Eila nods approvingly at the trees visible through the window. “The grove looks good. You could get a solid yield if you manage it right.”
“I found Walter and June’s notes.”
“Who?”
“My great-aunt and great-uncle. The ones who left me this place.” I gesture at the photographs spread across one end of the table. “They kept records of everything. Sap yields, weather patterns, equipment maintenance. It’s like a manual.”
Eden picks up one of the photos—Walter and June standing in front of the sugar shack, decades younger, grinning at the camera. “They look happy.”
“I think they were.” I trace the edge of the photograph. “I wish I’d known them.”
“You’re getting to know them now,” Esther says. “Through this place. Through what they built.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Okay,” Esther continues, tapping her notepad. “You’ve got a solid property, a viable business concept, and local support. What’s actually the problem?”
“Besides the yeti situation,” Eden adds.
“Besides that.”
I sink into the chair across from Esther. “I guess I’m scared. That I can’t actually do this. That I’ll fail. That everyone will realize I’m just the baby sister who takes pretty pictures and doesn’t know how to run a real business.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
Then Esther laughs—a surprised burst of amusement. “Eva. You thrived despite a negligent mother and minimal parenting from sister-substitutes. You’ve been running our marketing. You built our social media presence from nothing.”
“That’s different. That’s just social media.”
“There’s no ‘just’ about it,” Eden says firmly. “You have a skill. You see things other people don’t, and you make them want to see it, too. That’s not nothing.”
“Gran said something like that,” I admit. “She and Latonya from the diner. They said I have perspective.”
“You do.” Eila leans against the counter, arms crossed. “You always have. Remember when you were twelve, and you curated our trash-picked furniture to create a comfortable apartment?”
“I was an annoying child who thought I had a future as a YouTuber.”
“You were a child who understood aesthetics.” Esther smiles. “You just didn’t know what to do with it yet.”
Eliza, who has been suspiciously quiet, glances outside at Pepper, who escaped the shed to gnaw on my porch railing. “Can I meet Baabara now?”
“Who?” Esther looks up from the syrup manual.
“The sheep. The famous one. From her videos.”
I’d almost forgotten about the viral content amidst all the emotional chaos. “Yeah. She lives at Bedd Fellows down the hill.”
“Can we go? I want to see if she and Pepper will be friends.”
I look at my sisters; Eden’s already reaching for her jacket, Eila’s gazing longingly at my trees, and Esther’s closing her notepad with a decisive snap.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go introduce you to Fork Lick.”
“It’s beautiful here,” Eden says as we walk down the hill together. “I get why you want to stay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She links her arm through mine. “It feels like you.”
