Page 8 of Fall is Brewing

My spine straightens.

The Pumpkin Pie contest is… mine.

Not in an entitled way. In a I have been doing this for six years because Marcy’s predecessor, Edna asked me once and then never let me stop way.

It’s the festival’s appetizer event—a tasting panel the week before the big competition, where local restaurants and cafes submit their pumpkin pies and the winner’s pie is selected for the yearly pie eating contest.

It’s not the Fall Cider Competition, but it’s close enough to matter. It’s a town bragging rights thing. It’s a visibility thing. It’s… territory.

And I usually judge it along with my grandfather.

Brooks says, “I thought you said you already had a judge.”

Marcy waves her clipboard. “We did. We do. But we’re expanding. And so we’re in need of another judge.”

My stomach drops again. “You are?” I say, loud enough that Marcy’s head snaps toward me.

Her face lights up like she’s only just seeing me sitting here. “Willa! Perfect timing!”

I stare at her. “I’ve... been here the whole time. Am I still one of the judges?”

“Yes,” Marcy says, giggling as if I’ve made an adorable joke. “But sadly, your grandfather has asked to not judge this year.”

“He—he did?” This is news to me. Why wouldn’t he tell me that himself? “I—” I glance at June and Lena like they can save me. They don’t even try. June looks delighted. Lena looks like she might die happy right here in the booth.

Marcy turns to Brooks. “And Brooks will be the second judge.”

I choke slightly. “Excuse me?”

Brooks’s brows lift. “I didn’t agree yet⁠—”

“Oh, come on!” Marcy nods emphatically. “It’s the perfect balance. And good for optics.”

“Optics,” I repeat, because that’s a word you use when you’re about to ruin someone’s life.

“Tourists love a panel,” Marcy says. “They love banter. They love local personality. And Brooks is—” she glances him up and down like she’s assessing his marketability “—a very good addition.”

Freaking. Barf. In. My. Mouth.

Brooks’s mouth twitches. “I’m being recruited for my … marketability?”

“More like for your face,” Lena murmurs.

“And body,” June says, louder than Lena. I elbow her hard enough to make her yelp.

Marcy continues, unstoppable. “Plus, Calder Cider is sponsoring the raffle this year and we need to show that Orchard Falls welcomes growth.”

Ah. There it is. The word that always means change whether you like it or not.

Brooks looks between Marcy and me, his expression sharpening with interest like he’s just been handed a front-row seat to something fun.

I sit up straighter. “Marcy, I always judge the pie competition⁠—”

“And you still will,” she says brightly. “Just… with help.”

“I don’t need help.”

Marcy pats my shoulder like I’m a child who’s announced she’s going to live on candy. “Sweetheart, it’s not about need. It’s about the committee’s vision.”