As a single mom rebuilding my life from scratch, I don’t need help. And I  definitely don’t need the attention of a six-foot-three maple farmer with a beard and a hero complex who looks at me like I’m a problem he didn’t sign up for. 

My landlord is broad-shouldered, permanently unimpressed, and entirely too comfortable telling me when I’m wrong. I think he’s grumpy, rigid, and overprotective. He thinks I’m chaos in Crocs.

Falling for Josh Lawrence was never part of the plan.

But then he starts showing up.

For my son when he’s overwhelmed.

For my daughters when they need someone steady.

And for me when my hands won’t stop shaking.

I didn’t come to Vermont looking for a protector. I don’t need rescuing. But somewhere between harvest festivals, pumpkin canoe races, and quiet mornings in the sugar shack, the man I swore was just an annoyance becomes my safe place.

And when my dangerous past resurfaces and threatens the new life I’ve built, the grumpy maple farmer next door becomes my fiercest protector, ready to stand by my side while I fight for my family. 

Because it turns out maple farmers are a lot like their trees: quiet, stubborn, and surprisingly sweet when the pressure builds.