Page 20 of Forbidden to Fall

“Do you need a carrot or something?” I asked. “A palate cleanser?”

He shook his head, and I handed him the next one—second lightest syrup on the four-grade scale.

“Better,” he said. “This would probably be your best bet. Amber, right?”

“Is that the second lightest?”

He nodded as I took the final puff and gave it to him.

I’d probably spent two straight minutes watching James Carver chew. He didn’t seem to mind. He was focused. Forehead sloped in a v. Eyes focused on nothing in particular. Jaw working like a machine.

I’d admired that jaw from a young age, but the thick stubble accentuated its angles and shadows more than ever before.

I pulled my eyes away.

“It’s a good contender. Stronger flavor with the dark syrup, obviously. Real maple lovers will probably prefer this one, but it might be too much for some people.”

It was like having Anthony Bourdain in the sugar shack. I was tempted to keep James on retainer so I could get his feedback with every product I tried.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.

I blew a breath through my lips and looked at the assortment of puffs. “I don’t know. I think I liked the…did you say dark for that last one?”

He nodded and went over to the stacks of syrup, pulling different grades out one by one. “Golden, amber, dark, very dark. Or some people prefer”—he pointed at them in turn—“delicate, rich, robust, and strong.”

“Hoity-toity people?”

He chuckled. “Pretty much.”

I looked at the bottles again. “What’s the difference? Besides the color, obviously.”

“When it’s harvested. The lighter the syrup and the more subtle the taste, the earlier in the season it was tapped.”

“You’d think I’d know this given how much time I spent here.”

His gaze darted to me, then away again.

I kicked myself for bringing up the past, but he was looking at the cream puffs.

“How exactly did you use the syrup?” he asked.

“Well”—I turned and rested my back against the counter—“it’s in the dough, and it’s in the filling. Normally, I’d have a glaze on top—and then if you’re a real maple fiend, you would pour syrup over it too—but I want to get the dough and filling right first.”

He nodded, rubbing a pensive finger on his chin. “I’d try the very dark in the pastry dough, then go with amber for the cream.”

I looked at him for a second, then hurried over to the few cream puffs I hadn’t filled. I took a syringe, filled it with the amber cream, then injected it into one of the very dark puffs. Then I did it again.

I turned to James, who was watching me.

He dropped his gaze.

“Like this?” I handed him one and kept the other for myself.

Facing each other, we took bites and chewed.

The flavor started with a subtle but detectable dose of maple as the cream hit my tongue. As I chewed, the flavor deepened.

I covered my still-chewing mouth with a hand. “You’re a genius.”