Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mark
I wasn’t ready to go home yet. The thought of sitting alone with my swirling thoughts about Lanie was unbearable. How did she know about the dare? The question pounded in my head like a drum.
I had tried calling Dylan about it, but he didn’t pick up. Why would he have told her? Why not give me a heads-up that he had?
I swallowed hard.
And why the hell had I just stood there and let Lanie walk away rather than trying to explain myself?
I’m a fucking idiot.
The gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into my parents’ driveway, the Sugar Shack standing in the distance like a loyal sentinel. At least here, I could put my thoughts on hold for a while. My father was sitting on the porch, grinning from ear to ear as if he had just won the lottery.
“Hey, Dad,” I called as I climbed out of the truck. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
He stood, practically buzzing with excitement. “I have a surprise for you in the shack,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. You’re going to love this.” I followed him across the yard, already wary. Dad’s excitement was usually contagious, but lately, it could also lead to trouble. “What kind of surprise are we talking about?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” he said, throwing open the shack door dramatically.
The moment I stepped inside, my stomach dropped. In the corner where the old shelving used to be was a gleaming new reverse osmosis machine, complete with shiny stainless-steel fittings and a maze of hoses leading to a storage tank. It was impressive, no doubt about it.
But all I could think about was the price tag.
“Well? What do you think?” Dad asked, his voice brimming with pride. “This baby’s going to cut our boiling time in half and save a fortune on firewood. Plus, the permeate we collect can be used to clean the evaporator—it’s practically pure water!”
“It’s... impressive,” I managed, stepping closer to inspect the machine. The high-pressure pump and semi-permeable membrane gleamed under the shack’s overhead light.
“How did you—?”
“I charged it,” he said casually, waving the question away. “We’ve been talking about expanding, haven’t we? This is the first step. You said you might have found an investor. Well, this will give them something to invest in.”
“Right,” I said, attempting my best poker face.
Inside, I was unraveling.
Dylan. Although there was a lot about him I hadn’t told my parents—like his name or the fact that he looks exactly like me—I had mentioned that we’d gotten a large order from someone considering partnering with us.
My father had always been a solid sounding board, and I had wanted his opinion. We had talked about how large maple syrup distributors in the area lacked the charm of small, family-owned shacks like ours. I hadn’t expected him to take that conversation as a suggestion to spend money neither of us had.
Dad must have noticed my hesitation. “Come on, Mark,” he said, patting the side of the machine. “You’ve been talking about wanting to do more. Consider this a kick in the pants to do it. Call that investor who offered to work with us and make it happen.”
“It’s not that easy,” I muttered.
Especially now that I didn’t think Dylan had been entirely honest about what happened when he went to see Lanie.
Dad’s smile faltered, just for a moment, before he nodded. “Did I overstep? I thought this was something you’d be happy about.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Is it returnable?”
“No, I got a special deal on it.”
“Do I want to know how much you spent?”
“Probably not.”
“Low four digits?”
He looked away.
I continued, “High four digits?” When he walked over to the machine and began polishing it, my voice rose an octave. “Five digits?”
Without meeting my gaze, he mumbled, “It was on special sale. Delivery was included.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, breathing out my irritation and breathing in patience and calm. This was my fault. I had let my time as Dylan fill my head with ideas I couldn’t afford—then I had taken those ideas home to my parents. When I lowered my hand, I closed the distance between my father and me and hugged him. “Dad, I love you. Thank you for believing in me.”
He returned the hug, then cleared his throat. “I’ve already named her.”
“Really?” I rocked back on my heels and smiled. Yes, my parents drove me crazy at times, but I knew I had done the same to them during my teen years—and they had loved me right through them.
Dad began polishing the machine again. “Yep. Hear me out. You need her. We’ll call her Kick in the Pants. Kip for short.”
I groaned through a laugh and gave the side of our new reverse osmosis machine a good pat. “Welcome to the family, Kip.”
A few minutes later, I stepped outside, letting the cool air hit my face as I tried to collect my thoughts. The familiar scent of maple and wood smoke drifted from the shack—a scent that usually grounded me. Today, it felt heavy.
I pulled out my phone and stared at Dylan’s name in my contacts. I didn’t know what I’d say to him yet—whether to thank him for helping or tell him to mind his own business.
And then there was Lanie.
My thumb hovered over Dylan’s name before I locked the screen and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Money was still coming in from the buyers he was sending my way. I needed to think this through.
