Falling in Vermont (Cozy Nights in Vermont #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

SOPHIA

W ind whipped around Sophia Bertone until her teeth chattered.

She fucking loved it.

Bobbing around curvy Vermont back roads in her rental SUV in the early autumn evening, the future finally seemed bright. Chilly air seeped into her bones, erasing all the sweaty, humid memories of Dallas earlier that morning.

Pools of boob sweat would be a forgotten, distant memory after her six-week fall stay in Vermont.

Maybe then, with the appropriate amount of festive weather, and if she got chilly enough, she’d be inspired to create the twenty-seven recipes needed to finish her cookbook manuscript. They’d been following her like possessed little ducklings for months, and every day her deadline grew closer.

Sophia had met fame and fortune as an influencer on the internet ten years ago. She’d posted about cooking fabulous, cozy meals full of aesthetic vibes, feel-good ingredients, and cozy wisdom that she’d passed down from her Italian nonna. That success had led to a three-cookbook deal, the first of which was a mid-list success.

She’d scraped the bottom of the barrel with her second cookbook, and now she had barely anything left in the tank. This next one (probably her last, based on said bottom-scraping) was supposed to be a “rustic fall”-inspired set of recipes. She’d had little inspiration in Dallas, where autumn weather was more sweaty than sweater.

On a whim, she’d decided to rent a small cottage on a pumpkin farm in Clovely, Vermont. It had come recommended by her sister, who had been enchanted by it on a reporting assignment the week prior.

A six-week stay surrounded by every orange imaginable, preparing heaps of fresh squash, pumpkin, and apples is definitely the thing that’s going to fix me .

I’ll rent a snug little cottage with its snug little kitchen and snug myself into a pumpkin spice-infused coma until I beat twenty-seven recipes out of my brain.

Perfect plan, no notes.

The robotic voice of the GPS announced that she Had Arrived , but Sophia only saw large maple and pine trees surrounding a completely darkened, unmarked farm.

“Wasn’t this place a pumpkin patch?” she muttered, utterly confused.

A big white farmhouse stood behind the trees, but it was dark.

She’d quadruple-checked with Blake, the owner, about the kitchen essentials and her start date for her rental. This had been an under-the-table, not Airbnb situation because his renter in the furnished cottage had bailed. Her sister, Iris, had introduced them on the phone when she’d visited the pumpkin patch last week.

No signs of life were visible, aside from a lone flickering fluorescent light on the side of a barn.

Fabulous .

Sophia ordered her phone to call her sister as she slowly pulled the SUV onto the farm’s crunchy gravel drive. The phone rang, and an out-of-breath Iris answered.

“Do you love it? Are you ready to fall in Vermont?” Iris asked, already knowing where Sophia was headed.

Sophia rolled her eyes at her dorky little sister. “I don’t love that you’re luring me to my death. The farm looks abandoned.”

Iris giggled away from the phone. “Sam, stop.”

“Oh, God,” Sophia groaned. “You guys just had sex, didn’t you? Ugh.” Sophia shuddered.

“Don’t be gross.” Iris giggled into the phone.

Giggling . She’d never heard it from her uptight, Type A-est of the A sister. She was happy that her little sister fell for her photography partner, but a girl could still be jealous.

“Hey, I’m just glad you’ve graduated from your nunlike status to a normal lady with needs and wants.” Sophia drove down the gravel drive around the side of the farmhouse, and a small building appeared with the lights on. “Oh, wait, we might have life.”

A little cottage with an honest-to-god thatched roof was tucked behind the farmhouse. It was aglow with orange and yellow lights behind antique-looking lead-paned windows.

“Did you get lost?” Iris asked, still sounding distracted.

“No, I think I’m here. I just... stay on the line with me. I’m wary of rural men who don’t leave their porch lights on.”

Sophia parked and hopped out of the SUV, cradling the phone to her ear as she sneakily stepped up to the cottage in her sandals.

She’d worn a flirty summer jumpsuit with a cut-out crop on her soft tummy, flowing wide legs, and flutter sleeves that barely dusted the tops of her arms, all cinched down into a sweetheart neckline that tied in the bust. It highlighted every single one of her curves that she loved to show off and was a comfy dream to fly in.

