Free Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm by Rebecca Raisin

throw in a pair of socks, since you’ve been real nice. They’re a new brand. Meant to help with the circulation, you know, for the diabetes?”
    I didn’t know. But I played along, anyway. “That sure will come in handy. Thank you, Bonnie.”

Chapter Five
    My alarm shrieked, waking me from a deep sleep. Groggy, I rubbed my eyes, and yawned, taking an age to remember where I was. The shadows were unfamiliar. When I flicked on the bedside lamp, and the flowered wallpaper stared happily at my crumpled frame, it all came back. Begonia Bed and Breakfast. And day one of working with the half-naked, intensely arrogant Clay.
    With a groan, I wrenched the covers back and dressed quietly in the shoebox-sized room. The last time I’d seen five a.m. was coming off a double shift at the diner. Maybe once I acclimatized this would be better, watching dawn break, fresh, after a good night’s sleep.
    I tried to creep quietly but the garb I wore had other ideas, and crinkled like someone scrunching cellophane. Once outside, I breathed fresh air deep into my lungs. The sky was awash with gray, not even a bird chirp for company.
    I crinkled along, wishing I’d made a cup of coffee for the journey. Rose had given me a travel mug for that very purpose but I didn’t want the shrieking of the kettle to rouse her. I turned the corner and headed down the main road of Ashford. It was gloomy, the store fronts somber without the light of day and their cheery owners.
    A beam of light coming from the Gingerbread Café caught my attention. I resisted the urge to fist pump as thoughts of strong coffee danced through my mind. I jogged up the road, and spilled through the door in a flurry.
    Lil jumped, her eyes wide. “You scared the bejeezus out of me!” She clutched her chest. “Coffee?”
    “I will love you forever.” As much as I loved drinking cups of tea with Rose, a strong dose of caffeine would fire up the old brain synapses and enable to me to make sense at such an early hour.
    She grinned and went to the percolator, poured two mugs, and motioned to a stool. “I bet you haven’t eaten.” She stared me down the way my mother would, even though Lil and I were probably around the same age, give or take a few years.
    “No, I was going to but…”
    “Say no more.” Lil expertly moved around the kitchen, gathering bowls and utensils before cracking a couple of eggs, adding some spices and whisking. “French toast, OK?”
    “Do you always make people’s dreams come true?” I said faux seriously.
    She threw her head back and laughed. “I try.”
    There was something about Lil, something indistinct that made me act differently with her. She had a unique energy. I sensed her life hadn’t been smooth sailing, but she’d come out the other side. Studying people in the background for so many years had made me read people on a deep level, somehow seeing past the cosmetics of a situation and finding the heart of them. For that reason, I connected with her more easily than I usually would have.
    While Lil worked, I walked around the café sipping my coffee and taking in every tiny detail. It was cozy and warm, not just from the fire, but also from the little touches they’d added to make it kitschy and cute. The walls were painted the color of dark chocolate, gingerbread-man bunting hung in garlands, twisted with rows of fairy lights, which pulsed like stars.
    Hand-knitted throw rugs were tossed lazily on sofas. Fat fluffy mismatched cushions perched on chair seats. By the bookshelves was a veritable mountain of European pillows adorned with cartoonish dinosaurs or pink-swathed princesses. I imagined toddlers falling into them face first, shrieking with joy, the stack taller than their little bodies. In a corner a green plastic table sat tucked away, full of jars of brightly colored pencils, and craft supplies so kids could create while their parents took a break from their day over a cup of tea and a plate of something delicious.
    Lil