Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I open my phone, and he gives me his number. I program his contact as Mr. Big Grumpy Jerk, then shoot him a text. When his cell vibrates in his pocket, he narrows his eyes at me.
“Just making sure you didn't give me a fake number.”
He scoffs. “I should've thought of that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
FINN
DAY 3
Oakley will never understand our culture or how passionate we are about the farm. Sure, it’s beautiful to look at, but she’ll leave and forget it ever existed like all the other tourists do. The orchard remains a snapshot in their minds, a memory of something they did for fun one time.
But it’s much more than that to me. This is my life. My passion. My family’s legacy. It’s much more than a bunch of apple trees, and I take how it’s run seriously.
Last night when I picked her up for dinner, I wasn’t in the mood to shoot the shit. I had to force a full day of work into an afternoon because of her. To say I’m exhausted is an understatement, and this week will progressively worsen.
This morning, I woke up still annoyed that I had to chauffeur her around. When I arrive at the cottage, I honk twice instead of getting out. After ten minutes pass, I lay on the horn. As soon as I unbuckle, the front door swings open and she strolls out at such a slow pace that I nearly bite my tongue off.
Oakley hops inside, wearing her signature smile. She smells so damn good that it’s nearly intoxicating, and I hate it.
“Don’t make me wait like that ever again. Next time you do, I’m driving away, and you can figure it out on your own.”
“Try me,” she warns. “Actually, I dare you. I know your sweet momma and aunt wouldn’t allow it.”
I roll my eyes at her petty threat. “You’d have to walk five miles to get to them first.”
She groans as I put the truck in drive and make our way to the west side of the property. We spend most of the day driving around before stopping for lunch. It’s nonstop between us, and all day we’re at each other’s throats about how fast I move and how slow she walks. Every punch I throw, she swings right back. One thing is for certain—Oakley is on her A game today and isn’t taking my shit.
“It’s time to go,” I bark when we’ve spent too much time staring at an open field. My grandmother will be serving dinner soon, and I want to make sure we arrive at a decent time, so I can get home and shower before bed.
“We’ll go when I’m ready.” Oakley takes more pictures.
“You’re ready.” I settle behind the steering wheel, then honk. She nearly jumps out of her skin, but then flips me off. After putting the truck in drive, I roll down the window. “Get in, or I’m leaving ya here.”
After she shoves her phone into her pocket, Oakley makes her way toward me.
“Was that a threat?” She clenches her jaw.
“It’s about to be a promise.” I rev the engine before shifting into drive. As soon as I step on the gas, Oakley jogs after me, and after a minute of slowly cruising and her unable to catch up, I come to a hard stop. The truck slides on the gravel, kicking up dust.
“What the hell? You’re so rude!” She jumps in and slams the door while trying to catch her breath.
“I don’t have time for you to take a hundred pictures of the same thing. It’s exhausting, and you’re wasting my time.”
“I’m trying to work!” she exclaims. “Don’t question my process! You’ve purposely been an asshole all day. It’s like you get off on interrupting my flow.”
We continue arguing all the way to the inn.
After parking, we get out, and she follows me. “You’re always rushing around, for what? Have you never heard of living in the moment? I’m sure your mother taught you manners. There’s no reason for you to keep acting like a douchebag.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t keep up, City Girl.” I turn around and face her. It only takes a few long strides before I stand in front of her. I lower my voice, but my tone is rough. “Respect my time and what I’m sacrificing to drive you around as you take pictures and play with your sketchbook. I never volunteered to be your tour guide.”
“No kidding because an actual tour guide would give a shit about their guests' experience. It’s clear that you don’t, and you’re just worried about all the little tasks you have to do. If this painting isn’t finished and perfect...” She clears her throat, removing the little space between us, and I can feel her hot breath on my face. “I don’t understand what your fucking problem is.”