kids. We had this amazing, blessed life planned out where we could do anything we wanted, so of course I gave him the money. We were in this for the long haul. If his idea failed, so what? Anyway, the next thing I knew, he’d pocketed the money and taken off to Thailand.”

  Amy’s jaw dropped. “What do you mean, he’d taken off to Thailand?”

  “I mean, he hopped on a plane and flew to Thailand and I never heard from him again.”

  “How do you know where he went if you never heard from him again?”

  “I hired a private investigator. I just wanted to know where he’d gone off to, so I’d be sure to never go there. Also, so I could get some closure.”

  I’d gotten closure all right. Closure on my love life. Sometimes I lay awake at night, imagining what my life with Dean would have been like had I never won the lottery. Dean would have stayed the sweet, loving guy he’d been when we’d first met, rather than going all Saruman on me. I liked to imagine what our children would have looked like, or what other countries we might have seen. We’d only made it to one.

  “Wow,” said Amy, letting out a whistle. “I’m so sorry, Josie. You always seem so positive. I had no idea you’d been hurt like that.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, tilting my head back and looking up at the rose gold pots and pans hanging above the island. “I’ve been blessed beyond my wildest dreams, Amy. Nobody’s meant to have it all. Well, except for Jensen Ackles’ wife.”

  “But what does that mean, exactly?” asked Amy, her face filling with concern. “You’re going to spend your whole life avoiding meeting someone who might make you happy? I mean, what if you bump into a guy at The Shaky Maple and it’s like a love at first sight sort of thing? You’re just going to turn and run the other way?”

  “Do you know how many people are alone in this world?” I asked, wishing I had that article from The Autumnboro Times to wave around. “They spend their whole lives trying to meet someone perfect, and they still never do. I think it’s safe to say that love isn’t going to just fall into my lap. And even if it did, how could I trust that it was real?”

  Amy looked at me skeptically. “Well, Riley is Kit’s brother. You could trust that he’d never take off to Thailand, because Kit would straight up murder him.”

  “Not the most flattering reason for a guy to stick around.”

  Amy laughed. “I still think you should give him a chance.”

  “Give who a chance?” asked Kit, walking into the kitchen.

  “Grandpa,” said Amy. “He wants to take Josie’s Tesla for a spin, and I said she should let him.”

  I laughed, but to be honest, I’d rather let Tom drive my Tesla through the front of another Dunkin Donuts, than ever trust my heart to another man.

  Chapter 4

  I wanted to place a Thanksgiving dinner invitation in The Autumnboro Times as soon as possible; but before I could do that, I needed to figure out a location.

  There was my house, of course. It was certainly big enough, with a lovely view of the Pemigewasset, but I wasn’t totally comfortable inviting strangers into my home. Most of the people in this town, if they didn’t know me personally, at least knew that I was the “big lottery winner.” I tried to always see the best in people, but I wasn’t naïve. There was also the possibility that only one person would show up, which would be majorly awkward. Especially if they turned out to be a serial killer. Or Riley Parker. No, I needed to hold this dinner in a public, more neutral sort of a place.

  I left Tom in charge of the store the next morning, while I set off down Main Street, zipped inside my winter coat. Pixie was wearing her favorite gray and pink Fair Isle sweater. Some people in my position might have a garage full of classic cars, or an armoire packed with expensive jewelry—I have a closet full of custom-made hand-knit dog sweaters. Believe me, Pixie needs them. She’s a Dachshund Chihuahua Jack Russell mix who used to live in a shelter in Florida, but was relocated up north after a hurricane. She hates the cold, and now that it’s November, the cold is no joke. It could snow at any moment.

  Unlike Pixie, I’m actually pretty excited for it to snow. I’ll let you in on a little secret: After Halloween, Autumnboro gets pretty darn depressing. There, I said it. Don’t tell anybody, or they’ll run me out of town. But, it’s true. The colorful leaves are gone from the trees and nearly all the tourists have left. The pumpkins that had been cheerfully decorating the streets have either been carted off to local farms or had their guts strewn across the sidewalks by hungry squirrels. I’ve spotted more than a few scarecrows stuffed upside down into trash barrels, which is not a dignified way for anybody to go. The energy that had been in the air all season very quickly fizzles into a gray, November dullness.

  Blah.

  It’s not the town’s fault or anything. It’s just the way it is when your town is themed after a particular season, and that particular season comes to an end. It isn’t until the first snowfall that some life co
mes back into Autumnboro. It’s not the same flashy, touristy Autumn Capital of the World sort of life that it had before, but it’s still a small New England town blanketed by fresh snow, which has a magic all its own.

  “Morning, Josie!”

  I glanced back to find Jackie from The Plaid Apple, standing on a ladder. She was taking down her Halloween flag and replacing it with a chubby turkey eating a slice of cherry pie. Gobble ’til We Wobble! it read above the turkey’s head.

  “Morning, Jackie!” I called back. “Cute flag! Good morning, Moose!”

  I waved cheerfully across the street to Kyle “Moose” Moriarty, standing outside his mini mart. Moose’s nickname had the coolest origin story of all time. When he was sixteen, he’d driven straight between the legs of a moose that was crossing the street during his road test with the DMV. Despite my admiration, Moose hated my guts. He’d told Tom a few months ago that winning the lottery really “messed with my head.” Tom repeated it to me because he’d thought it was funny, not realizing that making me out to be a ditz was Moose’s way of taking me down a peg. This was somewhat hurtful because a) I’d never done anything to him personally, and b) I’ve always been this way.

  I understood that lottery winners could be hard to stomach, and that Moose had never been handed anything in his life, but it still hurt to be talked about behind my back. I’ve been trying to be extra friendly toward him ever since. He returned my wave with a grunt, loud enough to be heard across the street, turned around, and went back inside the store.