Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm. Rebecca Raisin

      She drizzled a helping of syrup over the French toast and took the stool beside me. “As soon as you’ve made the first batch of syrup, you tell Clay we want some. Nothing better than locally made produce.”

      I nodded. “Can you imagine making it? I can’t wait to see how it’s done.”

      “It’ll be wonderful.” Lil picked up a fork. “Eat,” she said. “And remember to stop by tomorrow on your way. I love a bit of company in the lonely dawns. I’m not as good as Cee with dispensing advice, but if you need a shoulder to lean on, I’m here.”

      “Thanks, Lil,” I said, truly grateful. CeeCee and Lil had a way about them, a genuine kindness that took the edge off my homesickness.

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