Page 88 of Fall is Brewing

I cup her cheek and she leans into my hand as though it belongs there. As though it always has.

When we finally pull apart, it's only far enough for our foreheads to rest together.

Neither of us says anything.

We don't have to.

Some moments are too fragile for words.

When I open my eyes, she’s already looking at me. There's wonder in her gaze. And relief. Like we've both spent a week standing on opposite sides of a river neither of us knew how to cross.

She smiles first… small, tentative, beautiful.

"I was starting to think you were never going to do that,” she whispers.

I laugh softly, my forehead still against hers. "I've been trying not to."

"How's that working out for you?"

I stare at the tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes. The strand of hair the wind keeps blowing across her cheek. The way she's still close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath every time she exhales.

Then, I kiss her again. This one isn't tentative. It's certain. It carries every smile across a tasting bar. Every shoulder brush. Every rainstorm. Every shared cup of cider. Every conversation that turned competition into understanding. It's all there.

Everything we've been too stubborn—or too afraid—to say.

"Willa!" Marcy’s voice cuts through the air like a fire alarm. “Willa? Willa? Where are you?”

Willa jerks back so fast one of the light strands swings between us.

For one second, we just stare at each other, breathing hard.

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide, and I’m standing there with the taste of cinnamon sugar on my thumb and the distinct feeling that my self-control has just filed its resignation.

Marcy appears at the edge of the crates, clipboard clutched to her chest, utterly oblivious to the fact that she has just interrupted something that might have ruined me. “Oh, there you are! And good, Brooks, too! We need you both at the judging table right now.”

Willa blinks. “Both of us?”

Marcy beams. “Yes! The festival committee wants a picture of all the orchards entering the cider competition.”

Willa closes her eyes for half a second. And somehow, the kiss hanging between us feels louder than anything Marcy could possibly say next.

Because now we both know.

Whatever this is between us—it isn’t almost anymore.

CHAPTER 19

Willa

I can still feel it.

The warmth of his mouth, the way everything else disappeared for a second—like the whole town held its breath just for us. I keep replaying it, every tiny detail, like if I think about it enough, I can step back into that moment and relive it.

I… I want more of Brooks. I want to see him again. Not across the orchard or over a stack of crates or from opposite sides of a rivalry—but I want him. I want to hold his hand. Get to know more about his upbringing, where he grew up, who his parents were. I want to be close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss him again and see if it feels just as impossible and perfect the second time.

The thought makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with nerves.

The radio clicks softer, the music fading into the background as Patty reaches over and turns the dial down.