"Debatable." He slides a pancake onto a plate, adds a drizzle of honey, and pushes it toward me. "Eat. We've got work to do."
The pancake is perfect. Light, nutty, with crisp edges that shatter under my fork. I hate that it's perfect.
"Don't," I say.
"Don't what?"
"Don't feed me things that taste this good when I'm trying to organize your chaos into functional systems."
He grins. Exhausted but genuine. "Too late."
Maya arrives at seven-fifteen with a stack of paper applications from potential staff and news that spreads through me like cold water.
"The seed swap," she says. "People are asking if they can still do it here next week. With everything going on, I wasn't sure if you wanted to cancel."
I set down my fork. "We never cancel seed swap."
"Even with catering prep?"
"Especially with catering prep." I reach for my phone, checking the date. Next Saturday. One week before we need to finalize the Foundation menu. "The community needs it. The farmers need it. We keep our commitments."
Rogan looks between us. "What's a seed swap?"
"Exactly what it sounds like," I say. "People bring seeds they've saved from their gardens. Trade varieties. Share growing tips. It's how we maintain biodiversity and keep heritage strains alive."
"And you host it?"
"I organize it. We rotate locations. The bistro was to be this month's venue back when your aunt was still here." I meet his eyes. "She loved it. Always made something special for people to share while they sorted seeds."
Something shifts in his expression. Softens.
"Then we do it," he says. "We'll make it work."
"It'll be chaos. Fifty people minimum, all handling seeds and packets and talking over each other about germination rates."
"Good. This place should be chaotic." He flips another pancake. "It should be full."
Maya's already typing on her phone. "I'll post about it. Generate some buzz. Make it a thing."
"It's already a thing," I say, but I'm smiling despite myself.
The next six days blur into a rhythm I've never experienced before. Mornings at the seed program greenhouse, sortingand labeling. Afternoons at the bistro, working through recipe tests with Rogan while he balances regular service. Evenings cataloguing local sources and building menus that showcase what Pine Hollow actually grows.
Rogan learns the names of every farmer who supplies us. Asks questions about soil composition and growing seasons like he's studying for an exam. Takes notes in his aunt's old recipe book with the same careful handwriting I use for seed records.
We argue about plating. About waste. About whether it's acceptable to use edible flowers as garnish when they could be saved for seed.
"It's one pansy," he says, exasperated. "Not the entire genetic future of the species."
"One pansy sets a precedent. Next thing you know you're raiding seed stock for aesthetics."
"You're impossible."
"You're impractical."
Maya watches us like we're dinner theater. "You two know you're basically the same person, right? Just with different obsessions."
We both glare at her. She grins and goes back to scheduling staff interviews.
