Page 61 of Fall is Brewing

And because this place is alive—and he got to build it that way. Not alone, exactly, but with his brothers, piece by piece, decision by decision, until it became something entirely and unmistakably his. No legacy pressing in from behind, threatening to nip at his heels. No expectations carved into every beam. Just choices, vision, freedom.

“What made you decide to take these risks?” I ask.

“What risks?”

I gesture around at the tasting room. “Apple flavored coffee, for one. Equipment to roast your own beans is expensive. What if it didn’t work out?”

Brooks chews the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering with a shrug. “What if it did? I can always resell the equipment without taking a huge loss.” There’s a few moments of silence before he presses me further. “What risks aren’t you taking, Willa Hartley?”

“Oh no,” I hold my finger up in his face like a kindergarten teacher scolding a student who’s coloring on the wall. “I’m not telling the enemy my secrets.”

He holds up his hands. “I swear I won’t steal your ideas.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

He’s thoughtful for a beat before he shakes his head. “I guess you don’t know for sure. That’s what makes the display of trust so beautiful, right?”

I swallow, my nerves jumping from my belly up to my throat. “I’ve always wanted a festival pavilion,” I admit. “A place to host events and the community and have an outdoor beer garden…except with cider.”

“That’s a great idea. Why don’t you build that?”

I stare at him. He knows, right? He must know. But when he just stands there waiting, curiosity lifting his brows, I realize he doesn’t. He has no idea. I exhale a sharp sigh. “I was hoping to pitch that idea soon to my family. But then the land we would build on was locked by an easement and lawyers…”

The Calder’s lawyers.

The moment turns cold as Brooks’ face registers what I just said. He fumbles for words and just as he opens his mouth to respond, my phone buzzes in my back pocket, saving me from having to continue this conversation. I excuse myself and take a step away from him to pull my phone out and glance at the screen.

Patty:

Just checking in. Hope the enemy territory isn’t too unbearable. Also your dad is pretending not to worry and doing a terrible job.

I smile despite myself.

Then another message comes through.

Grandpa:

Remember: golden ticket.

I look up.

Brooks is still watching me.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“That looked like a loaded nothing.”

“It’s a family nothing,” I shrug, knowing he’ll understand.

“Ah. The most dangerous kind.”

I slide my phone away and push off the counter. “I should get back to work.”

“You are working.”

“I should work harder.”