“I didn’t even know they did manicures,” Mrs. Rooney said.
Smiling at her, I said, “They do now. Roxanne from the salon over in Montpelier is working at Cosette’s on Thursday, and seeing how it goes.”
“I get my hair cut there,” Brenna said, then nodded decisively. “I’m going to try it. I went last time to the place in Montpelier, but Cosette’s is so cute. I love its old-fashioned vibe with its white walls and barebone chairs, and combs in blue Barbicide. But more than that, I feel like Colleen really takes pride in everyone’s hair she does.” Focusing again on me, she said, “Bet you’re not used to salons that are cute or old-fashioned?”
Her question was innocent, but it started my gut churning. I wasn’t used to those things. Even though this was a fun passion project, could I be happy doing this long term?
After a stroll through the trees, where Ben pointed out sap lines, we popped into the tasting room. It was dark, and he flicked the lights on dim. It was a beautiful room with pine paneling and floorboards, light bulbs inside empty syrup jars hanging down from the ceiling, and leather stools lining a tasting bar made of the same pine. The whole vibe was rustic, homey, and romantic in equal measure.
“Sit,” Ben told me, and I did, my butt sinking into soft leather.
He went behind the counter and opened a bottle of syrup, sticking his finger inside before leaning across the table and tracing my lips with it. When he was done painting my mouth, he leaned closer and kissed me, taking his time, running his tongue along my lower lip and then my upper, finally swirling his tongue with mine.
“Mmm,” he murmured while making love to my mouth.
A warm sensation flooded my veins. Need, ecstasy, love, or lust—I wasn’t sure, but a flurry of emotions I’d never felt before took over my body. I wanted to stop this, but I couldn’t.
Worry bombarded my brain, but my heart was a goner. I’d be leaving Vermont eventually, right? My parents would never let this charade go on forever. And would I want this forever? It certainly felt comfortable, but I had something to prove to everyone. I needed to show the world I could make it on my own.
It was impossible to focus on my goals as Ben continued to tease my mouth, his forearms on the bar, straining to stay close to me. I had no clue what inspired me to crawl on the bar, resting on my knees, barely breaking the kiss with Ben.
Our moans rang out in the quiet room, and I swore I could hear my heart pounding inside my chest. In the battle of my better judgment versus my insatiable need, my desire to be with Ben won out as he hopped up on the bar with me.
We were front to front on our knees on the bar top, my hair a tangled mess and sticky on the ends that brushed along my lips. We ground into each other, trying to create greater friction with our clothes on, and then Ben leaned over to grab the syrup.
When he took my hand in his and dipped it in the syrup, guiding me to paint his lips like he’d done mine, I decided to enjoy the moment. It was so decadent, a memory I would have for a lifetime. Stars twinkled in the dark sky outside the windows as the dim lighting in the room brought out the sparkle in Ben’s eyes. Blue for days, a sky I’d like to fly into, maybe forever.
But even as my lips moved in sync with his, I needed to face reality. Eventually, I was leaving for Miami or Boston or maybe San Francisco. Somewhere big and bold, where I could make a name for myself. A city away from New York where my parents reigned and I’d been disgraced, yet somewhere impressive enough that they would be proud of me.
I told myself until that time, I could savor these luscious maple-flavored lips.
In the city, out in the real world, things worked differently. There would be fix-ups and dates because of convenience or connections. Nothing would be real like what I was experiencing with Ben, grinding into each other on a hardwood bar, sticky with pale syrup.
Of course, somewhere deep inside, I knew I wasn’t being fair, but I was selfish. I wanted to have this now, and to deal with making something of my life later. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I knew I’d been stunted, but I’d deal with that later too.
“God, you taste fucking delicious,” Ben mumbled against my mouth. “I want to lay you on this bar and strip you down and devour you.”
Pulling back, I hopped off the bar as if a glass of cold water had been dumped over my sticky hair. “We can’t. I’ve already been part of one scandal and painted a harlot.”
Ben laughed as he hopped down too. “No way you’re a harlot, Murph. You have to know that.” He came up behind me and held me close, his mouth making its way around to my ear for a quick nibble.
I nodded, turning in his arms to look up at him. “I know, but I like your parents. I hardly think it will win me any extra credit if they find me spread eagle on their tasting bar with you tasting me.”
This got me a bigger laugh. “Fair enough, but we’re going to recreate this on my kitchen counter soon.”
Reluctantly, I moved back, immediately missing his closeness. “Deal.”
Straightening my shirt and self-consciously running the back of my hand along my mouth, I winced as guilt swept over me. It wasn’t fair to Ben to keep moving along with this relationship, but I couldn’t stop if I tried.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, knowing I had to work the next day, or
