Brooks
The crash reverberates through the bottling room, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass rolling across concrete.
Behind me, Willa winces. "That doesn't sound promising."
I grunt in agreement and shove open the bottling room door. The sight waiting for us somehow manages to be both better and worse than I'd imagined.
Empty cider bottles have scattered across the floor like oversized marbles, some still spinning lazily in widening circles. Some have shattered, some seem to have remained intact, but they're everywhere—under tables, against pallets, halfway across the room.
Jace stands in the middle of the disaster, frozen, one bottle clutched triumphantly against his chest. "...I caught this one." It’s silent as he glances around at the other sixty-something bottles. "Which, in hindsight," he says carefully, "may have been the wrong priority."
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.
I watch her for half a second longer than I should. "You know you don't have to do this," I say.
She doesn't even look up. "I know." She picks up another bottle, turning it toward the light before setting it into the case. "But if I stand there watching while you three clean this up, my stepmom, Patty would somehow sense it from across town."
"Is Patty psychic?” I chuckle.
Willa blinks, pausing to look at me, completely seriously. “She’s an intuitive. Not quite the same thing, but it’s close. Ish.”
I stare back at her, waiting for the punchline. “She’s… you…” I stop myself short from blurting out what would certainly be an insult and simply nod. “Okay.”
Across from us, Jace grins like he just witnessed a solar eclipse.
"What?" I ask.
He shakes his head innocently. "Nothing."
I know that look and it's never nothing.
Before I can call him on it, he grabs the broom and starts sweeping the broken pieces of glass away from us. "So," he says conversationally to Willa, "between the two of us, I think Brooks is secretly thrilled you lost."
I look up sharply. "What?"
Jace continues as if I haven't spoken. "'Cause now he gets to spend all week with you."
Willa finally looks up. “He would’ve spent the whole week with me regardless… whether I won or lost.”
“Yeah, but now I get to spend the whole week with you, too.” His grin widens and he sends her a wink that drops into the pit of my stomach. What the fuck is he doing?" I think I won too,” Jace adds.
The room goes quiet for exactly one beat. Then Willa rolls her eyes so dramatically I'm surprised they don't fall out. "Careful. You're one compliment away from becoming insufferable.”
“So…” Jace drags the word out to be multi-syllables. “You’re saying I’m not insufferable?” He pumps his fist like he’s winning.
“Yet,” she corrects him. “You’re very close.”
"I've been called the golden retriever of the family,” Jace says proudly, as he bends to scoop the broken glass into the dustpan.
Evan doesn't even look up from the bottles he's inspecting. "No one has ever called you that."
"My third-grade teacher did."
"She said you had the attention span of one,” I correct and I can’t help my own smile.
"Still counts!” Jace says, proudly.
Willa leans over to me, close enough that our shoulders brush. "I like him," she whispers. But God help us, Jace still hears her.
"You do?" Jace asks, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Be still my heart.”
Across the room, Evan finally straightens, a bottle balanced in his palm. "You realize," he says to Willa, "encouragement only makes him worse."
“Hmm,” Willa says thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to see that.”
"It's already too late," I mutter, but my smile softens the bickering. “Jace is too far gone.”
Jace grins. "See? Brooks has accepted me for who I am."
"I've accepted that nothing I say is going to stop you."
"That's growth,” Jace points at me.
Willa laughs again, and this time it comes easier, lighter. Like she forgot she’s supposed to be keeping her walls up. Somehow, in less than five minutes, Jace has done what I spent the better part of a week failing to do. He made Willa forget we were competitors.
Jace is good at that. He’s disarming in ways neither Evan nor I had ever managed to perfect.
I find myself watching her instead of the bottles in my hands.
The way she wrinkles her nose when she laughs.
The way she pushes an escaped strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist because her fingers are dusty from the crates.
The way she fits into the rhythm of the room without trying to take it over.
She isn't treating this like enemy territory anymore. She isn't acting like she's doing us a favor. She's just... helping.
"Earth to Brooks." I blink. Jace is smirking at me over the handle of the broom. "You've been holding the same bottle for like thirty seconds."
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. "I was checking for cracks."
Willa glances up at me then, one corner of her mouth lifting into the smallest hint of a smile.
I clear my throat and finally slide the bottle into the crate. "Keep talking," I mutter to Jace. "I'm sure eventually you'll sweep up some of the glass you broke.”
Jace throws his hands in the air. “I’m telling you! Scrumpy is a she! And she has babies! Those little trash pandas are going to be the downfall of this orchard.”
“They’re baby raccoons,” Evan says.
"They're little criminals,” Jace argues.
Willa nods her head. “I’m actually with Jace on this one.”
As if summoned by his own name, Scrumpy pokes her masked little face through the open doorway, then three other tiny little heads pop up beside him. An apple nearly as big as her head is clenched triumphantly between her teeth.
She freezes. We freeze. Then, without an ounce of shame, she and the babies disappear back outside.
Jace points dramatically after him. "See? Witness!"
