Gabe
On a maple farm, sap day was more important than Christmas. It was the day mother nature blessed us. The day we started working around the clock to capture the brief magic that propelled this town and this region economically.
I’d done this more than thirty times in my life. It was part of the rhythm of my existence. But today was different. For the first time in years, I was excited rather than weary of all the work that lay ahead.
Josh ran the farm, but when the sap started to run, the whole family showed up to work.
My parents had sold him our land, but we all owned small shares in the farm, and since Josh had taken over, we’d seen profit every year.
We weren’t rich, but it sure helped make life a little more comfortable.
Especially for my siblings. Nate had started the brewery with his farm shares, and Mabel was using hers to pay for grad school. This was our legacy.
Secretly, it had always felt like a burden to me.
But today, with the sun shining and a beautiful woman holding on to me, I remembered what it meant to truly be happy.
I hadn’t anticipated being sent to the far north end of the farm, but it made sense. Josh had been generous with us, giving us the freedom to set up cameras anywhere we’d like. And he was sacrificing potential income by letting us do the old-school bucket method.
These days, the farm ran on pumps, plastic tubing, and massive collection tanks that were emptied daily and delivered to Sugar Moon, where the sap was boiled into syrup, packaged, and sold.
We’d been tasked with getting footage of the old-school collection setup, where we’d hammered the tap into the tree and hung a bucket. With any luck, this type of content would help us turn things around.
I’d been driving ATVs since before I could read, but this moment was more exhilarating than usual. It could be because Sabrina was clinging to me for dear life, or it could be the high of this new endeavor. I was no social media expert, but the results we’d been getting were undeniable.
When I helped Sabrina off the ATV, she wobbled a bit, looking a little woozy.
“You okay?”
With a nod, she headed toward the primary maple camera, picking her feet up high with each step to get through the snow, and as she approached, she shrieked. “It’s happening.” She turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Look. Sap.”
Camera bag in hand, I headed her way. “Harper said to check the solar batteries too.”
She moved on to the next tree, examining the bucket’s contents and shrieking again. She was like a little kid. This was a side of her I never would have expected. A side I didn’t know she was capable of, honestly.
Giggling—giggling—she jogged toward the next tree. Halfway there, her foot sank into deeper snow and she fell forward, face-planting into the snowbank.
It took all I had to hold in my laughter.
She pushed herself up to her knees, snow covering her face and clinging to her eyelashes, and started to brush herself off.
“Let me help you.” Carefully, I made my way closer. The snow was deep, and obviously, the terrain beneath it was uneven.
She stopped and looked over at me, snow still caked in her hair. “I’d rather die,” she deadpanned. “Just worry about the camera.”
Eventually, she got herself together and joined me. Once the camera was set up, we replaced the original bucket with a fresh one and attached the microphone. Then we stood back and waited for the signature plunk sound.
Beside me, she was totally focused. I assumed she’d hate this part. The cold, wet physical labor. Instead, she attacked every task like she was fighting a war and determined to win. She eagerly emptied buckets, adjusted taps, and staged scenes for the cameras. All in knee-deep snow.
We caught several fresh plunks, then got some close-ups of the sap droplets hitting and splashing that we could slow down for viewers.
“It looks like something’s wrong here,” she said a few trees over from where I was filming. “I think it’s leaking.”
I walked over and surveyed the tap. “Spile got loose,” I explained. “Here.” I reached into my toolbelt and handed her a small hammer.
She looked down at the tool, then up at me, breaking into a smirk. “Am I supposed to hit you with this?”
Huffing a laugh, I pointed to the issue. “You have to tap it in farther. Make sure the sap doesn’t leak out the sides where it’s not flush against the interior of the tree.”
“So you trust me with tools?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Questionable choice, I know. Here.”
I stepped behind her and guided her hand, showing her how to line up.
It wasn’t until I leaned forward, adjusting her hold on the hammer, that I realized just how close we were. My lips were inches from her ear, and I was surrounded by that undeniable Sabrina smell. Sweet and soft, with an edge, like the most beautiful but deadly flower.
“Not too hard,” I said softly.
She peered over her shoulder at me, lashes fluttering.
That simple move sent goose bumps erupting all over. “Don’t hurt the tree,” I told her. “Just guide the spile back into place.”
