Page 21 of Fall is Brewing

“McIntosh,” I say.

I lift the blindfold again. Correct. A flicker of satisfaction curls low in my stomach.

“See?” I say. “War-ready.”

Patty studies me for a long moment, her expression softening just a fraction. “You don’t have to prove anything to him, or the town, you know?”

“It’s not about him.” Thankfully, she doesn’t call me out on the lie.

Instead, she reaches for a slice and takes a bite herself, thoughtful. “It’s about you.”

I hesitate. Because the truth is… it is.

I set the blindfold back in place. Next slice. Slightly grainy texture. Milder sweetness. Earthier finish. I chew slowly, letting the flavors settle.

This is my town.

My orchard.

My season.

And if I’m going to stand blindfolded in front of Orchard Falls with Brooks Calder breathing the same air, I refuse to do it unprepared.

“Braeburn,” I say.

I pull the towel off and smile.

Correct again.

Patty smiles faintly. “You’re going to be fine.”

I hope she’s right. Because losing in private is one thing.

Losing in front of Brooks Calder—and the entire town that’s already chosen sides—is something else entirely.

The back door creaks open. Boots thud against the mudroom floor, followed by the familiar scrape of someone knocking dirt off soles that absolutely do not need knocking. “Smells like ambition in here,” my dad calls out.

“And apples,” Grandpa adds.

I laugh. “It always smells like apples in here.”

I don’t take the blindfold off this time. I just stay there, towel tied tight, holding a slice of something that smells faintly floral and sharply sweet.

“I’m studying,” I announce, because that should explain everything.

“We gathered,” Dad says dryly.

Chairs scrape as they pull up to the table. I can feel them there even without seeing them—Dad’s restless energy, Grandpa’s steady calm. Patty moves slightly to make space, her presence like a bridge between all of us.

“Blindfolded?” Dad asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Grandpa says immediately. “That’s how you learn.”

Dad exhales through his nose. “Or how you overdo it.”

I lower the apple slice. “I’m not overdoing it.”