I ignore what she says. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow so don’t keep me waiting in the morning. Six o’clock comes quick.”
Oakley places her hand on her hip, her bracelets clinking as they slide down her arm. “Getting up that early isn’t really my vibe, and I don’t like being rushed.”
“And I don’t like being late or behind. Not all of us are on vacation for ten days.”
“Vacation? This is far from that.” She gives me a death glare, and I think I might’ve actually offended her. Without waiting for a response, Oakley walks inside and slams the door.
I’m not here to entertain Miss Sunshine, and she needs to know if she’s following me around, I’m sticking to my schedule. There need to be boundaries between us, and they need to stay strictly professional. It wasn’t lost on me how she eye-fucked me at the airport. I know a smart, confident woman is trouble, and Oakley Benson is no exception.
CHAPTER THREE
OAKLEY
DAY 2
A hard pounding on the door jolts me awake. I look around, noticing it's still dark outside, then check the time–6:00 A.M.
“I'm coming,” I shout as the pounding grows louder. Stumbling, I trip over my duffel bag on the way to the door. I crack it open to see Finn glaring at me.
“What are you wearing?” he asks, and I notice his eyes slide down my body. I’m wearing nothing but a T-shirt and panties.
“I think it's called clothes,” I snap, followed by a yawn. It's brisk outside, and I shiver. These cool temperatures aren’t something I'm used to.
“Meet me in the truck in five minutes, or you're walking.” He turns around and storms off.
“That's not enough time to get dressed!”
“Shoulda set your alarm.” His boots crunch on the gravel as he escapes into the darkness. Seconds later, he crosses the headlights of the truck, and the metal door slams.
“God, I hate him,” I seethe as I turn on the lights, then rush toward my suitcase. I throw it on the bed and rustle through my clothes.
I was so damn exhausted after I settled in last night that I forgot to set my alarm. But he could give me a break, knowing I haven’t adjusted to the time difference. Jet lag is going to kick my ass today.
After I use the bathroom and pin my hair out of my face, I brush my teeth. My body is sore, and if I weren’t on a job, I’d crawl back in bed and sleep another twelve hours.
The mornings are usually my oasis, and I like to quietly wake up with Mother Nature. Most times, I meditate or stretch while brewing some tea, and then I spend an hour planning out the rest of my day.
My thoughts are in complete chaos when I hear him laying on the horn.
I throw on a hoodie and some leggings, then slip on my sandals. After I shove my phone in my pocket, I grab my sketch pad and pencils. I'm annoyed and hungry, but mostly I wish I didn't have to depend on Mr. Big Grumpy Jerk to take me everywhere.
When I finally slide into the truck and buckle up, he roughly shifts into drive and speeds off. I’m going to need a mountain of caffeine to get through today.
The headlights lead the way, and low rolling fog billows along the road. I close my eyes and lean my head back, wishing for five more minutes of sleep.
“We're here,” he mutters, killing the engine. I blink open my eyes and he’s already hopping out. The jerk doesn’t even wait for me, and I have to rush after him as he enters the inn.
The smells of bacon, fresh-baked bread, and roasting coffee fills the place. We move toward the kitchen, where silver trays of perfectly folded turnovers rest on the counter.
“Good morning,” Willa singsongs, gently placing her hand on my back. “How'd you sleep?”
“Great,” I admit, although it took a while for me to settle down and fall asleep. I don't mention that I tossed and turned for a couple of hours before drifting off or that the bed was too soft. I'm appreciative of the accommodations, and I'll never state otherwise.
“Help yourself to some breakfast but make sure to pick up one of our famous apple turnovers. The fruit came from the farm.” She winks and is so chipper that it's almost contagious.
Finn has already started eating by the time I get in line. After I fill my plate and grab some fresh squeezed orange juice, I take the seat across from him. But I might as well be sitting alone.
I look at the eggs and bacon but decide to start with the pastries. The sweet cinnamon apples and homemade bread have my taste buds screaming. I can’t help the small moan that escapes my throat.
Finn meets my eyes with a popped brow. “Those came from the bakery my mother and Aunt Paisley run.”
“Wow, he speaks,” I taunt, trying to shake myself out of the funk he put me in.
“Sometimes I do.”
“Not in my experience.” I take another bite.
He shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth, then responds, “You talk enough for us both.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Where I live, it’s customary to make conversation and get to know people,” I tell him as I eat the crispy bacon. It’s exactly the way I like it. The smoky flavor of the meat combined with the perfectly cooked eggs have me contemplating getting seconds. “If every meal is like this, I don't think I'm ever leaving.”
“Don't say that,” he states, then when I glare at him, he quickly adds, “You’d never survive the winter months.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but I know it wasn’t a compliment. I'm tempted to throw the rest of my turnover at him. But I'd never waste something so delicious. Instead, I laugh because that's all I can do. He still doesn't crack a smile.
After we finish eating, I thank Willa again and let her know the food was amazing. Finn leads me out and toward the bakery. When we round the building and move toward the entrance, I notice the full parking lot.
“What time does it open?” I’m shocked it's already so busy.
“Six on the dot. People line up around five so they can get the first round of pasties fresh out of the oven,” he explains, opening the door. The bell above rings, and Finn weaves through the crowd.
I look at all the jams, jellies, and jarred fruits. I take a few pictures of the inside and then catch up to Finn. “So you said people wait outside every day?”
“Except for Sundays when the bakery is closed.”
“Wow,” I barely get out when an older woman with bright red hair pulls me into a hug.
“And you must be Oakley,” she sweetly says. “I'm Poppy, Finn's mom and Willa’s daughter.”
“She doesn't need a family tree,” Finn interjects with disapproval.
“Zip it.” She glares at him. “Anyway, it's so nice to meet you. Let me introduce you to my twin sister. Paisley!”
So much is going on around me that it's hard to pay attention to it all. Moments later, another woman who looks similar to Poppy comes out carrying a tray of individually wrapped cookies. They each have a cute logo sticker on them—apples in a barrel with their name: Bennett Orchard Farm.
“It's so nice to meet you. Mama has told us about you and your work. Has my nephew been treating you well?” Paisley glances at Finn.