Page 111 of Fall is Brewing

Boots on fallen leaves.

I turn just in time to see Brooks stop a few feet away, his blue ribbon still in one hand, my heart very much in the other.

“Congratulations,” I say.

His smile is small. Careful. “You too.”

We stand there for a moment, two winners who somehow look like we both lost sleep.

Then he steps closer. “Willa, I’m so sorry.” The words are immediate. No preamble. No excuses. “I should have told you I knew you as a kid. About the broken nose. All of it.” His throat works as he looks down at the ribbon in his hand, then back at me. “I thought I was protecting the new thing we were building, but I was really protecting myself from losing it.” My chest tightens as he exhales slowly. “You were right. I decided for you. And I never want to do that again.”

The wind moves through the trees between us. Twenty hours ago, those words might not have been enough.

Maybe they still aren't everything.

But they're real.

And I think, maybe, that matters more than perfect.

A reluctant laugh slips out of me, and something in his face eases.

“I'm still sorting through my feelings,” I admit. “But… I may have overreacted a little.”

“You didn’t,” he says, shaking his head. They’re only two words, but they’re simple and steady and validating. And very Brooks.

“I did. And that’s okay. I’m allowed to mess up and overreact. You’re allowed to mess up and act in a way that protects your heart. As long as we each learn from those mistakes, right?” He seems momentarily surprised before he nods. I look down at the ribbon still curled in my hand, then back at him. “I'd still like to finish my apprenticeship with Calder Cider.”

His brows lift. “Your... apprenticeship?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. “I think I learned a lot.”

His smile changes then. It turns disbelieving and tender all at once. “I thought… I thought it would take a hell of a lot more to win your forgiveness than that.”

“Well,” I say, stepping closer, “a wiser, older man told me I don't need a man who never makes mistakes. I need one who trusts me enough to make them with me.”

Brooks goes very still. Then his eyes soften in a way that makes everything inside me ache. “Besides,” I add, “I still owe you another week’s work on your orchard.”

He laughs quietly. “Only if you let me spend one at Hartley.”

“Deal.”

This time, when he reaches for my hand, I let him take it. His fingers lace through mine with a familiarity that feels less like a beginning and more like remembering. Then he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“I've been thinking.” He pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn soft at the creases, and hands it to me.

I unfold it carefully. It's a sketch… a sort of blueprint. Not polished. Not final. But detailed enough that I understand it instantly. A pavilion. A small coffee shop with wide windows. Outdoor tables beneath string lights. A lawn big enough for festivals, weddings, markets, and concerts.

And a path leading from Hartley & Sons on one side and Calder Cider on the other. “Is this the land between our properties?”

He nods. “What if we stop fighting over the land… and share it instead?”

My breath catches, “Brooks.”

“I know it's rough.” He points to one corner. “But if we build the coffee shop here, it would catch the morning sun. And if the windows are angled just right, people can see both orchards from the counter.”

I smile, even though my eyes are burning again. “You've already started planning…”

“I started the second I imagined your cider donuts in a glass case being sold alongside my spiced apple coffee.”