It had been approximately Satan’s Butthole degrees Fahrenheit that afternoon in Dallas when she’d left. The jumpsuit had a bra built in and her barely-there underwear didn’t cover much, which meant the chilly breeze blowing through the thin material made her teeth chatter audibly into the phone.

“What’s that sound?” Iris said.

“T-t-that’s me,” she whispered, creeping toward the cottage. “Isn’t it amazing? I’m cold for the first time in a year. Now shh . I need to make sure he’s not going to come up and murder me from behind.” She looked around warily in the dark night.

She slowly walked up to the bottom of the kitchen window to peek into the cottage.

A large man filled the small space of the living room. Broad shoulders and a wide, broad chest were covered in dark, worn flannel. He had closely cropped hair in the back with a long swoop of wavy auburn hair on top, and he was built like a fucking tank.

Her pussy clenched involuntarily.

He moved a loud vacuum back and forth over the front of the hearth. A fire roared in the fireplace, and a black and white dog chased the cord of the vacuum as the man expertly whipped it around the living room.

The vacuum was loud, which would explain why the dog hadn’t barked at her driving in. She crouched below the window, wanting to make a study of the hunky large man who vacuumed for strangers.

“Are you dead yet?” Iris asked.

“Shh, not so loud,” she said, whispering, crouching so just her eyes would be visible. “I’m observing.”

“And?”

“And…he bought me flowers?” Sophia said, seeing the beautiful, hand-cut wildflowers in an antique vase on a small butcher block kitchen island.

“Well, that was nice,” Iris added.

The man, who Sophia assumed must be Blake, moved around the room fluffing couch pillows and winding the cord on the vacuum.

He had a kind face—open with round cheeks. His eyebrows knitted together as he moved through the space as if he was worried it wasn’t good enough. His arms looked like they could throw her and two of her best friends on the bed, and Sophia was no featherweight.

His thighs looked like the thick rugby thighs she’d lusted over during the Olympics. They were nearly goddamn tree trunks. He had a broad chest with a belly that looked somehow soft and hard.

Fuck , he was hot.

She loved a fluffy man. Someone she could feed and then ride as hard as she wanted.

His thick arms gave way to muscular forearms full of freckles. His shirt had been rolled to the elbows.

“You still there?” Iris said loudly into her ear. Sophia lost her balance in surprise, trying to catch the phone after it slipped out of her hand.

She grumbled out a ladylike “fuck” as she dove for the phone, narrowly avoiding it splashing into an unknown puddle of dubious origin.

She careened toward the bushes, catching herself on the brick with her nails. Damn, there goes seven-tenths of a manicure .

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m here,” she said, out of breath as she grabbed the phone. “He’s hot in that broken, fluffy man way.”

“He is your type, but I think he had a wedding ring on,” Iris said.

Damn. She hadn’t been able to see that far away.

“Well, good for them,” Sophia grumbled. A metal-hinged creak sounded above her head, and Sophia looked up with horror to see the kind face peeking out the window, staring down at her.

“It’s easier to get in through the door,” Blake said in a low rumble, smiling shyly. “I can open it if you’d like.”

“Uh… I gotta go, Iris.” Sophia dove for the end button.

God, she was so awkward. Why was she so awkward? Why was she crouching, watching a man like she was the serial killer in the situation?

“Sounds good. Sorry, I was just…” Lusting after you? “Thought I’d check out the foundation of the cottage to make sure that it’s fine,” she said finally. She stood up straight, shoving at her hair. “That’s, uh, important to me.”

He gave her a shy, confused smile as he slowly closed the window.

I wonder if my airline would take utter mortification as payment for an immediate flight back home?

She shame-walked the cobblestones up to the front cottage door. The door had long, thick planks banded together with metal and an arched top. Vines crawled up beside the doors and windows.

The entire front of the cottage was fucking enchanting.

Damn, I should have filmed this. She was always looking for more social content, and “Unbox My Cottage Rental” could have been an interesting angle.

As she walked up the steps, hot-probably-Blake-man opened the door and her jaw dropped. His shoulders fill the entire door frame.

