Page 2 of Fall is Brewing

Which somehow makes the knot in my chest worse. Because perfect doesn’t guarantee a win anymore.

Not since Calder Cider and Tasting Room rolled into town with their reclaimed wood signs and slick branding and muscular, bearded hipster brew masters and “small-batch experimental flavors.”

Not since they opened last year and immediately started drawing lines around themselves like they were the future and the rest of us were charming relics.

I roll my eyes just thinking about them.

Calder Cider and Tasting Room. Even the name sounds smug.

They’re new. Shiny. Trendy. The kind of place that offers cider flights with tasting notes and has an Instagram account that somehow makes apples look sexy. People gush about their barrel-aged blends and seasonal infusions like they invented fermentation instead of Googling it.

And the worst part? They’re good.

I hate that they’re good.

I step back outside, blinking against the sunlight, and in the distance spot the banner stretched across Main Street just beyond the orchard gates.

ORCHARD FALLS CIDER COMPETITION – 16 DAYS

The sign has been there for a week already, but seeing the number drop into the teens sends a fresh spike of adrenaline through me.

Sixteen days to prove we’re still the best.

Sixteen days to protect a legacy that feels heavier with every passing year.

I didn’t just grow up here in Orchard Falls. I grew up in this orchard—climbing trees, sneaking sips of hard cider when I thought no one was looking, falling asleep to my dad talking through next season’s plans at the kitchen table. This place isn’t a business to me. It’s a living, breathing thing. It’s family.

And losing isn’t just embarrassing.

It’s personal.

Last year, when Calder Cider snagged second place in their first competition when they’d been open barely a month, the whispers started immediately.

The old guard is slipping.

Time for something new.

Guess Hartley & Sons Orchard isn’t untouchable anymore.

I smiled politely through all of it, because that’s what you do in a small town that thrives on charm and tourism. But every comment digs in deep, like a splinter I can’t quite get out.

I won’t let this year end the same way.

I won’t let some newcomer rewrite our story.

“Hey,” my stepmom’s voice calls from behind me. “You’re doing that thing again.”

I turn to find her standing at the edge of the barn, arms crossed, expression soft but knowing. She’s lived with orchard owners long enough to recognize stress spirals when she sees them.

“What thing?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.

“The staring-at-the-sign-like-it’s-personally-threatening-you thing.”

I huff a laugh. “It kind of is.”

She steps closer, following my gaze to the banner. “You don’t need to win to prove anything,” she says gently.

I love Patty dearly… but she’s wrong about this.