She tapped the hammer against it once, the contact too gentle to move it.
“Again,” I said, my tongue suddenly too big for my mouth.
She tapped again, more of a solid thunk this time, and we were rewarded with the sound of metal hitting metal, signaling it had connected.
“Now gently tug it. See if it feels snug.”
She worked carefully, following instructions without argument. This woman. Damn. Everything she did, she did well. I’d come to discover that there was no job too small for Sabrina.
And I admired the hell out of her for it.
I hung the bucket and we waited, watching. Like this, I could wrap my arms around her, pull her close, and—
“Yes,” she chirped as a tiny droplet of sap rolled down the spile. “It’s not leaking anymore.”
She turned, beaming. “Did I just fix agriculture?”
I couldn’t help but grin. She was so proud, as if she’d just negotiated a peace treaty instead of lightly tapping a hammer.
She was beautiful like this, with rosy cheeks and her hair wild and damp with snow.
“You tightened the spile.”
Smirking, she patted my chest. “Same thing.”
Finally, I forced myself to back away and breathe non-Sabrina-scented air.
From there, we emptied buckets into the collection tank on the back of the ATV, Sabrina looking like a drunk penguin struggling with some of the fuller ones.
But she didn’t give up and she didn’t complain. We spent the next couple of hours tightening spiles and emptying buckets. We took dozens of “drip shots,” per Harper’s instructions, and made sure all the cameras were clean and angled correctly.
With each minute that passed, I was more impressed. Sabrina Monroe approached maple sap collection the way she approached everything. With terrifying intensity and a scowl.
When we’d finished checking the cameras, I grabbed a bottle of water off the ATV and tossed it to her.
It was midday now, the sun bright overhead. The snow would melt soon, the buds on the trees preparing to emerge.
Spring in New England got a bad rap. People often complained that it didn’t exist at all or that the season was nothing but endless mud. But this was something.
Sabrina tossed the water bottle back. “This is beautiful,” she said softly, more to herself than to me.
Her chest heaved from exertion and her cheeks were pink as she stood among the trees.
The sight struck me, nearly causing me to step back. For years, I had taken all this for granted. My life had become so rote and mechanical that I’d failed to see just how special so many parts of it were.
“You’re smiling,” I teased, bringing the bottle to my lips.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I’m not.”
Amusement rolled through me. “You are.”
“It’s a stress response,” she huffed.
“You hate this less than you expected, huh?”
Her arms fell to her sides and her shoulders sank. “I hate that you’re right.”
Sabrina was completely out of place here. But somehow, she fit in better by the hour.
“You’re different out here,” she said as we packed up equipment. “More confident, less…” She waved a hand. “Less like you’re waiting for someone to yell at you.”
I winced. Damn. That hit too close to home.
“This is the real me,” I said quietly. “Out here, I know what I’m doing. And I’m not expected to try to make everyone happy.”
She didn’t argue or hurl an insult at me. Instead, she just nodded, like she understood. And that somehow made me feel even worse.
“Can I show you something?” I asked. “It’s not far. We can come right back and finish our list.”
She searched my face, wearing a hesitant frown.
“It’s special. I promise.”
Leaving the ATV and the equipment, we trudged over the hill. This part of the property had belonged to my parents. I’d grown up here. I knew each tree. This had been our playground.
“Over here.” I headed for the old sugar shack. It had taken a couple of days, but I’d gotten the place looking presentable.
The metal roof still sagged, but I’d replaced the broken bits and patched holes, and I’d shoveled out the path. I’d stocked the shed with fresh firewood and I’d run string lights around the outside, thinking it would look cute in photos. I’d even replaced the broken windowpanes.
“It’s old,” I explained. “But…” Hands on my hips, I surveyed the structure.
She stopped beside me, studying me instead of the building, and a nervous hopefulness erupted inside me.
“This hasn’t been used in decades,” I explained. “But I thought we could boil a batch. Harper said we needed content.”
Inside, a few big, amber bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow.
I’d done some work on the inside of the place too, mostly cleaning out decades of soot and dust. A few beams were rotted and in need of replacement, and I installed new metal shelving units.
Sabrina shuffled in and slowly took it all in. She studied the old photos hung on the walls along with the antique tools and hooks.
It looked good. I couldn’t deny it, and I’d managed to preserve the history of this place.