“I’m Blake,” he said in a low, warm voice and stuck out his hand. He had a full beard but she couldn’t stop staring at his kind eyes that sparkled in the dim light.

“Sophia.” She grabbed his paw of a hand, and a zing went up through her arm at the contact. His calloused hands were rough, but he shook her hand gently.

She loved the feeling of her hand being enveloped, and her body lit up like a Rockefeller Christmas tree in response. Her flimsy outfit was doing her no favors, though. She was keenly aware of her nipples poking against the fabric as she stared up into his sage-green eyes. He had auburn lashes, and she was momentarily distracted by the constellation of freckles across his nose.

“Come in, come in,” he said suddenly, as if snapping himself out of a trance. “Let me show you around.” He opened the door and gestured for her to follow him.

The cottage walls were rough-hewn logs, stacked together with some mud-like grout. The window panes were old and had bubbling, rough glass interspersed between lead detail. She felt like she’d been dropped into Snow White’s cottage, sans seven tiny men.

Or maybe they were just all rolled into one hulking man.

“I thought you might like to have a fire, given this is the first chilly night,” he said as they wandered into the living room. “Do you know how to operate the flue?”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging.

No, I don’t, but I’m an eldest daughter and we are experts at Googling things.

Blake walked into the small living room that flowed out from the kitchen. “I wrote down instructions just in case since you mentioned you’d never had a place with a fireplace before.”

She wanted to shake her head like a dog with water in its ear. He remembered a small detail she’d said on the phone a week ago?

And did something about it??

“I also stocked some basics in the fridge—eggs and milk from the farm next door,” he continued.

“Wow, that was so kind,” she said, still surprised. Her last landlord had stared at her tits the whole time they’d talked, hocked a loogie, and then left her with the keys.

This is…

She clocked Blake’s beefy arms as he wiped dust off a cabinet top.

…an upgrade.

He adjusted the logs in the fire with the sharp pokey thing that came with fireplaces. “I remember you mentioned that you’re going to cook a lot here, and I thought you might want to get started. Plus, Mabel has the best eggs in the county.” He shyly smiled over his shoulder.

“Is Mabel…your…chicken?”

His low rumbling laugh echoed into her rib cage and shuddered all the way down, far below her belly button. Phew . It had been a solid minute since she’d had a reaction like this.

I should’ve come to Vermont a lot sooner if they’re all this hot.

“Mabel is the farmer next door,” he said, clarifying.

We do not lust after a married man, Sophia. You’re better than this.

She thought of how to silence her guilt: food. Food was how she soothed her soul and the souls of others. Her lasagna mended fences, her muffins healed bruised hearts. She was technically only half Italian, but her soul was all Italian grandma.

She smiled as she leaned her hip against the kitchen island. “You have to let me make you something as a thank you. This is too much. Over and above, really, for a landlord. What dishes does your wife like?”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat and scratched his head. “Um…”

Oh, shit. Did I say something wrong?

“It’s just me,” he said finally. “My wife passed a few years ago.”

Her heart seized in panic. “Oh. Oh, no. I’m so sorry. Iris had said…” She looked down at his left hand as if by reflex and noticed there was no ring, but a tan line remained. As if he’d taken it off recently.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged with an embarrassed smile.

Oh no, she’d made this giant teddy bear of a man feel bad. Shit, now I’m going to have to make him two things. Maybe a lasagna and a pie?

“Let me help you with your bags,” he said quickly, changing the subject. He tossed open the front latch of the door, and when it swung in two parts—a top and a bottom—she squealed with delight.

“I’ve always wanted one of these. It’s like a fairytale cottage,” she said, marveling that she could have the top of the door open while she baked, like a fucking Disney princess.

He chuckled at her dorky excitement.

The trunk of the SUV popped open, and she came back to earth from her fantasy.

“Wait, you don’t have to get my bags,” she said, momentarily discombobulated at her unknown fantasy come true. “They’re heavy.” She followed him out onto the gravel.

A cook was only as good as her tools, and she’d grown emotionally attached to her heavy orange enamel pot and perfect cookie sheets. They had scar marks from her many cooking and baking experiments.

