Page 59 of Sugar & Shadows

“A tiny microphone,” Nina huffed. “Keep up.” Tipping her head back, she chugged her coffee.

“We’ll have QR codes at every farm, an interactive map of Maplewood that viewers can click on to learn more, and push notifications for sap runs.”

“Sorry,” I said, eyeing the five women who were all staring at me like I was an idiot. “We’re notifying people when trees, um, do things?”

Harper let out a breath, brows furrowed, like she was offended.

“When the trees produce value, yes. And with that natural wonder they possess, we’ll use twenty-first-century equipment and strategies to maximize and compound that value.”

This was ridiculous. But also genius.

“Nina,” Sabrina said, controlling the room like a symphony conductor, “where are we at on public opinion and the individual farms?”

Nina set her coffee cup down. “I’ve broken the major farmers into three categories.” She held up one finger, her long nails and the jeweled snowflakes glued to them snagging my attention. “Category One, farms on board. So far, that category only consists of the Lawrence farm.”

“You spoke to Josh?” I asked.

My cousin ran a large maple farm that encompassed both his family’s and my family’s land and trees.

“No,” she replied, arching a brow. “But I know you’ll make it happen.”

My pulse picked up. Josh was one of my best friends, but he was also averse to change and was practically a hermit. “But⁠—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she said, her tone devoid of emotion.

I shut my mouth.

“Two,” she went on. “Persuadable. This list consists of farmers who are open to more opportunities and have a growth-forward mindset. The Fitzgeralds are the lynchpin. If we get them on board, the rest of this list will follow.”

The women murmured their agreement.

I nodded, even knowing they weren’t looking for my opinion. The Fitzgeralds ran the largest maple farm in the county and would do just about anything to keep the business going.

“And third, the absolutely not crowd. Mainly small hobby farms and those owned by senior citizens or the ones that have been purchased by corporations and don’t have much of connection to the town or the heritage.”

She slid a list to me.

I scanned it, pretty certain she’d included every farm in the county, along with bullet-pointed notes about which family members had decision-making authority and their opinions on the loss of the festival.

“How do you know all this?” I asked, looking up.

Shrugging, Nina picked up her coffee cup again. “I listen. And people rarely censor themselves around me.”

Sabrina beamed.

“Like your recall prospects,” Nina mentioned casually. “I’m sure you know this, but you’re down seven points right now.”

My heart lurched. “I’m what?”

“Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” I snapped.

“You look like you’re panicking,” Marigold said from her chair at the end of the table.

Huffing, I straightened and schooled my expression. “I’m not.”

Nina flipped through a glittery pink notebook. “You’ve got strong support with young families. But you don’t quite have the confidence of the older voters. No surprise there, since most of them do what Bitsy Bramble tells them to.”