A woman in her forties.
Two men.
One carried a cooler.
No suits.
Good.
People wearing suits to farms were usually there to collect money or announce regulations.
The woman shook Ethan’s hand.
“Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca Lane.”
They began the tour.
Milking area.
Clean.
Records.
Feed sorting.
Storage.
Goat health.
Cheese room.
Rebecca asked detailed questions.
Not friendly questions.
Good questions.
“How do you prevent spoiled produce from entering feed?”
“Visual inspection.”
“Source separation.”
“Temperature where relevant.”
“Daily sorting.”
“Anything moldy?”
“Compost only or disposal.”
“Citrus?”
“Limited.”
“Onions?”
“Never goats.”
“Avocado?”
“No.”
“Packaging contamination?”
“Everything unpacked manually.”
She nodded.
They tasted cheese.
Fresh chèvre.
Herbed logs.
Aged wheel.
Smoked goat cheese.
One buyer smiled after the aged wheel.
Rebecca did not.
Professional poker face.
They walked toward the pasture.
Calvin and the neighbors still watched.
Embarrassing.
Rebecca noticed.
“Friends?”
Ethan looked.
“Educational observers.”
Grace coughed to hide a laugh.
At the compost area, Rebecca stopped.
“This is all from feed leftovers?”
“Produce leftovers.”
“Goat bedding.”
“Manure.”
“Cardboard.”
“Wood chips.”
She touched finished compost.
“Your soil?”
“Mostly.”
They walked to the lower field.
Rebecca crouched.
Dark soil crumbled between her fingers.
“What was this field like before?”
Ethan showed photos on his phone.
Pale ground.
Sparse plants.
Erosion.
She stared between image and current field.
“You restored this in three years?”
“Started three years ago.”
“Not restored.”
“Improving.”
That answer finally made her smile.
Back at the store, they discussed numbers.
Ethan’s heart pounded harder than during any bank meeting.
Rebecca opened a folder.
“We want to start smaller than the original proposal.”
His stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“One hundred twenty pounds weekly for eight weeks.”
Trial.
Then expansion.
Grace nodded.
Reasonable.
Ethan asked:
“And after?”
“If quality and supply stay consistent, two hundred.”
“Potentially more seasonal.”
Rebecca slid papers over.
“We also want soap for three retail partners.”
Grace’s eyes widened.
Ethan remained still.
“How much?”
“Initial order twelve hundred bars.”
Silence.
From outside came a goat bleat.
Perfect timing.
Grace whispered:
“Twelve hundred?”