Page 67 of Always Meant for You
A man near the back raises his hand. “What other kind is there?”
He sounds genuine. Not dismissive.
“Social media,” I say. “Digital outreach. Email campaigns. Tools that reach beyond the county line.”
A woman at the front, glasses magnifying her eyes, lifts her hand slightly. “And how would we do that?”
I glance toward Dad, hoping for something. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift.
I take a breath and walk forward.
The sound of my heels against the floor echoes in the room. Cal steps aside, every muscle wound tight, but he doesn’t try to stop me.
“Mind if I speak from here?” I ask, meeting his gaze, praying he sees that I’m not trying to hurt him. “I want to help if I can.”
He gives the smallest nod, and the space between us feels less divided than it did a minute ago.
I turn to face the room.
“You’ve been taken advantage of twice. That isn’t on you. But what happens next is.”
They hold still, no interruptions, no scoffing. Only a hush thick enough to press against my skin.
“What you need is a strategy,” I continue. “A way to reach people who don’t already know you. Who don’t know why Elverna matters. Who’ve never tasted your jam or your tomatoes or your fresh eggs.”
I scan the room. “Do you have a logo?”
Margaret shakes her head.
“Should we?” one of the gossip women asks. And she is not looking at me like I don’t belong.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say without hesitation. “It’s more than a design. It’s your story, distilled to a glance. Something that tells people who you are before they ever set foot here.”
People nod.
“In the city,” I go on, “I worked with a brand built around a single image. And branding is only the beginning. What you need is a voice. A way to be seen and heard. Because people don’t respond to information. They respond to connection, to a story. Meet them where they are. On their phones. In the rhythm of their everyday lives. That mom checking social media at school pickup. Grandparents looking at new posts of pictures of their grandkids.”
Cal exhales sharply. “What we offer here is simple, Mabel. Healthy, honest, local food. We are a certified organic town. There is thought behind everything we do. That should be enough.”
“And I wish it were,” I say quietly, gently. “But it isn’t. Not anymore.”
I take a step forward and scan the room. “People want more than good food. They want meaning. When they buy your produce or your milk or your honey or your bread, they want to feel like they’re part of something. Part of a tradition and a community. That’s what’ll keep them coming back. You want people to eat what you produce in Elverna. Eat Elverna. There’s your co-op name.”
Mr. Stewart lifts his head. “And you think social media’s the answer?”
I glance at Cal. He’s watching me like a hawk. There’s heat in his eyes, but not malice. Determination, maybe. Or disbelief.
I hold his gaze before turning to Mr. Stewart.
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Social media is people pretending to be something they’re not,” Cal mutters.
My hand rises to my chest, not for the charm Jamie gave me, but to steady my hammering heart.
Could Cal be the Castle King?
He saw my binder on the floor. But it was open. He couldn’t have seen the name on the front. And I don’t think Cal would hide behind an alias. He would have thrown it in my face, right?
