Chapter 10 #2
The syrup was smooth and sweet with a clean, almost floral finish.
“Now try this.” Sonny opened a darker bottle. “Grade A Dark Robust. Stronger maple flavor, more complex. This is what I use for cooking and baking.”
The difference was immediately apparent. Where the light had been gentle and refined, the dark was bold and assertive, with deeper caramelized notes that reminded her of—
“Oh my stars,” Andrea breathed. “This is it!”
Sonny’s weathered brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon, miss?”
“Sorry.” Andrea shook her head. “It’s just, there’s this flavor I’ve been chasing—something like caramel, but more subtle. Not as sweet.” She looked up at Sonny with excitement building in her chest. “Could I try the Bourbon Barrel Aged?”
“Now you’re talking.” Sonny’s grin was infectious as he opened a third bottle. “This one’s my personal favorite. We age it in bourbon barrels for six months—picks up vanilla and oak notes without needing to add any alcohol.”
The moment the syrup hit her tongue, Andrea’s mind exploded with possibilities.
The bourbon barrel aging added warmth and depth, creating exactly the sophisticated sweetness she’d been trying to recreate for the pecan tassie–inspired cupcake frosting.
But more than that, she could suddenly see a dozen different applications—glazes for cupcakes, fillings for cookies, a maple bourbon buttercream that would pair beautifully with spiced cake.
For the first time in months, her creative block cracked wide open.
“I need to buy some of this,” she said quickly. “All of it. I mean, well not all of it, but several bottles of each grade. And the maple candy—is that made with the syrup, too?”
“Sure is. My wife makes that in the sugar house kitchen. We’ve got maple cream too, and maple sugar for baking.”
Andrea could hardly hold still while Sonny assembled her order.
Her mind felt like it was vibrating inside her skull.
As for Sonny, he looked pleased as punch, as he bundled up three bottles of each syrup grade, jars of maple cream and sugar, and a dozen packages of the candy shaped like tiny maple leaves.
Sonny beamed as he packed her bottles carefully in a wooden crate. “If you want to see where this all comes from, you’re welcome to visit the sugar house sometime.”
“I’d love that,” Andrea said, meaning it completely. “I might have to make a return visit in the summer. I’m from Los Angeles, just here for the holidays.”
“Oh, I see! Well, welcome to Vermont. If you need more, you give me a call! We do nationwide shipping, too, of course.” Sonny shuffled across his small booth and snagged a business card from a neat stack on the front table. “Here you go—” he said, passing it to her.
“I just might do that,” Andrea said, then she thanked him and headed out of the booth to make room for a young couple who were waiting their turn.
She made her way back through the market, her arms heavy with the crate of syrup and bags of other goods, but her spirits lighter than they’d been since arriving in Vermont.
The snow had started falling again, fat flakes drifting past the tall windows.
Children pressed their faces against the glass, watching the snowfall with delight, and somewhere in the distance, church bells chimed the hour.
There was more to see, but it was all she could do to keep herself from running down the hall’s steps and dashing back to her car, her mind already whirling with ways to adjust her recipe.
She stopped only long enough to buy a few packs of smoked salmon from the fish vendor, knowing she’d never be allowed to bake in peace if she didn’t uphold her end of the bargain struck with Phantom, and then she hurried out into the snow, humming along with the Christmas music.
By the time Andrea returned to the townhouse, it was late afternoon and the snow was falling steadily. The work trucks were gone, and she assumed Wes and his crew were done for the day. She briefly wondered what he might be doing, but those thoughts were quickly edged out by her baking plans.
Phantom watched with open curiosity as she lugged the wooden crate into the kitchen and began unpacking her treasures. “So your expedition proved fruitful,” he observed, peering at the array of bottles and jars. “Unless you’ve developed a sudden pancake obsession.”
“Better than pancakes,” Andrea replied, carefully arranging the different grades of syrup on the counter. “This is the missing piece for my recipe. The key to those pecan tassies Wes described.”
“Ah, the lumberjack’s grandmother’s secret recipe.” Phantom’s tone was dry, but there was a hint of genuine interest in the way he studied the bottles. “And you believe tree sap is the answer?”
“Not just any tree sap. Bourbon barrel aged maple syrup.” Andrea held up the bottle like it was liquid gold. “Wait until you taste this. Wait … can cats have syrup?” She flapped a hand, dismissing her own question. “Eh, I’ll Google it later.”
She fed Crumpet and Phantom—who appeared to be getting along—then began gathering ingredients, her movements energized and purposeful.
Flour, butter, sugar, vanilla, and the bottles of maple syrup.
For the next hour, she worked with a focus she hadn’t felt in weeks, adjusting ratios, mixing batters, filling cupcake liners.
The first batch emerged from the oven with perfect domed tops, golden brown and fragrant with the warm scent of maple and vanilla. Andrea held her breath as she broke one open, examining the structure before taking a careful bite.
The flavor was exactly what she’d been chasing—complex and warm, with notes of caramel, vanilla, and oak from the bourbon barrels, all underscored by the distinctive richness of real maple syrup.
Not too sweet, but indulgent and sophisticated.
It would be amplified all the more once she mixed up a coordinating frosting.
And, of course, added the sugared pecans.
“This is it,” she whispered, closing her eyes to savor the moment. “This is exactly it.”
Phantom, who had been watching from his perch on the counter, tilted his head. “I assume from your ridiculous expression that you’ve achieved success?”
“Absolute, total success.” Andrea grinned, breaking off a small piece and offering it to the cat. “Want to try? Google says it’s safe as long as you don’t go ham.”
Phantom’s whiskers twitched. “I have never gone ham. I don’t have the faintest idea what that even means.”
Andrea was too elated to get bogged down in Phantom’s grousing. “Then how do you know you haven’t?” She set the bite on the counter. “Take it or leave it. Up to you, cat.”
Phantom continued glowering at her, but leaned forward enough to sniff it delicately, then took the tiniest nibble. His eyes widened slightly. “Acceptable,” he conceded, which from him was practically a standing ovation.
Andrea’s phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Wes.
How’s the ankle today? Getting any cabin fever yet?
Andrea smiled, her fingers hovering over the screen. After a moment’s hesitation, she typed:
Much better! And I just had a major breakthrough with my recipe. Finally cracked the flavor profile I’ve been chasing.
His response came almost immediately:
That’s great news! Does this mean taste testing is in my future?
She bit her lip, grinning as she typed:
Could be. How’s your sweet tooth feeling?
Always ready for duty.
Andrea laughed out loud, prompting a fresh round of judgmental looks from Phantom.
Andrea set her phone down, feeling a flutter of anticipation that had nothing to do with recipe testing. She turned back to her cupcakes, even more eager to get to work on the frosting, as she began to imagine the look in Wes’s eyes when he took his first bite.