She tried to act cool. “Sure, that would be great.” She checked the density of the syrup with a hydrometer. Then she showed him how the sugar sand was removed by pushing it through a filter press. The clear, golden syrup was ready, flowing into the barrels. She caught a sample in a coffee cup and handed it to Fletcher. “Let that cool a bit and take a taste. You’ll never give that squeeze bottle another look.”
He blew on the cup, his lips pursing as if in readiness for a kiss. She felt mesmerized, watching him. He took a taste, and a smile spread slowly across his face. “That flavor is amazing,” he said.
They finished the chores together, working side by side as they talked. “You just moved to Switchback, right?” she asked. As if she didn’t know. When he’d enrolled in school a couple of weeks ago, a tidal wave had spread through the girls of the senior class. New guys were rare in this small town. New guys who were cool and good-looking and interesting created a major stir.
“Yep.”
“And?” she prompted.
He gave her a slantwise grin, full of charm. “And what? Where’d I come from, what’s my family like, how’d I wind up in Switchback?”
“At the risk of being nosy, yes.”
“I can handle a nosy girl.” He helped her scrub out the equipment. “My dad’s a mechanic, specializes in foreign imports, but he can fix anything.”
“I saw where he bought Crestfield’s garage in town.”
Fletcher nodded. “He imports scooters from Italy, too. Fixes them up and sells them, mostly online.”
“And your mom?”
“It’s just my dad and me.”
“Oh. So where’s your mom?”
He shot her a look.
“You said you could handle a nosy girl,” she pointed out.
“I’ll tell you about her,” he said. “Just not today.”
“Fair enough.” She felt bad for prying, and changed the subject. “My mother’s an artist. She draws and paints. Never studied it formally, but she’s really good. See the illustration on the maple syrup tin? And on our label?” She gestured at a storage shelf crammed with containers. “It’s from a painting by my mom. The kids in the picture are Kyle and me.”
“Hey, that’s cool. What about your dad?”
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about whether or not I want to tell you,” she said, lightly teasing.
“It’s cool,” he said. “That way, we’ll have something to talk about next time.”
Next time.
“It’s no big secret. My father took off when I was ten,” Annie said. She wondered if the old fear and confusion and hurt still echoed in her voice. “I didn’t see it coming. Which is weird, because they fought a lot.”
“You were just a kid.”
“Mom says he was always dreaming of adventure somewhere else. Then, right after Kyle turned eighteen, Dad said he’d bought acreage on a beach in Costa Rica, and he was going to build a surf camp there.”
“Costa Rica sounds amazing.”
“I thought so, too. My mom and grandparents, not so much. Mom was so mad she divorced him and took back her maiden name and changed mine and Kyle’s to Rush, too. She wanted it to seem as if my dad had never existed.” Annie paused, surprised at how easily the words came when she talked to him, a virtual stranger. “I guess for me and Kyle, it’s a good thing he did exist. The name change was a good thing, too. My dad’s last name is ridiculous—Lickenfelt.”
He slapped his knee. “So you were Annie Lickenfelt? I guess you don’t miss that.”
“God, no.”
“So how often do you see him? Do you get to go to Costa Rica?”
“I only went down there once. The beaches are just like you see in postcards, and I learned to surf.”
“That’s cool.”
She nodded. “It’s harder than it looks, but once you get up on a wave, you never want to stop. There was tropical fruit growing wild everywhere, and I thought the seafood tasted like candy. The local fishermen would bring it right in from the surf. And there were birds and monkeys like you wouldn’t believe. And one day, we went zip-lining in a chocolate forest. Cacao, technically.”
“Why’d you only go once?”
“My dad comes back to Vermont twice a year to see his parents over in Milton, so I visit him then. The airfare and travel time to get from here to Dominical are insane. Four flights from Burlington. Plus, I’m not a big fan of Dad’s girlfriend, Imelda. She’s mean as a snake.”
“Yeah, but I’d put up with snakes if it meant surfing in Costa Rica.”
“There are alligators, too. Big ones. They hang out at the river estuaries, so surfers have to watch out for them.”
“I bet I’d still like surfing.”
“You don’t talk like you’re from around here,” she said.
“I’ve lived in a lot of places.”
She waited for him to specify, but he didn’t. Next time, she thought again, hoping this year’s sugar season was a long one.
“You don’t sound like you’re from around here either,” he said.
“Oh, I sure as tootin’ can if I’ve a mind to,” she said in her broadest Vermonter’s accent.
He laughed. “Why don’t you want to?”
“I’m going into broadcasting. One of the first rules is that you can’t sound like you’re from any particular place. Regional accents limit you.”
“What do you want to broadcast?”
Annie tended to guard her dream from people, not wanting to hear it was going to be hard or it couldn’t be done, or you had to know the right people or you’d never break in. Yet she instinctively trusted that Fletcher wouldn’t say any of those things.
“A cooking show,” she said.
“Cooking? For real?” He didn’t seem to think it was funny or weird.
“For real,” she said.
“Cool.”
She went to the pie safe and offered him an iced maple pecan cookie. “We made these last night.”
He took a bite and clutched his chest. “Man, that’s good. You’re gonna do great with your show. If everybody knew how to make something like this, it would probably bring about world peace.”