“Huh,” I say. “I guess Scrumpy is a girl.”
"I'll admit..." Willa says, shaking her head. "That was pretty convincing."
"I've been vindicated!” Jace throws two fists into the air in triumph.
I laugh under my breath and bend to pick up the last bottle lying beneath the conveyor.
When I straighten, Willa is already reaching for the crate beside me. Our hands brush. The contact is fleeting enough that it shouldn't register.
But… it does.
She draws her hand back first, tucking it behind her as if she hadn't noticed.
As if I hadn't.
“Well,” she says, “I think that’s the last of them.” She turns, lifting the crate with both hands.
“I can do that—”
I reach for the crate, trying to stop her, but she’s way ahead of me, already setting it down on the work bench in the corner with a satisfied little exhale. “I got it,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans.
A streak of dust from the crate drags across her cheek without her noticing. Her head tilts as she catches me staring. “What?”
I don't answer right away. Instead, before I can convince myself it's a terrible idea, I step closer. "Hold still."
Her eyebrows knit together. "What are yo—"
I reach up, brushing the pad of my thumb gently across her cheek, swiping the dirt away.
She goes perfectly still.
A faint smear of dust comes away on my thumb. "There," I say quietly. "You had some dirt on your face."
For a second she simply looks at me. And the bottling room seems to shrink under the weight of her gaze. I can hear Jace humming to himself somewhere behind us. A bottle clinks softly into a crate. Outside, the wind stirs through the orchard.
And all I can think about is how impossibly soft her skin felt beneath my thumb.
She clears her throat first. "I could've gotten that."
"I know."
There’s another beat, a moment of heady silence as we hold eye contact. "Well… um, thanks." It comes out quieter than I expected. Then she turns abruptly toward the tasting room. “I uh, I need to use the restroom.”
She disappears through the swinging door before either of us says another word.
The silence she leaves behind lasts approximately two seconds before Jace whistles, long and slow.
I don't look at him. "Don't,” I snap.
"I didn't say anything,” my youngest brother retorts.
"You were about to."
Evan slides the final crate onto the pallet before dusting off his hands. "Well, I like her."
Both Jace and I whip our heads around to look at him.
Evan merely shrugs. "What?"
“You don’t like anyone,” Jace says.
Evan responds with an eye roll. “That’s ridiculous. I like people.”
I put my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes at Evan. “No, he’s right. You called the UPS driver 'adequate' last week and we celebrated."
"Well he was adequate."
Jace turns back to me triumphantly. "See? Even Evan likes her. That has to mean something.”
"I said I like her," Evan corrects. "I didn't say she's not a threat."
“Eh, baby steps,” Jace shrugs.
"But..." Evan continues, glancing toward the tasting room, "she knows what she's doing. She works. Doesn't complain. Doesn't act like she knows better than everyone else."
I can't argue with any of it.
Before I can respond, movement through the large interior window catches my eye.
Willa. She's behind the tasting bar now, talking to a couple I've never seen before. The woman holds one of our Calder Cider Apple Cinnamon Crisp bags of coffee in her hands.
Willa opens the bag, encouraging them to smell it.
Even through the glass I can see her smile—easy, genuine. She gestures animatedly, miming someone wrapping cold hands around a steaming mug on a crisp October morning. The couple laughs.
The husband reaches for a second bag as Willa hands him a bottle of cider. And some maple candy.
By the time she walks them to the register, they're carrying nearly twice what they'd originally picked up.
She catches my eye through the window. Just for a heartbeat. Then she smiles politely at the customers and finishes the sale. She runs the register like it’s her own… hell, we probably use the exact same point of sale systems.
I should be pleased. She didn't have to do any of that. She could've stood behind the counter, poured samples, and counted the hours until she got to leave, sabotaging any upsell.
Instead, she's selling my orchard products like she believes in them. Like she belongs here.
The thought lands somewhere deep in my chest and it’s damn unsettling.
Because I’m not just picturing Willa Hartley working here for a week. I’m imagining her here permanently.
Laughing with Jace. Rolling her eyes at Evan. Stealing my coffee every morning because she likes pretending she doesn't want her own mug. The image comes so easily it steals the air from my lungs.
I look away first. Because that future isn't just impossible.
It's the one thing I absolutely cannot let myself start wanting.
“You know,” Jace says, interrupting my thoughts. “You smile differently around her.”
“What?” I roll my eyes. “I do not.”
Evan leans into me and whispers, “Except … you do,” punctuating it with a patronizing pat on my back. "You look happy around her.”
The word creaks like a rusty hinge against my heart.
I scoff. Happy. That's ridiculous. She's been here less than two hours.
And already she'ds charmed my brothers. Befriended a family of raccoons. Sold more coffee than Jace managed all weekend.
No… I came to Orchard Falls to build Calder Cider. To give my family a future.
I didn't come here to get distracted by the woman whose name is painted on every sign just down the road.
Tomorrow she'll be back.
And for the first time since winning the contest…
I'm not sure that's a good thing.