One way or another, I would make things right. I just wasn’t sure where to start.
The front door of the main house opened, pulling me from my thoughts. Mom stepped out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She waved me over. “Mark, come inside for a minute,” she called, her voice soft but with that unmistakable mom-tone that meant it wasn’t really a request.
I sighed, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as I crossed the yard toward the porch.
She held the door open, waiting for me to enter before closing it behind me. The familiar warmth of the kitchen wrapped around me, the smell of baking bread lingering in the air. Mom didn’t say anything at first. She only looked at me, her sharp eyes scanning my face.
“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, her tone gentle but direct.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms. “Just trying to plan for some new ventures.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and she gave me a knowing look. “You didn’t like your father’s purchase?”
I could have lied, but she knew me too well. “It was... unexpected.”
“I could have stopped him, but I thought it would be good for you... and for him. Since you moved out, he’s been feeling a little lost. The idea of increasing syrup production has gotten him up and out, talking to people in town again. The Lawsons have given us permission to tap their land.”
“That’s awesome.” We had thought about asking them in the past but had always been working at capacity. “Good for Dad.”
“He is so proud of himself. I love that for him.”
She turned to remove a towel from on top of a freshly baked loaf of bread. “Would you like a slice?”
“Does the sun rise in the east?”
With a chuckle, she asked, “Butter?”
“Of course.”
No one made fresh garlic butter like my mother.
She and her friends swapped farm goods all year round. The wife of the local dairy farm traded fresh milk and sinfully delicious desserts for seasoned butter, maple syrup, and cheese. Maplebridge was big enough that you could fly under the radar if you wanted to, but if you wanted to be part of a community, we had a strong and welcoming one.
I scarfed down the still-warm bread, even though I was full from dinner. Mom’s bread brought comfort to the chilly evening.
“What else is weighing on your mind?” she prodded gently.
I opened my mouth to say nothing, but what was the point? This was Mom. She knew me too well.
I sighed, dropping my gaze to the worn linoleum floor.
“It’s... complicated,” I said after a long pause.
“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone,” she said, her voice softening. She pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit.
I hesitated before sinking into the chair. “I made a bad choice,” I admitted. “Did something foolish. And now I’m afraid I might’ve hurt someone I care about.”
Again .
Mom sat across from me, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together. “We all make mistakes, Mark. Everyone fumbles. What matters is what you do about it.”
“That’s the thing.” I leaned forward, running a hand through my hair. “If I thought outright apologizing would fix it, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But explaining how and why I did what I did would probably make things worse.”
I imagined that apology: Hey, Lanie, I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I caught some feelings for you back in high school and haven’t been able to forget you. Yes, I could have gone out to see you and told you how I felt, but I came up with a better idea. Sure, it doesn’t sound all that well thought out now, but I was drunk and looking at a braver version of myself... So, I fucked up and, like some middle school moron, asked him to find out if you ever liked me back.
Oh, yeah, and if he was a douche to you, I’m sorry.
Do you want me to tell him off now or after I figure out how to pay for my new reverse osmosis machine without his help?
I should punch him in the face.
But been there, done that—didn’t want to lose everything because I couldn’t contain my temper.
Unless he said something rude to her again. Then I’d have to make his face look nothing like mine.
My mother’s thoughtful gaze didn’t waver. “There’s more than one way to apologize,” she said. “Sometimes it’s not about explaining yourself—it’s about showing up and showing the person you’ve learned, and you care enough to make it right. I’ve always been more impressed by actions than words.”
“I do think she deserves the truth—all of it,” I said, my voice low. “But I don’t know what to say.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said with quiet certainty. “You’ve got a good heart, Mark. You always have. That’s why this is eating at you so much—you care. And that’s a good place to start.”
I nodded, her words settling over me like a balm.
She reached across the table, covering my hand with hers. “Remember, most things are solved by taking them one step at a time and simply not giving up.”
Feeling like the luckiest son in the world, I squeezed her hand gently. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled, her eyes warm and full of love. “Now, go get some rest. Whatever it is, you can tackle it tomorrow.”
As I stepped back outside, the air felt a little less heavy, and the knot in my chest loosened just enough to let me breathe a bit easier. One step at a time, I thought. Inside my truck, I took out my phone again and texted: Lanie knows about the dare. I’m going to apologize and tell her everything.
Dylan didn’t answer. That didn’t surprise me.