Willa #2
The barn feels impossibly quiet. The only sound is the faint ticking of the cooling tanks and the occasional creak of old wood settling around us.
"I know why he did it," I say finally. "I really do.
" I lift my eyes to theirs. "I think I’m overreacting, but it feels like a lie to me.
I thought we were learning each other together.
" My voice comes out softer than I'd intended.
"I thought every story he learned about me was a story I was learning about him. "
I blink hard. "I didn't realize he'd already been carrying pieces of my history that I'd forgotten existed."
Neither of them rushes to fill the silence. Lena reaches across the workbench first, resting her hand lightly over mine. June watches us for another long moment before speaking.
"I don't think I'd be upset that he knew something I didn’t remember,” June says, choosing her next words carefully, like she's weighing each one before setting it down between us. "I think I'd be hurt because he decided for me when I got to know."
The words settle into the room like dust motes drifting through the shafts of evening light.
I close my eyes for just a second.
When I open them again, I nod. My chest loosens with a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "That's exactly what I couldn't figure out how to say."
For a while, none of us says anything.
The conversation settles around us like the fine dust that always seems to hang in the cider barn this time of year. Tiny golden flecks drift lazily through the beams of evening sunlight spilling in through the high windows, catching the light before disappearing again.
June finally reaches for the bottle capper with a quiet sigh.
"Well," I say, picking up the first empty bottle and sliding it beneath the lever, "whether Brooks Calder is an idiot or the love of my life..."
Thunk.
The cap crimps neatly into place.
"...this cider isn't going to bottle itself."
A laugh escapes June.
"There she is," Lena says with a relieved smile. "I was wondering if we'd lost you for good."
"Nah, never.”
I reach for the glass I'd abandoned earlier, swirling the cider one more time before taking another thoughtful sip. It still finished just a touch too sharp. My eyes drift toward the pitchers lined up across the workbench, lingering on the Kingston Black.
Almost without thinking, I reached for it again.
June notices, her head tilting. "You really like that one, it seems."
"I don't know if I like it." I pour another small splash into the graduated cylinder before topping it with the Honeycrisp blend.
"I just..." The cider catches the lantern light as I swirl it, ribbons of amber chasing each other around the glass.
"...can't stop wondering what happens if I trust it. "
Lena smiles to herself but wisely says nothing.
I bring the glass to my nose first, breathing in slow and deep before taking a careful sip. The cider unfolds differently this time.
The bright Honeycrisp still arrives first, cheerful and familiar, but now the Kingston Black lingers beneath it, grounding it with something richer. Something more complex. It doesn't replace the Hartley blend.
It makes it... braver. I blink, mulling that over. "Huh."
June pauses mid-cap. "Good huh? Or bad huh?"
After I take another sip, a slow smile tugs at the corner of my mouth despite everything. "Definitely a good huh."
Before either of them can ask another question, the old sliding barn door groans open with its familiar protest.
A gust of cool evening air rolls through the room carrying the scent of damp earth, woodsmoke, and apples warming in the last of the day's sunshine.
Grandpa steps inside, brushing bits of hay from his flannel before setting his weathered cap on a nearby barrel. His sharp green eyes sweep across the room in one practiced glance.
The half-eaten pizza.
The open notebook.
The thirty-something tasting glasses littering the table.
The three of us standing in complete silence.
He scratches thoughtfully at the side of his jaw. "Well now," he says. "I've seen funeral parlors with more laughter."
June points a bottle at him. "That's because somebody around here kissed Brooks Calder."
My head snaps toward her. "June!"
"What?" She shrugs innocently. "He was going to find out eventually."
“Was he?” Lena mutters, hiding her mouth behind her tasting glass.
Grandpa's eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline. He looks at me. Then at Lena. Then back at me. A slow grin spreads beneath his silver mustache. "Well," he says. "I'll be damned."
I groan, covering my face with both hands. "Can everyone please stop reacting like I announced I'm eloping with a circus performer?"
"I don't know," Grandpa says, wandering farther into the barn. "Depending on the circus performer, that might've caused less commotion."
Even June laughs at that.
Grandpa reaches for one of the tasting glasses, takes a thoughtful sip, then hums low in his throat. "This one's close."
"It is?"
"Mmm." He swirls the cider again before setting the glass down. "But nobody bottles cider with a face like that."
His eyes meet mine as he folds his arms across his chest. "Now… Who wants to tell an old man why the girl who usually smiles in a cider barn looks like somebody just canceled autumn?"
Before I can stop them, June and Lena both start talking. At the same time.
"Not only did they kiss—"
"But then she found a scrapbook—"
"They knew each other as kids—"
"She broke his nose with an apple—"
"He remembered her the whole time—"
"He didn't tell her—"
"And now she's mad but not really mad because she understands why he waited but she's also mad because he decided for her when she got to know—"
"...and somehow this is affecting the cider."
They finish talking exactly at the same time too and silence settles over the barn.
Grandpa blinks once. Twice. “That’s a lot to process.” Then he reaches over, steals the last pumpkin spice donut from the paper bag, tears it neatly in half, and takes a bite.