Page 35 of Frosted and Sliced

“Good for you,” Burke said. “Come on.” He took her hand, urging her forward.

Georgie sighed, wondering what she did for entertainment before he arrived. She could hardly remember life pre-Burke,and that was odd. He hadn’t been here that long, but somehow he had become the center of everything, her inn, her daily schedule, her weekend free time. He had oozed his way into every crevice and she still had no idea who he was or what he was to her, specifically.

They walked into a large wooden barn with a cement floor but, unlike other barns, this one did not smell of animals. Instead a gentle sweet smell hung in the air, the remainder from long maple boils of the past. A man rounded the corner and greeted them with a smile, hand outstretched toward Burke. “Hi, I’m Mitchell. Jenna said you wanted a tour?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Burke said.

“Nah, I’m happy to. And it will just take a few minutes.” He turned his back to them and said something Georgie couldn’t catch.

“He said we’ll start out back,” Burke interpreted. To Mitchell he added, “She’s hearing impaired. If you could face her when you talk, that would be great. She reads lips.”

“Oh, sorry,” Mitchell said, tossing Georgie a sheepish smile. “I’ll try to remember. Poke me if I forget.” He tossed Georgie a little wink, but it felt more friendly than flirtatious. Cotton was like that, eking charm on everyone he came in contact with, more because he couldn’t help it than because he meant to.With a wife like Jenna, he probably has to be extra friendly to make amends,Georgie thought and then felt bad for the uncharitable attitude. In reality she had no idea what their marriage was like. People could hide a lot. Maybe Jenna’s life was secretly tough and her rude exterior was a reaction to stress.

“So, this,” Mitchell paused and pointed toward a large woods behind the barn, “is the beginning of all our maples. We tap a few thousand trees, over multiple acres. In the old days my in-laws used to go tree by tree, collecting sap. Now they all run on a central line to a few tanks. That’s what we do during the offseason, check lines. We have a few miles of lines, as you can imagine. It’s a lot to maintain, but still not as much as checking each individual tree and collecting sap. When my wife’s great grandparents started the place, they used a horse and sleigh. Now we have snowmobiles and four wheelers. Lots more fun than the critters.” Here he tossed Georgie another wink.

“All the sap runs to the tanks, and then those tanks run to the evaporator.”

“Why do you evaporate?” Georgette asked.

“Good question,” Mitchell said, nodding. “Maple sap contains a lot of water. You need to get rid of that to get to the good stuff. Boiling works, but it takes time and energy. By using the evaporator first, we save endless hours of boiling. After the evaporator it either goes into storage until we have enough to boil or it gets boiled off immediately. As you can imagine, our batches are large.” He led them back into the barn and pointed out several room-sized tanks with dials and gauges on them. “Everything is automated, but previously it was all done the old fashioned way, once upon a time. My father-in-law stayed up many nights with a thermometer, watching the syrup so it didn’t burn. We still do it the old fashioned way once a year, for school kids who take a field trip tour. Not going to lie, I love it. I remember taking that field trip when I was a kid and thought it was the greatest. Never thought I’d be doing it for a living.” He shook his head, smiling.

“Do you ever get tired of syrup?” Georgie asked.

“Nope, never. I put it on everything, even put it in my coffee. I’m our best customer.” He added another wink for good measure, but seemed to think better of it when Burke shifted his weight. Mitchell stood taller and cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. We gather the syrup and boil it. The techniques have only changed a little in the last hundred years. Pretty simple stuff.”

“Does it have to undergo an inspection?” Burke asked.

“No. It’s self-regulated,” Mitchell said. “We use a light spectrometer to grade it, declare any buddy or off flavors.”

“Really?” Burke said, clearly surprised.

Mitchell nodded. “Of course if we don’t do a good job, we don’t get repeat customers. It’s a small world, US maple production, and word spreads. If your quality goes down, no one wants what you’ve got to sell. There’s a sort of internal pressure that keeps standards high.”

Burke nodded, but Georgie could tell he was unconvinced. “Well, thanks for this. Georgie, did you have any questions?”

Mitchell’s brows rose. “Georgie? Brody’s sister?”

“Yes,” she said, wary now. Jenna and Brody dated, but it was forever ago, in high school. Still she was relieved when Mitchell’s smile grew. “Tell him I said hey. Haven’t seen him in forever.”

“Will do,” Georgie agreed, tossing him a relieved smile. “Thank you for this. It was very informative.”

“My pleasure,” Mitchell said. He gave them a friendly wave and wandered out the back side of the barn.

Burke took one more studying look around the interior of the barn and then led Georgie back to his car.

“You look aggrieved,” she said, once they were buckled.

His brows rose in the you-might-be-delusional look she was becoming accustomed to. “What does aggrieved look like?”

“Like you were trying to swallow a grape and got a cantaloupe by mistake instead,” she said.

Burke scratched his temple. “I don’t know how to respond to most of what comes out of your mouth.”

“What did you think of all that?” she asked, flicking her hand toward the maple farm as she changed the subject.

Burke looked in the direction of the barn, too. “I don’t know yet. I don’t like her, but maybe that’s because of you.”

“Me?” Georgie said, surprised. “Why me?”

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