Page 88 of Sugar & Shadows

“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.