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I lean back.

"I'm listening."

She gets up, already too excited to sit still.

"A farm-to-table restaurant. The first one in Oakridge."

There it is. That spark. I've seen it before, at the farmers market, in my growing fields, Maddy holding a berry between her fingers, talking about flavor and texture while I forgot half of what she was saying because I couldn't stop watching her. I watch her now.

"We grow incredible produce here. The farm already has relationships with local growers. We could build the menu around what's actually available." She comes closer. "Really seasonal food. Tomatoes when they're perfect. Berries when they're ready. Squash, greens, herbs." Her eyes light up. "And whatever ridiculous vegetable you're currently showing off."

"They're not ridiculous."

"Some of them are."

"They're vegetables."

"They know what they've done."

I laugh. She smiles, then takes my hand.

"You understand food, Javier."

"Maddy."

"You do. Growing it, cooking it, flavor, technique. You went to culinary school."

"A long time ago."

"You didn't forget."

"I don't want to leave the farm."

"I would never ask you to." The answer comes immediately. "What you and Jack built matters. I know that." She steps closer. "This would exist beside it. Not instead of it."

I look at her.

"Your farm," she says. "My kitchen."

"Our kitchen."

She stops. Her expression changes.

"Our kitchen," she repeats softly.

I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her fingers.

"I like that."

"So do I."

A smile starts again.

"I have numbers."

"Of course you do."

"And projections."