When the Days Grow Short

Chapter 1
Welcome to Honeycrisp Hollow

Chapter Description: Dan arrives at Honeycrisp Hollow ready to mock its carefully manufactured autumn charm—and prove he’s far too fond of his freedom to settle down. Then his shoelace comes undone.

By the time the sign for Honeycrisp Hollow Harvest Farm appeared between the trees, Dan had already decided the place was going to be insufferable.

The sign itself was enormous. A smiling red apple in a straw hat waved one white-gloved hand at the road while the other pointed down a gravel turnoff.

WELCOME TO HONEYCRISP HOLLOW

WHERE AUTUMN COMES HOME

Below that, someone had added a temporary banner covered in cartoon ghosts.

CIDER, CORN & CREEPS — EVERY WEEKEND IN OCTOBER!

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dan said, leaning forward between the front seats for a better look. “Where autumn comes home?”

Hannah twisted beside him to look through the windscreen. “That is adorable.”

“It’s an apple in a hat.”

“It’s an apple welcoming us to its home.”

“It has gloves.”

“It’s chilly.”

From the driver’s seat, Nate flicked on the indicator. “I need everybody to stop being negative about Captain Honeycrisp.”

“His name isn’t Captain Honeycrisp.”

“It is now.”

Sophie laughed from the passenger seat, one hand resting in the shallow curve beneath her coat. She was only beginning to show, and if Dan hadn’t known about the pregnancy, he doubted he would have noticed. Knowing, however, made the movement impossible not to see. Her hand seemed to find its way there constantly now, smoothing her coat or resting protectively over something the rest of them could not yet properly imagine.

“I think the apple is cute,” she said.

“Thank you,” Hannah said. “Two against two.”

“You can’t count her. She’s hormonally compromised.”

Sophie turned in her seat and gave Dan a sweet smile. “There are three of us over here now.”

“Still only one vote.”

“That is not what your godchild will be told.”

Dan groaned. “We haven’t even agreed to that.”

“You agreed at Murphy’s.”

“I was drunk at Murphy’s.”

“You cried.”

“I absolutely did not cry.”

Nate glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “You held my face in both hands and told me our children were going to be best friends.”

“I was speaking hypothetically. Also, again, drunk.”

“You said,” Sophie continued, “‘This baby is going to have the coolest Uncle Dan in the entire world.’”

“That part sounds plausible.”

Hannah patted his knee. “You also promised to buy it a drum kit.”

Dan looked at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“The baby’s. Obviously.”

The car left the paved road and began crunching over gravel. Ahead of them, the trees opened onto an enormous field crowded with parked cars. Beyond it lay a collection of red barns, timber stalls and orange canvas tents. Strings of festoon lights crossed between wooden poles even though it was barely noon. Smoke curled above the food wagons. In the distance, a tractor pulled a trailer heaped with hay and bundled passengers.

The whole farm had been arranged with such aggressive seasonal precision that it looked less like a working farm than an autumn village assembled overnight. Pumpkins covered every available step and railing. Cornstalks had been tied around the lampposts. Hand-painted arrows pointed toward the orchard, the pumpkin patch, the corn maze and something called HARVEST ROW.

Farther away, a dark-painted barn rose above the smaller buildings. A faded figure hung from its cupola. Even through the closed windows, they heard a distant scream.

Nate slapped the steering wheel once. “Oh, we are absolutely doing that.”

Sophie looked toward the haunted barn. “You are. I’m going to sit somewhere civilized with a hot chocolate while you voluntarily pay people to chase you with farm equipment.”

“They won’t use real farm equipment.”

Another scream carried across the field, followed by the revving snarl of what sounded remarkably like a chainsaw.

Sophie slowly looked at him.

“They’ll take the chain off,” Nate amended.

Hannah leaned across Dan to peer through his window. Her hair brushed his chin, bringing with it the familiar clean scent of her shampoo.

“I’m doing it,” she said. “That looks amazing.”

“You like being scared,” Dan said.

“I like haunted houses.”

“You screamed when the toaster went off yesterday.”

“I wasn’t expecting the toaster.”

“That is generally how toasters work. They build anticipation and then—”

He jerked both hands upward with a sharp clap.

Hannah flinched hard enough to knock her shoulder against the window.

Nate barked a laugh. Sophie twisted around, scandalized and delighted.

“You dick,” Hannah said, shoving Dan against the door.

Dan caught her hand and threaded their fingers together before she could shove him again.

“You’re carrying all the pumpkins,” she informed him.

“I was already going to carry the pumpkins.”

“And the apples.”

“I can carry apples.”

“And anything I buy.”

“You haven’t even seen the shops.”

“There’s a harvest market. I saw it on the website.”

Dan looked up at Nate. “Why did we bring them?”

“Poor planning.”

Sophie made an affronted noise. “You invited us.”

“We could have come alone,” Nate said. “Romantic farm day. Just two men picking apples together.”

“That does sound more efficient,” Dan said.

Hannah repaired her hair with her fingers. “You’d be lost before you got out of the car park.”

Dan pointed between himself and Nate. “Between the two of us, there is almost nothing we cannot accomplish.”

“That’s true,” Nate said. “Four years of college, and we successfully kept one windowsill cactus alive for nearly six months.”

“It died because you poured beer into it.”

“It looked thirsty.”

“That was my cactus.”

“You said what was mine was yours.”

“I said that about the mini-fridge.”

Sophie sighed contentedly. “And now you’re both going to be responsible influences on a child.”

“Absolutely not,” Dan said.

