“If you’d told me what you were planning, I never would’ve given it my blessing,” Sylvia said. Nate started to object, but she rolled right over him. “What does it matter if our bourbon is weaker? Our brand is so well-known, a little change in the magic isn’t going to stop what we’ve built.”

“But—” Nate started.

“I wanted to have a conversation with Maura, not try to steal her garden publicly,” Sylvia said.

Irene shook her head. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Kaden rested his hand on top of hers.

“Maura, I’m so sorry about all this,” Sylvia said.

“I doubt that,” Maura said. “You knew as well as Nate did that I wouldn’t give you a single kernel, so now you’re trying to make yourself look the victim.”

“This is why the town should have the rights to that garden—” Nate said, but Sylvia cut him short.

“What our bourbon does isn’t all that different from what you do.” Sylvia looked to Maura, and then Irene. “We take people’s darkest memories, the same way you take away their pain.”

Maura narrowed her eyes. “That’s not the same thing. There is no healing in forgetting.”

“The town seems to think there is,” Sylvia said, and as much as Irene hated to admit it, her own business had seen the proof of it. “It’s your choice if you want to take that away from them. But we won’t force you to give up your garden.”

“Can you even do that?” Addison asked. Irene couldn’t help but see the flowers that sprouted in her hair like weeds.

The mayor cleared his throat. “If it’s for the good of the town…”

“But you can put a stop to this,” Kaden said to the mayor. “Just don’t put the motion forward.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the mayor said. “The entire city council was at the funeral. They won’t stand for inaction, not when the distillery needs the corn.”

“That’s assuming there’s something wrong with the garden,” Elena said. “The Haywoods have cared for it for generations. One bad batch of rosemary doesn’t give the council grounds to act.”

Addison buried her face in her hands. Brilliant orange marigolds sprouted in her hair. Maura’s eyes met Irene’s and they both saw the same thing: despair.

“It wasn’t just one bad batch of rosemary,” Addison said. She clapped a hand over her mouth, horror in her eyes.

Kaden grabbed Irene’s hand under the table.

“What does she mean?” Elena asked Maura.

Maura looked up at the ceiling, then back at Elena. “The garden might be changing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elena asked.

“It was too soon to say anything,” Maura said. “We’d planned to sort through it all after the festival.”