Page 1 of Fall Love

CHAPTER 1

[Neve]

Fall is quickly becoming my favorite time of year.

The time when summer folk go home. Our small town slows down, and the stories of spirits and spells ramp up.

The history of Lovewell Landing is amplified with a legend about enemies who became lovers. Of course, I didn’t believe in superstitions. The idea that a water well granted wishes or drinking from it brought you true love is ridiculous, even if this town was founded on such lore.

However, the quirky story makes me love this place even more.

As I head down the strip of coastal highway that connects one small town to another, I inhale the first scent of autumn, notice the sudden change of color at the tops of trees covering the mountain on my right, and enjoy the morning quiet of the nearby bay.

I wasn’t one who needed to see the world to make me happy, like my older sister, Lumi. Or escape into fiction, like my younger sister, Isolde. I didn’t feel the urge to run away, like Icelyn. Everything I needed was right here in this Maine coastal town. It wasn’t just familiarity. It was the way the place lived and breathed around me. The quiet mornings by the bay, the mountains rising just beyond, the sense that nothing here ever needed to rush. And when September nears, it becomes something else entirely.

The leaves begin to turn, slow at first, then all at once, setting the hillsides alight. The air cools into something crisp and expectant, carrying the scent of cinnamon and clove that drifts from every café doorway. And pumpkin spice finds its way into everything.

This autumn, I crave all of it more than ever.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was born on Halloween. All Hallows’ Eve. My dad thought it would be clever to name me accordingly. Not Eve like the mother of temptation, but Neve, as in, not Eve. He never got tired of explaining it, always with the same grin, like it was the best joke he’d ever told. He’d been my best friend, especially after Mom got sick and Lumi left for college.

This area of Maine holds all of that for me. Every memory, every version of who I’ve been. Every memory and piece of him.

It’s why I never desired to leave. Not for some far-off university or a different life. I didn’t need it. Life here was my education, woven into the rhythm of the place and the people within it. Into the family business.

Rusty’s Wrecks has been part of this sliver of coastline for sixty years. We’ve been proudly servicing the auto needs of locals and tourists alike. Oil changes, tune-ups, fender bender repairs; we can do that.

I always knew I’d inherit Rusty’s Wrecks in some manner, although I hadn’t foreseen splitting it four ways with my sisters.

They never loved the place like I did.

The pungent smell of motor oil and grease. A metallic taste in the atmosphere. The satisfaction of manually working on a machine.

With my father as my mentor, I learned how to change tires, spark plugs, and oil. I could repair an axle and a windshield. I appreciated an Armor All clean dashboard, vacuumed floorboards, and polished wheels. Dad would say I was the son he never had, and as the second of four daughters, I didn’t even mind. I wanted to make my dad proud, and he’d be rolling in his grave to know we were selling the place.

Sixty years in business, and we are closing shop.

My chest tightens as the thought rolls through my head, like my body understands before I do. Everything Dad, and his dad before him, built, reduced to a decision on paper. The blow is nearly as crushing as losing him five years ago had been.

Every time I pull up in front of the weather-worn brick building with three garage bays where the windows are stained by sea salt, I worry it will be my last day working here.

After I park along the side of the building, I go through my daily routine from Tuesday through Saturday. Flip on the lights and the coffee machine. Open the bay doors. Check the docket for today’s auto needs.

Today’s schedule holds only one service job. A Toyota RAV4. Your typical Northeastern vehicle.

Lumi took the lead on the sale of Rusty’s Wrecks as she’d been the one to do our financial books all these years. Despite my best efforts to keep our services affordable for locals while greasing the tourists, we weren’t making ends meet due to the rising cost of auto parts and labor. Being a mechanic took skill. Other than the part-time help of a high school kid this past summer, we only employed me.

With my current health situation, I could do even less than normal.

And, due to my sisters’ lack of interest in working here, let alone managing the garage, they gave me one final year to turn things around, or we’d sell.

The year is almost over.

I really fucked up this time.

Over the past six months, a few sales bites nipped our way, but I always found a reason to decline the offers. A recognized automotive conglomerate that low-balled us. A commercial management company wanted to add a strip mall to a small town that would absolutely refuse such a thing.

This old place was worth more than anyone knew. Nostalgia came at a high price.