Sabrina
As my phone buzzed on the coffee table, I stared at it, debating whether I really wanted to move to answer it.
Maybe I’d just let it go to voicemail. Despite sleeping nine hours last night, I was exhausted.
I’d tried adding vitamins to my daily routine.
That didn’t help. Drinking more water didn’t help.
Mom had been bugging me to see a doctor, and I was beginning to think she was right.
Forcing myself to sit up, I reached for the phone, and when Harper’s name flashed on the screen, I swiped my thumb over it to answer quickly.
“It’s time.”
Her voice was so loud I nearly jumped off the couch.
Pulling the device away from my ear, I winced. Jesus.
“What—”
“The sap is running,” she shouted. “Get up. We have work to do.”
I blinked, my brain fuzzy as I tried to digest her words. It was Tuesday. “Aren’t you at school?”
“Yeah.” A door slammed. “But this is more important. I texted my mom and she’s calling the office to tell them my aunt is picking me up for a doctor appointment.”
Silence hung between us as her meaning registered. Ah. I was the fictional aunt in this scenario.
“So get over here,” she ordered. “I need to stop at the library and pick up my equipment.”
Damn. She wasn’t just excited. She was electric. Like she’d been plugged into a generator that was pumping energy drinks through her veins.
Meanwhile, I was sitting on my mother’s couch in sweats, scanning the room while my brain still worked to power on.
“Come on,” she urged. “Nina’s already on her way. Canceled all her clients.”
“Already? How?”
“The text chain. Everyone is mobilizing. You’re the only one who didn’t respond. Which is why I had to hide in a bathroom stall and call you.” She grunted. “Do you know how hard it is to whisper when something this monumental is happening?”
Whisper. Ha. She’d nearly ruptured my eardrum when I answered.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming.” I pushed a hand through my hair. I had showered, so really, all I needed were clothes.
“Sap day! Sap day!” she sang. “This is the day we’ve been preparing for.”
I hopped off the couch and shook my head, kicking my brain into gear. I need to get dressed. Then I could figure out what needed to be done next.
“Layers. Boots. It’s gonna be cold and it will be a long day,” Harper said, like she was the adult and I was the child.
“I have a shot list, and there are several pieces of content to get done. And so much B-roll.” Her voice got higher with each task she listed.
“Plus someone has to go into the lives and moderate.”
“On it,” I grumbled, opening my closet door. “Give me ten minutes.”
As I pulled on leggings and an oversized sweater, I psyched myself up for the challenge ahead. It was game time. We’d been working too hard not to see this through.
Woman up, Monroe. I dragged my brush through my hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Time to kick some ass.
The Lawrence farm was chaotic when we arrived. The sun shone brightly off the snow, and the cold air stung my lungs. Trucks lined the driveway, and there were people everywhere, including several kids and a shaggy gray dog the size of a horse.
My mother was bundled up in her pink parka, gesturing toward the tree line while speaking with an older woman.
Harper hadn’t stopped talking since I pulled up in front of the high school. She’d even synced her phone to my car’s Bluetooth and called Meg for server maintenance and live stream moderation.
Meg, who had toppled regimes and quietly rewritten a small country’s tax code over a long weekend, was uncharacteristically giddy about sap. “I can’t believe it,” she squealed as we pulled up to the farm. “This is better than the Latvian banking thing.”
Harper looked at me, brow furrowed in confusion.
I shook my head. It was always better not to ask.
“Protocol three,” Harper said. “It’s eleven now. We have several hours of light left. Text me if you hit any snags.”
“Roger that,” Meg said.
“What is protocol three?” I asked as we climbed out of the SUV. “You making plans without me?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Harper was already hitching a lighting rig over her shoulder and waving at Nina. “Grab the drone,” she said as she jogged toward the action.
Slinging bags over my shoulder and cradling the precious drone, which had cost more than my first car, I trudged toward them.
I had my head down, adjusting the bags to keep them from sliding, when a large, broad-shouldered person stepped into my path.
“Morning.”
I looked up, squinting in the sunlight, fighting the way that voice sent a shiver up my spine. “Gabriel,” I said coolly.
