If happiness had a scent, it’d be apple trees during harvest. Exiting her car at Goldenleaf Apple Farm, goosebumps rose on Laura Evans’ fair skin as her boots crunched on the leaf-strewn gravel. The countless tree canopies overhead cast dappled shadows across the orchard.

Jasmine Williams, her friend and co-worker, got out of the passenger seat, and they smiled at each other. No one else had arrived yet. The vehicles in the lot must’ve belonged to the staff. The only one she recognized was a burnt orange pickup truck, at least four decades older than all the others. A smile crossed her face.

Weathered wooden buildings sprawled across the farm, each bearing the marks of a different decade. At the center stood the cider house, its cupola crowned with smoke curling from the chimney. Nearby was the visitors center, while the office occupied a converted farmhouse with green shutters and a wrap-around porch.

Near the storage shed, a tall man with cropped hair stood beside a shorter figure. Though their voices didn’t carry, the taller one was rigid, jabbing his finger toward the main building while the shorter figure shook his head. Even from this distance, the tall man’s shoulders hunched forward, while his companion kept glancing around. The shorter one grabbed the other’s arm, his mouth moving in an urgent whisper. The tall man jerked away, and they both stalked toward the tree line, disappearing into the apple rows. Perhaps…just a disagreement about harvest schedules? Something about the furtive way they’d acted…didn’t sit right. Laura shook her head, refocusing. She’d come to enjoy herself.

“Looks like we’ve made good time! We’re here early,” Laura said.

As the roar of a distant engine grew louder, Jasmine tucked a red-tipped box braid beneath her patterned bandana, her sharp cheekbones prominent under her dark-brown skin. “It sounds like someone’s just around the corner.”