The second email is from Dr. Patel at the agricultural extension office. Three sentences:Ivy, we need to discuss optics. The university requires programs to avoid conflicts of interest. Let's schedule a call.
The third is from Farmer Hank. Just two words:Call me.
"I need to go," I say.
Rogan's hand finds my elbow. "Ivy?—"
"Not now." I pull away. Not angry. Just drowning. "I have to fix this before the whole program collapses."
I walk.
Fast.
My house is ten minutes away if I cut through the back lots. I need a shower. Clean clothes. A plan that doesn't involve my entire professional life imploding because of one kiss in a barn.
One perfect, terrible, complicated kiss.
The live cookingdemo should have been simple.
Local access television. Forty-minute segment. Rogan demonstrating a seasonal harvest dish while I talked about heirloom varieties and seed saving. Good PR for both the bistro and the program. Win-win.
Except nothing about this morning is simple.
I arrive at the studio in clean jeans and a pressed button-down, my hair tamed into a professional braid. Rogan's already there, looking unfairly good in dark pants and a crisp chef's coat, talking to the producer.
"Ivy." He turns. Something careful in his expression. "You okay?"
"Fine."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting." I set my sample seed packets on the counter. Labels perfect. Everything organized. Control where I can find it. "Let's just get through this."
The producer, a harried woman named Kelly, waves us toward the set. Bright lights. Two cameras. A kitchen island stocked with ingredients I prepped yesterday with heirloom tomatoes, fresh herbs, squash from Farmer Hank's plot.
"Five minutes," Kelly calls. "Remember, keep it light. Fun. Audience loves chemistry."
I suppress a grimace. Chemistry. Right.
The cameras go live.
Rogan slides into host mode like breathing. Charm cranked to full power, easy smile, hands moving as he talks through the dish.
"Today we're celebrating Pine Hollow's heirloom harvest," he says. "And I've got the town's seed expert here to make sure I don't accidentally poison anyone."
Polite laughter from the tiny studio audience.
I manage a smile. Launch into my talking points about heritage varieties and genetic diversity. Rogan chops tomatoes. The rhythm almost works.
Then the blender explodes.
Not figuratively.
Rogan's making a quick herb puree. Hits the button. The lid wasn't secured properly and suddenly there's green liquid everywhere, across the counter, his coat, the camera lens.
"Shit!" He jumps back.
The camera catches it. All of it. His startled curse. My laugh that I can't quite stifle. The way he grabs a towel and tries to salvage the shot while Kelly frantically gestures from off-camera.
