Librería Samer Atenea
Librería Aciertas (Toledo)
Kálamo Books
Librería Perelló (Valencia)
Librería Elías (Asturias)
Donde los libros
Librería Kolima (Madrid)
Librería Proteo (Málaga)
Leaving my family’s farm was the hardest thing I ever did-and coming back, grief-stricken, to pack it up just reminds me of every reason I wish I could stay. But my body won’t let me work the fields anymore, and I can’t afford enough help to keep things running.At least, that’s what I think...until someone starts plowing the fields in the middle of the night.At first, I assume it’s a kind neighbor, or a well-meaning cousin, or maybe a very confused farmhand with an unusual sleep schedule. But when I finally catch the culprit, I discover it’s not anyone at all.It’s...my plow.My full-size, century-old, absolutely-not-supposed-to-be-sentient plow.And once it’s done tilling the fields, it seems extremely interested in plowing me, too.Which shouldn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be happening. But here I am, on my family land, falling for a piece of heavy machinery that somehow understands me better than any human person ever has.So now I’m dealing with grief, new beginnings, and a plow with an excellent work ethic. And honestly? There are worse ways to be pulled back home.
