Page 102 of Fall is Brewing

"Our families met one fall when his parents vacationed here. We spent days running around the orchards together." A sad little laugh escapes me. "And apparently I broke his nose with an apple."

Lena's hand flies to her mouth. "You what?"

"It was an accident."

"God, I should hope so," June says, blinking.

I shake my head, staring somewhere beyond the rows of barrels. "I'd forgotten all about it."

"But Brooks hadn't," Lena says quietly.

June leans back against the workbench, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "And he never said anything?"

I shake my head. "He said he kept waiting for the right moment."

The barn feels impossibly quiet. The only sound is the faint ticking of the cooling tanks and the occasional creak of old wood settling around us.

"I know why he did it," I say finally. "I really do." I lift my eyes to theirs. "I think I’m overreacting, but it feels like a lie to me. I thought we were learning each other together." My voice comes out softer than I'd intended. "I thought every story he learned about me was a story I was learning about him."

I blink hard. "I didn't realize he'd already been carrying pieces of my history that I'd forgotten existed."

Neither of them rushes to fill the silence. Lena reaches across the workbench first, resting her hand lightly over mine. June watches us for another long moment before speaking.

"I don't think I'd be upset that he knew something I didn’t remember,” June says, choosing her next words carefully, like she's weighing each one before setting it down between us. "I think I'd be hurt because he decided for me when I got to know."

The words settle into the room like dust motes drifting through the shafts of evening light.

I close my eyes for just a second.

When I open them again, I nod. My chest loosens with a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "That's exactly what I couldn't figure out how to say."

For a while, none of us says anything.

The conversation settles around us like the fine dust that always seems to hang in the cider barn this time of year. Tiny golden flecks drift lazily through the beams of evening sunlight spilling in through the high windows, catching the light before disappearing again.

June finally reaches for the bottle capper with a quiet sigh.

"Well," I say, picking up the first empty bottle and sliding it beneath the lever, "whether Brooks Calder is an idiot or the love of my life..."

Thunk.

The cap crimps neatly into place.

"...this cider isn't going to bottle itself."

A laugh escapes June.

"There she is," Lena says with a relieved smile. "I was wondering if we'd lost you for good."

"Nah, never.”

I reach for the glass I'd abandoned earlier, swirling the cider one more time before taking another thoughtful sip. It still finished just a touch too sharp. My eyes drift toward the pitchers lined up across the workbench, lingering on the Kingston Black.

Almost without thinking, I reached for it again.

June notices, her head tilting. "You really like that one, it seems."

"I don't know if I like it." I pour another small splash into the graduated cylinder before topping it with the Honeycrisp blend. "I just..." The cider catches the lantern light as I swirl it, ribbons of amber chasing each other around the glass. "...can't stop wondering what happens if I trust it."