He ducked, frowning at my feet. “Those are not going to work.”
I assessed my knee-high Jimmy Choo riding boots. They had a low block heel and were silk lined. Perfect for rustic farm shit.
“They’re waterproof,” I said, stepping to one side.
“They’re not that waterproof.” He moved with me, keeping me from passing. “And what’s with the coat?” He tugged at my lapel. “This is going to get ruined.”
“It’s cashmere.” Huffing, I took a step back. “Perfect for winter.”
Harper had said to wear layers. I’d pulled on several. And boots, along with my warmest coat. Yes, they were all black and designer, and yes, each piece cost a small fortune, but why would I go out of my way to buy a new wardrobe for my new short-term role as small-town maple wench?
Gabe, of course, looked like a Patagonia catalog come to life in work pants, boots, and a flannel shirt. He wore a down vest over the shirt and had a pair of work gloves tucked into his back pocket.
“You don’t get to criticize my outfit,” I said. “You look like a Maple Syrup Ken doll.”
He broke into a smile that was far too beautiful for my well-being. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t,” I snapped.
Unbothered, He took my elbow and steered me toward his Jeep. “I knew this would happen. No worries, though. I came prepared.”
“I need to get this to Harper,” I said, holding up the drone.
“Not until you have the right gear for the job.” He took it out of my hand and opened his passenger door.
“Borrowed these from my mom. I think the two of you are similar sizes.” He held up work boots with a thick rubber sole and shearling peeking out of the top.
“And this.” He held up a black down parka.
“You said these things were your mom’s. But that has tags on it,” I said.
He looked down, scuffing the snow with his boot. “I grabbed it for you. I figured you didn’t have winter-appropriate clothing. And this is a maple harvest, not a board meeting.”
He pulled out a black knit beanie hat, snapped the tag off, and fitted it on my head.
I frowned up at him, both annoyed and a bit touched by the gesture. The man had bought me a coat? “But it’s barely eleven. Stores aren’t open.”
“I got the coat a while ago.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his cheeks turned pink. “Just in case. Now put this stuff on and let’s get to work.” He looked away quickly, like he was avoiding my gaze.
I struggled to understand the gesture. Why would he care if I was cold?
As we walked toward the clearing, with rows and rows of maple trees ahead of us, the gravity of the moment hit me.
There were a dozen people here. My team, Josh Lawrence, his girlfriend and her kids, Gabe’s mom and dad—who had given me a warm hello and a to-go cup of hot coffee as we passed them—and a few men I recognized from town.
Logan Becker, Gabe’s friend and the veterinarian, a nerdy looking guy in glasses, and a few others.
“Listen up,” Harper yelled, climbing onto the tailgate of a truck.
Heads turned her way, and nearby, a man murmured, “Isn’t she a child?” But the crowd quieted quickly.
Authority was a mindset, and she had it figured out.
“This is it, TAP team. We are live on three platforms and trending in Vermont. And if all goes well, we’re about to wreck some algorithms.”
Cheers went up around the clearing.
“Is that a good thing?” Marigold asked. Apparently she was already back from her trip to New York. She looked more tired than usual.
“Team,” Harper shouted, pointing fingers. “Nina. You’re on the drone. Just like we practiced.”
I turned to Nina. “You practiced?”
She glared at me, as if insulted by the question.
“Obviously.”
“Marigold and Laurie,” Harper continued. “Take the handheld. You’re on farmhouse interviews, human moments, and staging. And for the love of God, remember to use the external mics so we get clean sound quality.”
“You mentioned the farmers,” Marigold said, leaning on her cane, her eyes dancing. “Perhaps they should carry something heavy?” She eyed Logan and Josh, who stood nearby. “Or maybe chop some wood? Shirtless?”
Harper paused, head cocked, and considered the suggestion as if it weren’t absolutely ridiculous. “Love the content idea.” She nodded. “Strong engagement potential.”
Josh Lawrence visibly paled, and those chuckles rose up around us again, Gabe being the loudest.
