Silas spat into the dirt, a twinkle in his eye. "North field is spoken for, Clara. Big contract out of Chicago."
Clara’s heart sank. In the world of bulk hops, timing was everything. If you didn't secure your "spot" during the harvest, you were left scrambling for pelletized leftovers by February.
Among them was Clara, a head brewer from three states over. Her brewery was growing faster than she could keep up with, and she needed five hundred pounds of Citra and Mosaic to keep her flagship IPA flowing through the winter.
"Silas," she said, leaning against his weathered barn door, the air thick with the spicy, citrus scent of drying cones. "I need the whole north field. Every last cone."
