“Sounds to me like this is a problem you’ve created for yourselves,” Irene said.

Sylvia’s eyes gleamed in the light. “The memory harvest means a lot to this town. I’d hate for them to lose it. Even your family has benefited from it.”

“Do not bring my brother’s death into this,” Irene said.

Sylvia shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. I was simply hoping maybe you could provide us with some fresh seeds.”

“So now we get to the real reason why we were invited,” Irene said.

“It’s been decades since Maura gave us the corn. I thought…” She paused. “Perhaps it’s grown weaker on our land. Maybe it’s time for a new crop.”

Kaden rubbed at the space between his eyebrows as flashes from his dream the other night resurfaced. Before he could grab onto anything, Irene said, “Let me guess, if I wasn’t here, you’d have had this conversation with my daughter and tried to broker a deal like you did for the rosemary.”

Addison didn’t challenge her mother.

“I thought…” Sylvia said, her eyes darting from Kaden to Irene. She sighed and shook her head. “Just think about it. I hope you enjoy the festival, and I look forward to seeing you tonight.”

With that, she turned to go.

“The nerve,” Irene said.

Kaden shook his head. She was exactly the woman he remembered.

“Mom,” Addison started to say.

“Don’t even think about it,” Irene said. “You saw the rosemary and corn in your leaves. Maybe it’s a sign that it’s time for their harvest to end.”

She stalked away, farther into the VIP tent, leaving Kaden and Addison behind.

“She can be just like my grams sometimes,” Addison said, shaking her head.

“I don’t want to see the harvest go,” Kaden said. “But my mother was absolutely inappropriate. She should’ve set a meeting with your family, not brought it up here. Especially when she knows what a big deal it is that Irene showed up to the festival at all.”

“Right,” Addison said. “Well, it’s clear that you don’t like your mom.”

“She’s a complicated woman,” Kaden said. “I’m still trying to figure out who she is without my dad in the picture.”

“And?”

He laughed and shook his head. “And I think it might take the rest of my life.”

Quinn and Harper stepped out from the VIP tent. Quinn wore a plain gray tee tucked into denim cutoffs, paired with not-fully-laced black boots. Harper’s burnt-orange short-sleeve blouse hung loose over her high-waisted jeans and flashed her midriff with every breeze.

“Something happen with Irene?” Quinn asked. “She’s running a little hotter than usual.”

“Sylvia,” Addison said.

“Say no more,” Quinn said. “That woman gets under my skin, too.” She looked Kaden over, eyes narrowed. “Yet, somehow, you don’t.”