The word came quickly enough to make all three of them laugh.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. I’m excited for you. Deeply, emotionally, embarrassingly excited. But Hannah and I are not there.”

“Not remotely,” Hannah agreed.

Dan caught her hand and threaded their fingers together. “We enjoy our freedom far too much.”

“Our freedom to spend Saturday morning driving two hours to an apple farm?” Nate asked.

“Exactly. Do you think you’ll be casually doing this next year?”

“Yes,” Sophie said. “We’ll bring the baby.”

“And all the baby’s stuff,” Hannah added.

“Pram,” Nate said.

“Changing bag,” Sophie said.

“Blankets,” Hannah continued.

“Some kind of portable containment unit.”

“A car seat, Dan,” Sophie said. “They call it a car seat.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen how much equipment infants require. You’ll need a support vehicle.”

“We’ll be fine.” Nate guided the car slowly between two rows, following a teenager in an orange high-visibility vest. “Besides, when you two inevitably follow our example, we can coordinate. Shared holidays. Joint babysitting. Little matching Halloween costumes.”

Dan squeezed Hannah’s hand.

“No,” they said together.

The parking attendant pointed them toward a muddy space near the far fence. Nate turned into it carefully, although the car still dropped into a rut hard enough to bounce all four of them in their seats.

Sophie caught the dashboard.

“Easy,” she said.

“That was the ground.”

“You were driving on the ground.”

“Everyone all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Nate looked at Dan in the mirror. “Danny?”

Dan stared back at him.

Nate grinned.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Just checking on my little passenger.”

“You’re about to become a father. It’s making you unbearable.”

“Making?”

Sophie asked, “Are we doing the orchard first?”

Dan pulled out his phone. He had downloaded the farm map during the drive and saved a list of opening times in his notes. “Orchard first. Apparently you pay for the bags at the gate, pick what you want, and they’ll hold everything at the collection barn so we don’t have to carry it all day.”

“That is dangerously organized,” Hannah said.

“Then coffee,” Dan continued. “Corn maze before it gets crowded. Hayride to the far field. Pumpkins last because they’re heavy.”

“Haunted house,” Nate said.

“Somewhere in there.”

“It closes at five.”

“It’s twelve fifteen.”

“I’m communicating my priorities.”

“The website says the queue gets longest after three. We can do it after the hayride.”

Sophie twisted around again. “And what will I be doing while you three demonstrate your excellent survival instincts?”

“There’s a café and a farm shop beside it,” Dan said. “You’ll survive.”

Hannah took Dan’s phone and studied the map. “There’s also pumpkin painting.”

“I’m an adult woman.”

“So?”

Sophie considered it. “Fine. But I’m painting something obscene.”

Nate switched off the engine. The sudden quiet allowed the farm sounds to reach them: children shouting somewhere beyond the fence, the puttering tractor, music playing from hidden speakers and another long scream from the haunted barn.

For a moment, nobody moved.

The wind rocked the branches above the car, loosening a scatter of yellow leaves. Several landed on the windscreen. Beyond them, Honeycrisp Hollow glowed in the pale October sun, all red-painted wood and strings of orange flags.

Hannah gave Dan’s hand an excited squeeze.

“This is going to be so fucking cute.”

“It is,” Sophie said.

Dan looked across the pumpkins, striped tents and distant walls of the corn maze.

Despite himself, he felt a small rush of anticipation.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go win autumn.”

Nate opened his door. Cold air swept through the car, sharp with woodsmoke and damp soil.

They climbed out one after another. Dan stretched beside the car and shoved his phone into his coat pocket.

“Wallets? Phones? Sophie, do you have water?”

She raised one eyebrow. “Yes, Dad.”

“Very funny. Nate, lock the car.”

“Thank God you’re here.”

Hannah came around the back of the car and slipped her arm through Dan’s. Nate and Sophie walked ahead, Nate automatically slowing his stride to match hers as they crossed the uneven ground.

Dan watched them for a moment. Married last year. Four years out of college. A baby coming in spring. It was strange how naturally they had stepped into it, as though adulthood were a series of rooms and they had simply continued walking while he and Hannah lingered cheerfully in the doorway.

Hannah leaned against him.

“Are you having feelings?”

“No.”

“Your face is doing the thing.”

“My face doesn’t do a thing.”

“It does when you’re having feelings.”

He turned toward her, intending to say something cutting, and found her smiling at him. He bent and kissed her, slow enough to make her laugh against his mouth.

Ahead, Nate called, “We can still see you.”

Dan raised one hand without breaking the kiss and gave him the finger.

“There he is,” Hannah murmured.

They hurried to catch up.

Dan had taken perhaps six steps when the loose lace of his right shoe slid beneath his left sole. He stumbled, catching himself against Hannah’s shoulder.

She steadied him.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your shoe’s untied.”

Dan looked down. One lace trailed through the damp gravel, already dark with mud.

He frowned. He distinctly remembered double-knotting both shoes before leaving home.

Behind them, another car idled in the lane, waiting for them to clear the way. Hannah tugged him gently toward the grass verge.

“Come on,” she said. “Tie it before you fall.”

Dan bent down, retied the lace and pulled the knot hard.

When he straightened, Nate and Sophie were waiting beside the entrance, framed beneath an archway of corn and artificial maple leaves. Above them, Captain Honeycrisp beamed from another sign.

BIG ADVENTURES AHEAD!

Dan slipped his arm around Hannah’s waist.

“Big adventures,” he read. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

Hannah smiled and pulled him toward the gate.

“Don’t be a baby.”