He hefted one piece of luggage into his arm like it was a pillow, hoisted another over his shoulder, and grabbed her third small bag in his other arm. She imagined he might do something similar with a haystack.

Yum .

She did have a secret fantasy of men doing things she never asked them to do. She’d been a typical eldest daughter her entire life, being two steps ahead of everybody. Always being the organizer, always being the one in charge. If she didn’t do it, who else would?

As it turned out? Blake the Teddy Bear Farmer.

She grabbed her purse from the car, walking behind him with a tilted head as he miraculously carried her three heavy bags in one go.

“I left some instructions for you on the table,” he said as they walked into the kitchen. “Just little tips about the cottage. Some things can be finicky since the plumbing is old.” He gently set the luggage down in the kitchen.

She flipped through the neatly typed and stapled set of instructions. Her type-A sister would love this guy. “Thank you,” she said, placing a hand on his arm, moved by his thoughtfulness.

She felt a gentle nudge against her leg and looked down to see the black and white dog looking up at her with loving, puppy-dog eyes and pinned-back ears.

“Oh my god, you are adorable.” She bent over and the dog jumped up excitedly to lick her cheek.

“Whoa, down, Star. Sorry, she’s not usually like this with strangers,” he said with a smile and obvious affection.

“Star,” Sophia echoed, seeing the star-shaped patch of fur on her chest. Star licked fervent kisses along Sophia’s cheek, and her heart melted. She looked to be some sort of herding mutt with long, silky hair and intelligent eyes.

“She likes you,” he said with raised eyebrows. “She’s usually distrustful of strangers.”

“Star seems like a smart girl who knows I might work on a dog-friendly biscuit recipe for her.” She scruffled Star’s ears and the dog’s tongue lolled out of her mouth.

Now that was an idea she hadn’t considered before.

I could probably get three or four recipes if I included dog treats. A glimmer of hope in the unending recipe marathon sparkled in front of her. Maybe I’ll meet my deadline. Maybe I’ll actually finish this cookbook.

She scratched up and down Star’s body, swaying her hips from side to side, side to side, matching Star’s helicopter-style tail wag. “You’re just the best. Est. Girl . Is it okay if I make something dog-friendly for her?”

She looked over her shoulder at Blake. He’d taken off his flannel shirt and held it in front of him as he stood nervously behind the kitchen island.

His cheeks had turned pink, probably from the heat of the room. “Yeah, no, uh, I mean that’s fine. No food allergies or anything. Just, uh, just the usual stuff.”

“Luckily, I worked in a dog bakery in college, Star girl.” Sophia scratched Star’s head as the dog glued herself to Sophia’s thigh.

“We should get going and let you settle in,” he said, suddenly opening the door. “Come on, Star.” He slapped his leg, and Star ran out the door.

Sophia stood up, surprised at his urgent tone. “Oh, sure.”

He closed the lower door behind him. “Just call or text if you need anything,” he said with a low rumbling in his voice. His eyes connected with hers briefly. “Any time.” Then he spun around as if he’d seen seven ghosts and walked to his farmhouse.

His voice had been innocent, friendly even, but she let her imagination spiral out of control at the any time he’d added.

Sophia waved slowly, confused by his sudden departure. Maybe I offended him?

Her fingers traced the instructions printout as she leaned over to smell the flowers he set out for her. It was an odd feeling to have somebody two steps ahead of her, actually giving a shit about how she felt, and remembering what she’d said.

A hot man who took care of things before she even thought of asking? A dog she could pet anytime she wanted (probably)? And a fireplace all to herself?

No shared walls with any neighbors, crisp air filtering in, and the crackle of a fireplace. The worn butcher block counters and island had stains from pumpkins and berries past and small knife marks that made her unafraid to dive in and use the space for exactly what she wanted.

She burst into a running man dance move at how happy she felt.

She started brainstorming what she’d bake that night. A comforting treat for tomorrow morning sounded good, and maybe she’d make something for the beefy hunk who’d made everything so nice.

She peeked out the open half of the door, looking out at the pumpkin patch as Blake and Star walked to the darkened farmhouse.

She stared at Blake’s bubble-like ass in his tight jeans and bit her lip.

All this, plus a view worth looking at for the next six weeks .