Page 54 of Fall is Brewing

She catches my eye through the window. Just for a heartbeat. Then she smiles politely at the customers and finishes the sale. She runs the register like it’s her own… hell, we probably use the exact same point of sale systems.

I should be pleased. She didn't have to do any of that. She could've stood behind the counter, poured samples, and counted the hours until she got to leave, sabotaging any upsell.

Instead, she's selling my orchard products like she believes in them. Like she belongs here.

The thought lands somewhere deep in my chest and it’s damn unsettling.

Because I’m not just picturing Willa Hartley working here for a week. I’m imagining her here permanently.

Laughing with Jace. Rolling her eyes at Evan. Stealing my coffee every morning because she likes pretending she doesn't want her own mug. The image comes so easily it steals the air from my lungs.

I look away first. Because that future isn't just impossible.

It's the one thing I absolutely cannot let myself start wanting.

“You know,” Jace says, interrupting my thoughts. “You smile differently around her.”

“What?” I roll my eyes. “I do not.”

Evan leans into me and whispers, “Except … you do,” punctuating it with a patronizing pat on my back. "You look happy around her.”

The word creaks like a rusty hinge against my heart.

I scoff. Happy. That's ridiculous. She's been here less than two hours.

And already she'ds charmed my brothers. Befriended a family of raccoons. Sold more coffee than Jace managed all weekend.

No… I came to Orchard Falls to build Calder Cider. To give my family a future.

I didn't come here to get distracted by the woman whose name is painted on every sign just down the road.

Tomorrow she'll be back.

And for the first time since winning the contest…

I'm not sure that's a good thing.

CHAPTER 12

Willa

The next day by mid-morning, I’ve learned three things about Calder Cider.

One: their tasting room gets busier than I want it to.

Two: their Apple Cinnamon Crisp coffee is problematically delicious.

And three: Brooks Calder in his own element might be the most inconveniently attractive thing I have ever witnessed.

Not that I’m noticing… obviously. I’m simply observing.

Strategically.

Grandpa said I’ve been handed the golden ticket into the chocolate factory, and I am taking that seriously. If Brooks expects me to spend my obligatory hours here politely pouring cider and smiling through gritted teeth, then he doesn’t know me nearly as well as he thinks he does. I’m watching everything. The way customers move through the room. Which bottles they pick up first. Which labels make them pause. Which questions they ask when they think no one important is listening.

The tasting room fills slowly at first, a soft trickle of tourists in fleece jackets and ankle boots, shoulders still hunched from the chill outside. Then, as the sun climbs higher and the orchard beyond the windows turns bright gold, the trickle becomes a stream.

The room changes with people in it.