"Especially then," Rogan adds.
I should go home. Should get these seeds into proper storage and start planning spring propagation.
Instead I follow them into the bistro kitchen. Watch Rogan immediately start prepping for tomorrow's service while Maya reviews the evening's receipts.
They move around each other with practiced ease. A rhythm built from weeks of working together. Rogan pulls vegetablesfrom the walk-in while Maya calls out ticket times. They're building something here. Something that extends beyond just food or business.
Community. The real kind. The kind that shows up at nine o'clock on a Saturday night to rescue seeds from a grumpy farmer with territorial dogs.
My phone vibrates. Email notification.
I open it, expecting seed co-op updates or workshop confirmations.
Instead it's from the Heritage Foundation.
Subject line:Follow-up Required.
My stomach roils.
"What's wrong?" Rogan asks.
I scan the email. Read it twice to make sure I'm understanding correctly.
"They want proof of scaled sourcing capability. Full supplier list with capacity projections. Quality assurance documentation." I look up. "Due next Friday."
"That's one week," Maya says.
"I'm aware."
"We haven't even finalized the full menu yet."
"Also aware."
Rogan sets down his knife. "What happens if we don't provide it?"
"They choose a different caterer. We lose the contract. The bistro loses its best shot at debt relief and future stability."
The kitchen goes quiet. All the lightness from our ridiculous rescue mission evaporates.
This is real. Stakes that matter. And we have seven days to prove we can deliver on a scale we've never attempted before.
"Okay," Rogan says finally. "Then we work. Maya, pull every local supplier contact we have. Ivy, you know the farmers. Who can handle increased orders without compromising quality?"
"Most of them. If we plan carefully and don't ask for anything out of season."
"Then we plan. Tonight. Now. We build this documentation and we make it bulletproof."
He's already pulling out his aunt's recipe book. Maya's typing rapid-fire on her phone. They're moving into crisis mode like it's choreographed.
I should be panicking. Should be calculating failure percentages and backup contingencies.
Instead I'm thinking about Rogan standing on Farmer Hank's porch at eight-thirty at night, offering preserves and promises for seeds he doesn't personally need.
About Maya driving forty-five minutes in the dark because I asked.
About three hundred and seventy-three dead seeds and thirty-seven living ones and the difference between giving up and trying one more impossible thing.
"Alright," I say, pulling out my own notebook. "Let's build a supplier network that'll make the Foundation wonder how they ever considered anyone else."
