Page 40 of Fall is Brewing

Evan shrugs and smiles as he takes a sip of his beer.

The bones of the building are still there. High ceilings stretch farther than any bar really needs, brick walls worn smooth in places by time and use. A polished brass pole gleams in the corner, catching the glow of string lights that have been strung up where hoses probably used to hang. The bay doors are rolled open to the night, letting in a steady drift of cool early evening air and the low crackle of a firepit outside where people cluster in loose circles, drinks in hand, shoulders brushing, laughter rising and falling with the wind.

Chief huffs contentedly as I scratch behind his ears, completely at ease, completely certain he belongs here.

Unlike us.

“See?” Jace says. “We just need to hang out in places like this more. Become regulars. Make friends.”

“We’ve only just moved here,” Evan replies. “Let’s not rush our social integration.”

“Just moved here? We’ve been here a year!” Jace scoffs. “Besides, we cannot be the three weird guys who only hang out with each other.”

“We are the three weird guys who only hang out with each other, though,” I say absently, still staring somewhere past the dog, past the firelight, back into yesterday.

“Yeah, but we don’t have to lean into it,” Jace says. “We should branch out. Integrate. Be charming members of society.”

“You?” Evan says dryly. “Charming?”

“I am extremely charming,” Jace replies, offended.

“You’re a liability,” Evan says.

“I’m a fucking delight.”

I shake my head, but something in my chest loosens just a fraction.

They’re right. About the town. About the stakes. About all of it.

The front door opens behind us. And I feel it before I see it. The shift is subtle, but unmistakable.

Jace’s grin spreads slowly. “Well,” he murmurs, not even trying to hide it, “speak of the devil.”

I turn just in time to witness Willa Hartley stepping inside with her family and friends wrapped around her like a quiet kind of shield. The warm light catches her hair, her posture just as straight as it was yesterday. She’s composed, controlled, like nothing rattles her.

Like she didn’t stand in front of half the town and lose by a single word she already knew.

Her grandfather leads the way, shoulders back, still carrying that old-school orchard-owner confidence like it was stitched into his bones. Her dad follows closely beside Patty, one hand low at her back as they pause just inside the door to let their eyes adjust to the warm light and flickering shadows. Patty says something to Willa that I can’t hear from here, and Willa laughs softly.

Or at least, she makes the shape of a laugh.

It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Something in my chest tightens.

She looks composed. Put together. The same way she always does in public—like she’s built herself out of steel and autumn-colored stubbornness. But now that I know what to look for, I can see the crack in it, the thin line of tension she’s carrying across her shoulders.

Jace lets out a low whistle. “Well,” he says, dragging the word out like he’s enjoying himself entirely too much, “there’s your chance to stop brooding and go be a gentleman.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are one hundred percent brooding,” he says. “It’s very Byronic. Kind of hot if you’re into emotional repression.”

Evan doesn’t even look up from his beer. “Please don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not encouraging him,” Jace says. “I’m trying to get him to talk to the woman he’s been staring at like she’s an unsolved problem.”

I push my chair back before either of them can say anything else.