Page 7 of Fall is Brewing

“That look,” he says cheerfully, pointing at my face. “That right there is a competitive look.”

Brooks chuckles. “She had it the first time we met too.”

June’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve met?”

“Briefly,” I say. “Contentiously.”

Brooks tilts his head. “I’d say passionately.”

“I’d say you were condescending.”

“And I’d say you were bossy.”

I lean forward, smiling sweetly. “Say that again and I’ll show you exactly how bossy I can be.”

The connection between us twists tighter like a coiled spring. Undeniably changed.

Behind Brooks, Evan clears his throat. “We should grab a table.”

Brooks doesn’t move right away. His gaze holds mine, curious now. “Guess we’ll see each other around,” he says.

“This town isn’t that big,” I reply. “It’s hard to avoid your competition.”

His smile turns slow. “Good. I’ll see you around, Willa.”

Something about the way he says my name—easy, familiar—makes my pulse trip like it’s embarrassing itself on purpose.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” I reply.

He starts to turn—and that’s when a voice behind him calls, loud enough to carry across the restaurant. “Brooks Calder! There you are!”

Brooks pauses, looking over his shoulder.

Marcy Richards hustles toward him in an Orchard Falls Autumn Festival committee jacket, cheeks pink from the cold. She’s holding a clipboard. Because of course she is.

In Orchard Falls, clipboards are basically a second currency.

“Oh no,” I breathe.

June leans in. “What’s Marcy doing here?”

“She’s taking over as chair of the Autumn Festival committee. Which means she runs all of us this year.”

Brooks takes a few steps back from my table, leaving warmth and tension and the distinct feeling that my quiet dinner has officially been ruined.

June exhales dramatically. “Oh my God.”

Lena presses her lips together, delighted. “So… that’s him.”

“That,” I say, already tired, “is Calder Cider.”

And apparently, he’s decided to make himself very comfortable here in Orchard Falls.

Marcy reaches Brooks, smiling like she’s just found a missing child in a crowd. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “We need to finalize the judges for the Pumpkin Pie Contest!”

Brooks blinks. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” Marcy says brightly. “Because the kickoff weekend is a week from Saturday and I refuse to be caught unprepared. And also because half the town is already asking.”