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Even now, when it’s early September and the leaves have barely started to hint at changing colors, there’s just something in the air. I swear, it’s like I can practically hear a chant:Fall! Fall! Fall!The air feels crisp, smells like smoke and pumpkin spice lattes, and the whole town seems to vibrate with the anticipation of cooler temperatures and some of the best fall foliage in the country.
Literally. We were voted Number Two Most Gorgeous Fall Town last year, only being beaten by someplace in Vermont. I’ve never been that far north, but if anyone could beat our fall leaves, even I can concede to the birthplace of maple syrup.
But I think the citizens of Harvest Hollow took the number two spot as a personal affront and challenge. The Beautification Committee is out for blood. Fall decor started going up in August this year, sneaking in the same way Christmas decor now appears in big box stores in October next to Halloween skeletons and Thanksgiving turkeys.
The first thing to go up on Maple Street were ribbons on the black lamp posts. Warm, buttery yellow (NOT mustard), cheerful orange, and cranberry red ribbons with giant bows. Oh, and apples—real and fake—placed anywhere at all possible, as a nod to our favorite local crop. One store has a whole row of apples dangling from the awning by ribbons. Real apples, apparently, based on the bite I see taken out of one.
This week, someone added twinkly lights—not to be confused with Christmas lights, which are red and green and go up the day after Thanksgiving. These are the soft white lights with the tiny bulbs, and they set the mood, making the whole street feel cozy as night falls. It’s getting darker earlier now, the sun dipping below the mountains and casting long shadows on our valley in late afternoon.
I take a deep inhale, wishing there were some way to bottle this whole fall vibe up. I’d make a killing selling it online, marketing it as a fall elixir powerful enough toalmostmake you forget your old crush.
Okay, fine—the town magic is totally working on me.
I pop into the General Store a few blocks from my apartment. Since I worked right through lunch, my stomach is collapsing in on itself from hunger. And unless a fairy godmother showed up in my apartment while I was at work, there’s nothing there to eat.
The General Store lives up to its name with a pharmacy in back and a random assortment of goods from T-shirts to greeting cards to the very basic food staples you might need in the zombie apocalypse: canned soups, saltine crackers, and pasta. Perfect for nights like tonight, when I’d rather pop in here than go to the actual grocery store.
The bell jangles as I walk inside, and Mel barely looks up from herArchiecomic.
“Did you run out of ramen again, Parker?” Mel calls from behind the counter.
Her long, white hair is twisted into a gorgeous braid crown. I swear, every time I see the woman, she’s got some new amazing hairstyle. Meanwhile I’ve got two looks: down in messy waves or up in a messy ponytail. If I’m feeling extra saucy (read: lazy), maybe a messy bun.
“Not so loud!” I tease, grabbing a three-pack of ramen. “Can’t have you ruining my reputation.”
Mel only chuckles. “What reputation?”
“Ouch, Mel. Ouch.”
But … she’s not wrong. Other than my job working for the Appies and the fact that my dad runs EverTech, I don’t make waves. I’m too boring to have a reputation. And that’s just fine with me!
“Even so, I’d prefer the whole town not know that I still exist on a college kid food staple.”
“It’s our secret.” Mel makes a motion zipping her lips.
I don’t really care who knows, to be honest. I have no shame. Though I can only imagine what my parents would say if they knew I buy food that’s three packs for a dollar when I could be eating chef-prepared meals at home with them.
And all I’d have to do is move back home and work for Dad’s company.
No thanks! I’ll take my beef ramen along with my independence, thank you very much.
My phone buzzes with a call as Mel rings up my purchases of ramen, a loaf of bread, and a family-size pack of Twizzlers. My brother’s face and name flashes across the screen. He and I talk several times a week, but him calling today is highly suspicious.
It could be because Brandon heard Logan started today. Or, it could be because Logan started todayandDad told Brandon I’m bringing Logan to the gala.
My brother will—to put it mildly—notapprove. And I haven’t figured out how to untangle or explain away my bold-faced lie. Yet.
Until then, I really, really don’t want to talk to Brandon. Not on the phone. Not in person. Not in a box or with socks or any other rhyming or non-rhyming places. But if my brother could be summed up in one word, it would be persistent. The man could wear down a diamond, crushing it back into coal.
He immediately calls back when I don’t answer. I groan and gird up my metaphoric loins.
MouthingSorry!to Mel, I pass her my debit card and answer Brandon’s call.
“How was his first day?” Brandon demands before I’m even done saying hello. “Heard he was standoffish.”
I breathe out a very real sigh of relief. This line of questioning means he doesn’t know about my Logan lie. Brandon definitely would have led with that.
And ofcourseBrandon would know Logan started today and how things went. He has someone on the team who serves as his eyes and ears. Aka: a spy and a snitch.
