Page 9 of Falling for Finn

“Loosen up. You’re too serious.” His mom laughs, then glances at me. “Have you figured out what you’re painting yet?”

“No, I hope to have an idea after Finn shows me around today. Crossing my fingers, at least.”

“Once you’re in the orchards, inspiration will call, but don’t let me keep you. Feel free to walk around the bakery and take as many pictures as you like. If you have any questions, let us know.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Yeah, you all have work to do before the celebration,” Finn adds as if he’s the one in control.

Poppy and Paisley laugh at Finn’s lack of humor.

His aunt clears her throat. “More help arrives tomorrow, so you don’t need to worry or micromanage us. We’ve been baking since before you were born.” She gives him a pointed look. “Now take this woman on a proper tour without being a sourpuss the entire time.”

I chuckle, and he groans at her bossing him around.

“I like them,” I admit as Finn leads me around the bakery.

“Everyone does,” he says, then introduces me to the other employees.

He explains the various items sold in the bakery, and I’m impressed by how much they do. Most of the desserts contain apples, but they also make other fruit treats.

Framed awards line the hallway that leads to another shopping area. Many are state- and national-level competitions. Vintage pictures of the store throughout the years are sprinkled along in different sizes. From what I can tell, the bakery and farm have barely changed since it opened for operation a hundred years ago. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a time capsule.

When we say goodbye and leave, the sun hangs lazily in the sky. A cool breeze brushes against my skin, and I shiver, wishing I had brought a jacket and worn better shoes. If Finn notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“So there’s the bakery and the inn. What else is there to see?” I ask while Finn drives.

“We have a distillery for hard cider, a warehouse for the local wholesale fruit orders, and a lot of farmland.” He turns onto the main road.

“Where are we heading now?”

“To the apple orchards.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re driving down a wide dirt road surrounded by trees on both sides. At the end, a large warehouse sits in a clearing with several parked cars outside.

Finn leads the way inside the building. I’m amazed by how large the facility is. It seems to go on forever.

“Most of the fruit is brought here to be processed after it’s picked,” he explains, nearly sprinting down the aisle.

“How many people work here?” I ask, speed-walking to catch up with him.

“A lot.”

His constant vagueness is wearing me down. One minute, he’s hot as fire, and the next, he’s cold as ice. I don’t know how to read him or why he’s so bothered by me being here.

“This is Oakley. The painter,” he says, introducing me to an older gentleman.

“Hi.” I offer my hand, and he takes it with kindness in his eyes.

“I’m Daniel, the general manager. If you have any questions, please ask. We love talking about our process, don’t we, Finn?”

Finn answers with a quick nod before we make our way around the perimeter of the packaging area.

“If you keep moving this fast, you’ll give me shin splints,” I say.

“Keep up, City Girl. There’s no time to waste.”

I laugh at his poor attempt to annoy me. “I’mnota city girl.”

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