Sometimes Addison wondered if it was easier for Quinn, at least knowing who her father was even if he was gone, barely a memory. At least there was a name, a history. Addison’s mother had told her that after she broke up with Nate Bonner, she went on a terrible rebound—spent that fall trying to erase Nate from her soul. It had been a relief ten months later when Addison showed up, because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, Addison wasn’t Nate’s, and even Addison’s birth had become another cautionary tale.

She jumped out of her Bronco, and the two of them unloaded the crates from that morning’s harvest. She tugged a pair of scissors from her canvas apron and snipped the ties around the boxes.

“A little light today,” Quinn said.

“I pulled all the rosemary for the funeral,” Addison said.

Quinn clicked her tongue and shook her head. Rosemary was one of their best sellers. With notes of lemon, it paired perfectly with bourbon, which was likely why Sylvia had wanted it in the first place.

“I can’t believe you talked Grams and Aunt Irene into it.”

“You can thank the tea leaves,” Addison said. “Speaking of which, the garden gave me a blackberry today.”

“The garden… gave you a berry?” Quinn repeated.

“That wasn’t even the weirdest part,” Addison said. “I ate it, and I think I had a vision.”

Quinn arched her eyebrows. “Has that ever happened before?”

Addison shook her head, but before she could explain what she’d seen, four cars pulled into the back lot, right on time. Thanks to the booming bourbon industry, Yarrow had also become a culinary hub, boasting four Michelin-star restaurants, all of which were the shadow garden’s primary customers.

It didn’t take them long to go through what Addison had brought—with a few grumbles that the day’s harvest had no rosemary—but they took what the garden had to give, paid, and drove away.

Addison glanced at the back door, trying not to think of the days when her ex-boyfriend River would walk through it, would inventory what was left over by the restaurants to put in a special display inside—most of which would be sold before noon. Though River had been gone from Yarrow for almost two years, working on his master’s, Addison thought of him every time she visited his family’s store. She still couldn’t forgive herself for what she’d done.

“So about this vision,” Quinn said after the chefs left. “Want to go grab a cup of tea and talk about it?”

“I’m not sure I want anyone at the shop overhearing this,” Addison said.

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “Coffee, then?”

“Or we could go inside and talk right now,” Addison said.

Quinn tugged a strawberry-blond curl between her lips the way she did when she was nervous.

“What’s going on?” Addison asked.