Page 43 of Forever is the Sweetest Con
“So, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you still hugging it?”
The feel of my body pressed against the tree has brought back a flood of memories. The sweet humidity of my uncle’s sugar shack as the sap boiled in a large steel pot. Rolling hot maple syrup in the snow to make taffy. Lacy-edged pancakes soaked with the fruits of our labour.
This unexpected trip down memory lane has left me feeling tender. But I just smile, and gesture for Kei to hand me the bucket.
I was only a kid when we’d make trips to Quebec, and I’ve neveractually set up a tap before, but I can clearly picture my dad and my uncle as they went through the motions. I drill a small hole into the trunk of the tree as Kei watches on.
“You’re kind of hot wielding a power tool,” he says, with a grin.
“I’m very good with my hands.” I wink. “Now pass me the hammer.”
But he is looking at me strangely, with a new intensity in his gaze. I can feel his eyes on me, and it’s like the air changes. Teddy must sense it, too, because he draws closer, his camera trained on Kei’s face.
As Kei hands me the hammer, he holds on to it a second longer than he needs to, our hands pressing together for one electric moment. We are gettingreallygood at this whole ‘faking it’ thing.
Struggling to stay composed, I hold the plastic spout to the drilled hole and begin to tap it with the hammer. Kei comes up behind me and reaches around to hold the spout.
“Let me help you,” he says, his breath on my neck.
He’s standing much closer than he needs to, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his bare torso on my back. I lean back slightly into him, and I hear his breath hitch, which is like an electric shock down low. I swallow thickly, my brain so clouded with lust that I’m having trouble focusing on the task at hand.
Teddy moves in closer. I bet this is all very hot on camera.
I continue to tap the hammer against the spout, carefully avoiding Kei’s fingers.
“That’s it,” he breathes into my ear. “Just like that.”
I feel my nipples pinch against the fabric of my bikini top. Goddamn, I’m so turned on. Kei gives a little laugh behind me, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I could turn and kiss him right now. I could grab him by the jaw and pull him into me, I could lean back against the tree and wrap one leg around his hip and—
No.I need to focus.
“Hand me the bucket,” I say thickly. “It’s going to come fast and hard.”
Kei’s mouth opens slightly.
“Thesap,” I say, clarifying. A hot flush rises up my face. “The sap is going to start coming, um—”
“Fast and hard?” Kei says, a smile teasing at his lips.
“Just give me the bucket!”
But the sap doesn’t come fast or hard. In fact, it doesn’t come at all. We wait, peering into the spout in anticipation, but nothing happens.
“Should we try another tree?” Kei asks.
So we do, and then another, and another. But no sap.
I hum with embarrassment. This was supposed to be my moment, where I prove to Kei—and to the viewers—that I’m not a total lost cause, but I’m not pulling it off.
“I don’t know what’s going on. I literally did this every winter of my whole childhood.”
“Did you ever do it in the summer?”
I think back. We usually visited my dad’s family in late February, to celebrate my uncle’s birthday. I only have one memory of a summer visit, and we spent it in Montreal, taking in the Jazz Fest and picnicking on Mount Royal.
