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The group of them had been sitting at the kitchen table for over an hour and had yet to think of a real solution for raising enough money to get Klaus Kasner off their backs. But fake solutions? Alana was all over it.

“We could burn his house down,” she suggested.

Sophie snorted.

Freya shot her down. “We will not be experimenting with pyrotechnics.”

“Oh come on, why not?” Alana whined. “He built that mini mansion across the river in no time, he surely has enough money to do it again.”

“Then he’ll really need our money,” Otto pointed out.

“Fine, then let’s egg the house.” She sat up with glee. “Oo, oo! Or we could release a hornets’ nest through an open window.”

Sophie howled with laughter.

“Alana, no,” Freya snipped. “We need real solutions.”

Alana pouted and crossed her arms. “You’re no fun.”

Freya clenched her fists and read whatever long list she had on her clipboard. She was holding court at the front of the table, the rest of them settled in chairs. Otto had prepared a pot of lavender tea for their meeting that was already drained to the dregs. Sophie had baked a batch of Mom’s favorite lemon scones, which were also polished off, only crumbs and dollops of vanilla icing left on the blue ceramic plate.

“We’re not here for fun,” Freya repeated for the umpteenth time. “We’re here to figure out how to save the farm.”

“Yes, but sometimes, Freya darling, life also needs a little laughter,” Alana pointed out. “How else are we supposed to get through the hard days?”

Freya twisted her mouth and didn’t reply. She didn’t even look in her direction. Alana took that as a reassuring sign. It meant she’d somehow gotten to her. Despite her own frustrations with Freya’s insistence on the two of them not talking things out, Alana was still her older sister. She could see the ways the stress was taking its toll on Freya’s daily life. Her hair was flat and stringy, and the rosy color of her cheeks had drained in the last few days. She looked exhausted. What she would give to hear her sister laugh and lighten up. Just once.

But apparently, despite her efforts, she wouldn’t get a laugh from her sister today.

Alana could feel Leo’s gaze on her. She glanced at where he sat across the table, that familiar smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Freya may not see what she was trying to do, but at least Leo did. He gave her the slightest nod in approval. She grinned.

Otto sighed and stood up, grabbing the empty scone plate. He made his way toward the kitchen window and scanned the fields, the bright mid-morning sun shining down on the vines. Veraison had begun; the light green grapes shifting into darker shades of green, pink, and purple. This gave them forty-two days until it was time to harvest. Most vineyards would have to estimate somewhere between thirty and sixty, but at Marien, it was September 6, year after year.

He turned the spigot and washed the plate. “Maybe we should take a break and pick back up tomorrow.”

Freya shook her head. “No. We don’t have time. We need to figure this out today.”

Sophie rubbed her chin, a single crease forming between her eyebrows. “The farmers markets don’t bring in enough, right?”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Obviously. We wouldn’t be in this position if it did.”

Alana pointed at her. “Hey. Cut the attitude.”

Her sister glared at her, then rolled her shoulders and squared them toward Sophie. “Where are you going with this?”

Sophie tapped her cheek with a perfectly polished pink fingernail. “How many people attend each week, would you say?”

Freya pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. Then: “It ranges between three and four hundred.”

“And they’re always buying our wine?”

“Not always,” Leo interjected, his deep voice such a contrast to the rest of theirs. “We can go through up to six cases, but it’s never enough.”

“Like I said,” Freya blurted out. “It’s not⁠—”

Sophie held up a finger to silence her. “How many of these marketgoers are local?”