Page 3 of Falling for Finn

“Are you shy or something?” I ask because I’ve never experienced someone treating me like I’m a nuisance before they even get to know me. I literally said three words, and I was on his shit list.

“No.”

He doesn’t give any more explanation, and I take the hint—he doesn’t want to talk tome. I could have a more enjoyable discussion with a rock. Instead of trying again, I keep to myself.It’s obvious he has nothing to say, and I’m too tired from traveling three thousand miles to care. I hope this is the last time I have to deal with him.

I concentrate on filming the passing farms and the different shades of leaves as the sunlight hits them. While his company isn’t the best, Vermont’s beauty is everything I expected it to be and more.

Before accepting the job, I did a lot of research about what to expect once I was here, but the photos didn’t do it justice. Colorful leaves hang from the tree branches, and some are even scattered on the ground and road. I’m more of a summer girl, but Vermont’s cooler temps and scenery are quickly winning me over.

After forty-five minutes of silence, the truck turns down a gravel road, and I see the historic inn in the distance. I read online that it has twelve rooms and is known for its homemade food and hospitality. My jaw drops at how it looks in person, and I continue staring as we come to a complete stop. The rocking chairs on the large front porch have the perfect view of the surrounding apple orchards.

“Your meeting will be through those doors,” he says, pointing toward the entrance.

“Great. Do I tip you?” I ask.

He scowls. “I’m not an Uber.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Do I need to grab my things?”

“I’ll drop your stuff off where you’ll be staying. I’ll be back to take you there once you’re finished inside.”

“Alright. Has anyone ever told you this place looks like it fell straight out of a Hallmark movie?” The hues have me itching to pull out my paints.

“Yeah, just every tourist who’s ever visited.”

My cheeks heat at how stupid he’s made me feel, and I’m ready to escape inside. After this embarrassing exchange, I’d almost prefer him not to talk to me ever again. Thankfully, once I hop out, he drives away without giving me a backward glance.

“Asshole,” I whisper under my breath and nervously walk inside. I’m greeted with the smell of fresh-baked cookies, and I instantly crave a dozen.

I walk through a common area with chairs and a fireplace to the hallway. The bay windows allow the afternoon light to cast a warm glow inside.

As I look around, an older woman with white-gray hair comes toward me from around a counter. She’s got an oven mitt on one hand as she sweeps loose strands with the back of her free one.

“You must be Ms. Benson,” she says kindly. Her warm and inviting demeanor is like the cozy inn, and I immediately like her.

“Yes, but please call me Oakley.”

“Perfect. I’ve been expecting you, dear. I’m Willa Bennett, the innkeeper and owner you spoke to.” She pulls me in for a hug. I’m not used to people being this friendly. Especially after the driver basically dumped me at the front door like a soaking wet newspaper.

Willa leads me into a dining area with a large table and chairs that look hand-carved. An older man is busy scribbling a mile-long to-do list in a Moleskine notebook.

“James, this is Oakley.” She grabs his attention and then looks at me. “This is my husband.”

He gives me a warm smile and outstretches his hand to shake mine. “The painter. We’re so happy you’re here. Thank you again for agreeing to do this. Once my wife showed me your portfolio, we knew you were theonlyone in the world who could do the farm justice. I’m still in shock you were available.”

I blush. “Thank you. I’m very excited to be here.”

That’s an understatement, but I keep that to myself.

“Have a seat. I’m sure you’re tired from your flight,” Willa offers, then pulls the oven mitt off her hand. “I baked some cookies for the guests. Would you like a few?”

“Sure, thank you.” I smile.

She walks away and quickly returns with a tray of milk and a stacked plate. We each grab one and dig in.

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