Seed nights.
I pull up my phone and search "Pine Hollow seed library." The results are sparse, a mention in the town newsletter, a photo from two years ago showing Cora and a woman with dark hair and dirt under her nails, both grinning in front of a table covered in jars of seeds.
The caption:Cora Thorn and Ivy Hale celebrate another successful seed swap at the bistro.
Ivy Hale.
I flip through the rest of the box. More recipes, all tied to local farms, local seasons, local people. Farmer Hank's potatoes. The Johnsons' honey. Ivy's heirloom beans.
This place wasn't just Cora's. It belonged to the whole town.
And they're waiting to see if I'll keep it that way.
I fold the note carefully and tuck it into my apron pocket beside Cora's fabric square.
Seed nights.
Keep the door open.
I look around the kitchen, the gleaming surfaces, the busted fridge, the violation list pinned to the corkboard. The mountain of work and the ticking clock.
And for the first time since I arrived, I don't just see the mess.
I see the possibility.
I grab my phone and scroll until I find the number Maya gave me, scrawled on the back of a receipt.
It rings four times before she picks up.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Late. Sorry." I pace the kitchen, too wired to sit. "You know someone named Ivy Hale?"
A pause. "Yeah. Why?"
"I need to talk to her."
"About what?"
"Seed nights. My aunt's notes mention them. Says Ivy runs a seed library program."
Another pause, longer this time. "She does. Or she did. Haven't seen her at the bistro since Cora passed."
"Can you introduce us?"
Maya exhales, slow and deliberate. "Ivy's not big on strangers. Or change. Or people in general, honestly."
"I'll bring food."
"That might work." A rustle, like she's sitting up. "I'll text you her info. But Rogan? Don't push. She's protective of what Cora built."
"So am I."
"We'll see."
She hangs up.
I stand there in the silent kitchen, grilled cheese going cold on the table, Cora's note burning a hole in my pocket.
