The lights dimmed and servers clad in Bonner’s apparel appeared at the end of every row with trays of drinks.

“She never misses a chance to promote her bourbon,” Maura grumbled.

Addison reached for a glass.

“Addison!” Maura said, scandalized. “You are not going to drink one of their cocktails.”

Addison was, in fact, going to drink one of their cocktails. “Of course not,” she said. “I just want to see how they used the rosemary.”

“Grab me one!” Harper said.

Maura threw up her hands. “Have none of you heard a single word I’ve said your entire lives?”

“To be fair, you didn’t raise Harper,” Quinn said.

Harper’s grandmother, Elena, leaned back from the row of chairs in front of them. “That doesn’t mean Harper didn’t grow up with an earful of Maura’s disdain…” She glanced around.

River turned to face them. “Could y’all maybe keep this to yourselves?” he whispered. “We are at a funeral.”

Addison avoided making eye contact, trying not to think about the last funeral she and River had attended as she examined the contents of her glass. There wasn’t much to it. Ice, bourbon, a sprig of black rosemary.

Sylvia approached the stage and held up her drink. “We’re about to begin,” she said. “First, I wanted to thank all of you for coming, and I wanted to extend a special thanks to the Haywoods for providing a little something extra from their garden for this celebration of Christian’s life.” A spotlight came on over their row, and Addison was fairly certain Grams hissed in response.

When Sylvia didn’t continue, Elena whispered, “I think she wants you to wave.”

Maura did not wave.

Sylvia cleared her throat and raised a glass. “I know there is a lot of heartache in this room, but I want to ask that you think instead of all the good Christian brought to Yarrow—his love of the bourbon industry and this town. Pick your best memory of him and focus on it. Then, once we’ve finished, we’ll all toast together.”

Addison held her glass to her lips, mirroring the movements of most everyone in the room.

“Not just yet,” Sylvia said. “I’d like us all to drink all at once as a final send-off. For now, just think on those memories.”

Addison had no real memories of Christian Durant beyond the fact that he spoke at the Yarrow festival every year. Instead, her mind strayed toward River sitting within arm’s reach. She knew thinking of him right before indulging in anything touched by the shadow garden was maybe not the best idea, but she did it anyway. It was a funeral. Here it was okay to cry.