In Hallow Acre, an orchard remembers what you say-and the town keeps that promise with a Charter written in full sentences. Clara Wren tends the trees, stamps consent marks on willing wrists, and guards a simple rule: no recording of a recording, no devices above the canopy, one-time right to listen. When drought, wildfire warnings, and a data lab arrive with "anonymous" sensors, Clara's careful world collides with Jonah Lark, a repairman whose old code now powers the lab's demodulator. What begins as a standoff over privacy becomes a slow-blooming small-town romance built on work, boundaries, and trust.Part romantasy and part civic fable, this is cozy fantasy with a backbone: bells tuned to the creek's vowel, bees guided home through a corridor of humble chimes, a librarian who files minutes that bite, and a council that learns to deserve its authority. The town answers extraction with process-public listening days, visible consent, an Oral History Crew-and answers peril with craft: "repair first, then petition." As the community pursues an emergency cultural easement and a Listening Permit, Clara and Jonah shoulder the gate together, becoming co-keepers in deed before name.For readers who love magical realism rooted in objects you can hold-a clay horn, a sky-blue bowl, a coil of line-and who crave hopepunk stories where ordinary people organize rather than prophesy, this novel asks: What does consent look like when a community listens? How do love and law share a kitchen wall? And where does technology belong when AI ethics meets ritual?There are no chosen ones here, only neighbors: a hard-of-hearing mother who models deliberate listening; a father whose stern affection distills to "choose or go"; a land-trust rep drawing a line where wind and bells can legally belong; and a town that turns obligation into celebration. The romance is a found family of two (and then many): tea before verdicts, full sentences during disagreements, a shared two-to-four fence watch, and a vow to retie the ribbon even when it hasn't slipped.By the final page, Hallow Acre isn't famous-it's practiced. The orchard cools, the permit passes, the easement is posted above the sink, and bees toss coins of sunlight for anyone who remembers to look up. If you're searching for a gentle, grounded cozy fantasy with the heartbeat of small-town romance and the moral clarity of AI ethics done right, welcome. Pull up a chair. Bring your best sentence

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