Page 52 of Fall is Brewing

Willa laughs again, and this time it comes easier, lighter. Like she forgot she’s supposed to be keeping her walls up. Somehow, in less than five minutes, Jace has done what I spent the better part of a week failing to do. He made Willa forget we were competitors.

Jace is good at that. He’s disarming in ways neither Evan nor I had ever managed to perfect.

I find myself watching her instead of the bottles in my hands. The way she wrinkles her nose when she laughs. The way she pushes an escaped strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist because her fingers are dusty from the crates. The way she fits into the rhythm of the room without trying to take it over.

She isn't treating this like enemy territory anymore. She isn't acting like she's doing us a favor. She's just... helping.

"Earth to Brooks." I blink. Jace is smirking at me over the handle of the broom. "You've been holding the same bottle for like thirty seconds."

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. "I was checking for cracks."

Willa glances up at me then, one corner of her mouth lifting into the smallest hint of a smile.

I clear my throat and finally slide the bottle into the crate. "Keep talking," I mutter to Jace. "I'm sure eventually you'll sweep up some of the glass you broke.”

Jace throws his hands in the air. “I’m telling you! Scrumpy is a she! And she has babies! Those little trash pandas are going to be the downfall of this orchard.”

“They’re baby raccoons,” Evan says.

"They're little criminals,” Jace argues.

Willa nods her head. “I’m actually with Jace on this one.”

As if summoned by his own name, Scrumpy pokes her masked little face through the open doorway, then three other tiny little heads pop up beside him. An apple nearly as big as her head is clenched triumphantly between her teeth.

She freezes. We freeze. Then, without an ounce of shame, she and the babies disappear back outside.

Jace points dramatically after him. "See? Witness!"

“Huh,” I say. “I guess Scrumpy is a girl.”

"I'll admit..." Willa says, shaking her head. "That was pretty convincing."

"I've been vindicated!” Jace throws two fists into the air in triumph.

I laugh under my breath and bend to pick up the last bottle lying beneath the conveyor.

When I straighten, Willa is already reaching for the crate beside me. Our hands brush. The contact is fleeting enough that it shouldn't register.

But… it does.

She draws her hand back first, tucking it behind her as if she hadn't noticed.

As if I hadn't.

“Well,” she says, “I think that’s the last of them.” She turns, lifting the crate with both hands.

“I can do that⁠—”

I reach for the crate, trying to stop her, but she’s way ahead of me, already setting it down on the work bench in the corner with a satisfied little exhale. “I got it,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans.

A streak of dust from the crate drags across her cheek without her noticing. Her head tilts as she catches me staring. “What?”

I don't answer right away. Instead, before I can convince myself it's a terrible idea, I step closer. "Hold still."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What are yo⁠—"

I reach up, brushing the pad of my thumb gently across her cheek, swiping the dirt away.