Page 50 of Fall is Brewing
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "You dropped an entire pallet."
"It wasn't the entire pallet.”
My eyes drift to the empty pallet lying on its side.
Jace follows my gaze. "...Okay. It was most of the pallet. But it wasn’t my fault!” He throws his hands in the air, defensively. “Scrumpy has babies! In here. They charged me when I went over to check the bottles.”
Sure enough, sitting in the corner behind the fallen pallet is a nest of all kinds of trash and debris… but no babies.
A snort beside me catches me completely off guard. I turn, scowling. Willa has pressed her lips together, trying—really trying—not to laugh.
It lasts all of three seconds. Then she loses it.
Not the polite little laugh she gives tourists. Not the restrained chuckle she throws at June's sarcasm. A real one. Warm. Bright. Completely unguarded.
It bounces off the concrete walls, and for just a moment, the whole room feels lighter.
Jace points at her dramatically. "See? She gets it."
"I absolutely do not get it," she says between laughs.
"You laughed!” Jace argues.
"I laughed because somehow you looked proud of catching one bottle," she points out.
"I was proud,” he argues, gesturing at the intact bottle in his hands.
"You should've been catching all the others!" I chime in.
"I only have two hands!" Jace says, thrusting his hands into his hair.
Willa shakes her head, laughing again. "I've seen toddlers with better crisis management."
"Wow,” he says, looking between us. “You two are ganging up on me now?”
"I said what I said,” she gives a little shrug, noncommittally.
Jace clutches his heart theatrically. "Brooks, are you hearing this abuse?"
"I've been hearing you deserve it since you were twelve."
Even Evan, who's been kneeling to the right of the fallen pallet, lets out a reluctant huff that almost qualifies as a laugh.
Jace looks around dramatically. "I'd like the record to show that I am surrounded by bullies."
"You dropped sixty bottles," Evan says.
"Fifty-nine," Jace corrects automatically, holding up the one singular bottle he caught.
Evan blinks.
I shake my head and crouch to stop another bottle from rolling beneath the conveyor. "Alright. Enough. Let's get the non-broken ones back in crates before they break, too.”
I reach for the nearest bottle but another hand gets there first.
Willa.
She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't ask if she should help. Doesn't stand there reminding everyone this isn't technically her orchard. She simply kneels beside me and starts gathering bottles with practiced efficiency, checking each one quickly for chips before setting it upright in the crate.
