“I stick it under this light.” I flipped the switch to illuminate it and splayed my hand out beneath it.
“Did NASA design that thing?” he asked, eyeing the white dome-shaped LED light.
“Probably.” I shrugged.
He took my other hand and began with the pinkie.
“It’s getting cold,” he mused, carefully painting. “Random cold snaps can cause a hell of a lot of damage. Did I ever tell you about the time the sap lines exploded?”
“No.” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. Exploded?
He nodded. “Yup. I was sixteen and Jas was twelve. Dad had us checking lines before a big storm. We forgot to relieve the pressure in one zone.
“The next day, we went out to collect the sap containers. Before long, we noticed that several of the lines had cracked and splintered. We were standing there, trying to figure out what happened at a large junction, and heard a loud snap.”
He smiled, his eyes creasing as he focused on finishing my right hand.
“The junction and the lines connected to it blew like a champagne cork. We got sprayed with sap slush. Covered from head to toe, misted with maple sap.”
He chuckled as I withdrew my left hand from the light and put my right under it.
“We smelled like pancakes for a week. Mom refused to let us go into town because she said we were attracting flies.”
I giggled, thinking of how mortified teen Josh must have been.
“But it was a lesson I’ve never forgotten.”
“I’m sure.”
He was picking up on the task at hand, smoothly painting my nails pink, only leaving minor smudges.
“We got into a lot of trouble as kids.” He shook his head. “My cousins were right next door, and we always managed to find trouble.”
“You?” I teased. “But you seem so responsible.”
“Not back then. We were good kids, but we always found a way to injure ourselves. One time, during a huge snowstorm, one of Uncle Ed’s cows wandered off.
“Gabe and I decided we’d track it and rescue it. And of course Jas had to tag along. We spent hours tracking hoofprints in the snow, around in circles, while Gabe muttered about how our rescue crew was going to need its own rescue.
“When we found the cow behind the old cider shed, Jasper got so excited he slipped on the ice and slid into the cow. She got spooked and kicked Gabe. Fractured one of his ribs.”
“Oh my God.”
He shook his head. “We still managed to rope her and bring her back. Mom made us hot chocolate and Dad was impressed. I felt like a superhero.”
“Of course you did. You were the only one uninjured.”
“Eh. Trust me, I’ve broken plenty of bones too.” We swapped hands again. “I tried to build a jump for my bike and ended up crashing through an apple tree. Broke my collarbone. Then there’s the time I tried to teach myself to drive and destroyed Mom’s rose garden.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah. Took out most of the plantings. Snapped the trellis clean in two. Dad didn’t yell.” He huffed a quiet laugh.
“What did he do?”
“Told me to get a pair of gloves and clean it up.” He smiled at the memory. “I spent the entire summer replanting, pruning, digging out roots, and reading books about rose care and maintenance. Mom and I took several road trips to specialty nurseries to find the rare varieties I’d destroyed.” He examined his hands thoughtfully. “Still have scars from those thorns.”
“Wait a second,” I said, recognition dawning on my face. “I’ve seen the roses. On the far side of the farmhouse?”