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mash cook prepares the mash by cooking grains with water and enzymes; monitors temperatures, timing, and consistency

THE OFFICE door squeaked on its hinges as I pushed it open.

I expected to find Marv behind his cluttered desk as usual.

Instead, I was greeted by the sharp smell of cleaning solution and the sight of him bent over, wiping down the coffee-stained surface with paper towels.

The late afternoon light streaming through the windows caught the dust motes he'd stirred up.

"Marv?" I called, genuinely surprised. I'd never seen him clean anything more than the lenses of his reading glasses.

He straightened up, his face flushed from the effort, and I noticed he'd even attempted to tame his disheveled hair. There was something different about his posture too—less of the defeated slump I'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"Bernadette!" His voice carried an energy I hadn't heard before. "I was just sprucing things up a bit."

"I can see that," I said, glancing around the office. He'd actually cleared papers off the extra chair and emptied the overflowing wastebasket. "Special occasion?"

His eyes shone. "I heard from Theresa today. We talked for over an hour." He set down the paper towels and rubbed his hands together nervously. "I think... I think she might want to come back."

A genuine smile spread across my face. Despite Marv's quirks and scattered management style, I'd grown fond of him. "I'm really happy for you."

"She's coming by next week," he continued, practically bouncing on his heels. "Can't have her thinking I've completely fallen apart without her."

I laughed softly. "Well, the place definitely looks better. She'll be impressed."

Marv beamed, then seemed to remember why I was there.

"Oh, your paycheck!" He rummaged through the newly organized desk drawer and pulled out an envelope.

"You know, Bernadette, I've been meaning to tell you—you're doing an excellent job.

Our online reviews have gone up significantly since you started. "

The words hit me with unexpected force, and I felt a warm flush of pride mixed with guilt.

I'd taken this job purely for selfish reasons, as a means to an end in my search for answers.

But hearing that I was actually good at it, that I was making a difference for Marv's struggling business, stirred something in me I hadn't expected.

"Thank you," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "That... that means a lot."

Marv stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around me in an awkward but heartfelt hug. I could smell his aftershave—something woody and old-fashioned that he'd probably worn for decades—mixed with the lingering scent of cleaning products.

"Sorry," he mumbled, stepping back quickly. "I'm just... grateful, you know? And happy."

"It's okay," I assured him, smoothing down my shirt and trying to ease the moment's awkwardness. "Really."

As I walked back to my car, paycheck tucked safely in my purse, I found myself reflecting on how much my life had changed in just a few short weeks.

Back in Arizona, I'd spoken to maybe three people regularly—my landlord, the grocery store clerk, and the woman at the gas station who always commented on the weather.

My world had been small, insular, defined by routine and the careful avoidance of meaningful connection.

But here in Kentucky, it was as if I'd awakened from some kind of social hibernation.

There were the Oneys at the campground. Jett with his quiet presence and thoughtful observations.

Dylan and his easy charm, and now his mother Jessica with her warmth.

The Guy sisters, each compelling in their own way.

Even Marv, with his scattered energy and genuine heart.

For the first time in years, I felt like I was part of something larger than my own careful, contained existence. Whether or not I found my father, Kentucky had already given me something I hadn't realized I'd been missing—a sense of belonging to a community, however temporary it might be.