“But our schedule is tight.” She consulted her clipboard. “I’ll slot sexy farmer content for tomorrow’s agenda instead.”
As Marigold blew her a kiss, I wondered, not for the first time, what TAP would unleash on this town.
“Sabrina.”
At the sound of my name, I stood up straight, awaiting my instructions.
“You’re with Gabe. GoPro duty. The two of you will ride the ATV through the sugar bush. Then switch to the mirrorless with the macro lens for capturing the dripping sap.”
I frowned. Half of those words were foreign to me.
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s all about the drip.”
“The drip?”
“The plunk,” she said. “Use the mics. We want that sweet plunk when the sap hits the metal bucket.”
Every member of the crowd was fixated on her, inexplicably captivated by her leadership abilities.
“The plunk is gold, people,” she said. “Social media gold.”
Up on the tailgate, her breath pluming around her in white puffs and dressed in her all-black snow gear, she was a force.
Damn. It was happening.
This was my life now.
And my seventeen-year-old protégée was running the show.
“I’m so proud of her,” I said to no one in particular while we dispersed. Josh and his farm crew took off, presumably to do the actual job, and the rest of us headed out to make social media tourism magic.
“I will be at the barn,” Harper called out. “Setting up our tech command center. Call me if you need help. And take extra memory cards so we can get as much content as possible.”
“Ready?” Gabe asked, bumping my shoulder.
Once again in a daze—that was happening far too much lately—I peered up at him. “What?”
“The ATV. We gotta go.”
“Where?”
He already had one camera bag slung across his shoulder, and he was moving with purpose. “The north side of the farm. That’s where we installed the old-fashioned bucket setups for the maple cam. The tubing and collection tanks won’t create the nostalgia Harper requires. But this will.”
I nodded like that meant something to me.
“It’s a bit of a ride.” He handed me a helmet. “Put this on and then I’ll get the GoPro going.”
“Why that area?” I asked, forcing my brain to focus on the task at hand. Today was a huge day for the town, and it suddenly dawned on me that it could all go wrong. That thought sent my pulse racing and my stomach turning.
“South-facing trees tend to run first in the day.” He stepped closer and adjusted my chin strap. “And those are some of our oldest trees. They run strong and early every year, so we set up the maple cam there.”
His fingers brushed my jaw. It was brief and incidental, but the contact made my pulse jump.
As he secured the GoPro to the front of my helmet, he wore a serious expression, his focus entirely on the task.
“I don’t know how to drive an ATV,” I said as he turned and walked toward a large mechanical death wish.
“I do.” He pulled his own helmet on and gave me a goofy thumbs-up.
Shuffling closer, I surveyed the machine. “So I just sit?”
“Yup. And hold on tight.”
“To what?” I asked, moving in and really studying the thing. There were no handles. No seat belts.
He sidled up close enough that I could feel the heat of his body through all our layers of clothing.
“To me,” he whispered. “You hold on to me.” His voice was deep and confident, sending butterflies fluttering inside me.
He straddled the ATV then, and my brain short-circuited. As if he had no idea how his every move affected me, he gripped the handlebars and revved the engine.
When the machine growled beneath him, I stepped closer, intrigued.
This was a terrible idea. Death trap, wilderness, questionable decision-making.
And yet.
Against my better judgment, I climbed on, wrapped my arms around his waist, and held on for dear life.
It was the biggest mistake I’d made since that night in the motel room.
Because he was solid and warm and comforting. And he smelled so good. My arms barely fit around him, my fingers just touching as I splayed my hands over his strong stomach.
“Good?” he yelled over his shoulder.
No. I was not good. Not with the engine vibrating beneath us like this. Not with my core pressed up against his ass.
“Drive,” I shouted back.
The ATV lurched forward, snow kicking up behind us, and we shot forward into the trees.
Tightening my grip, I leaned my chest against his back, getting even closer.
It was purely practical. For safety. And I barely noticed the way his muscles shifted beneath my hands. Or the way he leaned into turns.
He handled this beast like it was an extension of him. And I was deeply annoyed by how attractive I found his competency.