Page 62 of Sugar & Shadows

“Focus on your to-do list, Mayor,” Laurie said with a smile. “We’ve got the rest covered here.”

“I’m not sure I can tackle all this.” The weight of the binder in my hands was suddenly overwhelming. “I’ve still got a job.”

“You do,” Sabrina responded without hesitation. “This. This is your job now.” She met my gaze, her dark eyes unflinching. “Your job is to save the town.”

I looked around the room and sighed. Everyone here was working around the clock. Giving up their lives and their time in service of Maplewood.

For so many years, I’d felt alone. Like I was single-handedly in charge of keeping this place afloat.

But it was more apparent than ever in this moment that I was just one cog in a big wheel. And a lot of people needed that wheel to spin smoothly.

Sabrina patted me hard on the shoulder. “I suggest you get started.”

Chapter 16

Gabe

Coat buttoned tight and ducking against the wind, I trudged toward the barn.

This was where I’d find her.

While her grandson Mark was a friend, this would only work if I went to the big boss.

According to Mary Fitzgerald, her mother had given birth to her in the forest on the first day of the sap run. She’d spent her entire life outside, and she took pride in working seven days a week on her family’s farm.

In her eight decades on this land, she’d fought off bankruptcy, lawsuits, visits from predatory real estate developers, and several strains of root rot. Yet she was still standing. And she was known as one of the shrewdest negotiators in the county.

The farm was quiet under the hard February sky. Not dead. But dormant. Waiting for spring.

The snow crusted the road in uneven sheets, crunching under my boots as I walked.

The Fitzgeralds used to keep a big herd of cattle. Dairy cows they used to produce their award-winning cheddar. But after several hard years a decade or so ago, they’d sold the herd and focused solely on maple syrup production.

Ahead was an immaculate row of trees. Each one stood proud, tap lines already secured for that first thaw. But for now, the farm slept.

This was the part most people never saw. The festivals were flashy and the glossy bottles lined up in the gift shops were nostalgic and cozy. But this cold, quiet work was the important part. Work that never stopped. Work that adapted to every hardship nature threw at it.

I stood in front of the barn, where an Earth, Wind, and Fire song blared from a speaker, taking in the scene.

This way of life couldn’t be saved in a conference room. The identity of our town could not be defined in the cells of a spreadsheet.

It was this. The farm. The people. And the work.

I took a breath and stepped inside.

Mary was bent over a workbench, her silver hair tucked into a thick knit hat.

Mark sat with a laptop and a stainless-steel coffee mug at a table by the door.

“Mayor,” he said with a nod.

“Good to see you.” I rubbed my hands together, relishing the heat and the familiar barn smell I’d grown up with. A combination of woodsmoke, crushed pine needles and diesel.

Mary didn’t look up. She was wearing her glasses and was busy fiddling with equipment that looked like it could either fix a chainsaw or start a war.

“Took you long enough,” she said, still focused on what she was doing.

“Been busy,” I replied.