Forgotten Boxes

“What can you tell me about maple cream?”

“Pure maple syrup, heated, cooled, and whipped. Best thing you’ve ever tasted in your life.” Even as he said the words, his eyes dropped to her lips. The involuntary movement obviously embarrassed him, but it warmed Charity’s heart. The mountain man was flirting with her!

“What-What do you put it on?” She tried to defuse the moment and the look of chagrin in his gorgeous eyes.

“A spoon.”

She thought he was being cocky. “I thought as much,” she said dryly. “What food do you put it on?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Makes anything better. Some folks call it maple butter. Bake it on butternut squash. Stir it into oatmeal. Eat it on pancakes and rolls. I like it with just a spoon.”

She eyed the small jar again. “And it’s just maple syrup, nothing else?”

“Not ‘just’. Takes a gallon of syrup to make about a dozen of those jars. Takes about forty gallons of sap to make the gallon of syrup. That’s about three decent sized trees; more, if they’re small.”

The numbers were shocking. “That’s all a tree makes?”

“Depends on the weather. Need cold nights and warm days to get even that.”

“I had no idea,” Charity murmured. She had a new appreciation for the delicious sweetness.