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 pretend I’m taking a picture of the barn we’re passing on his side but zoom in on his forearm. Holding back my laughter, I send it to her.
Tatum: Muscular, nice. How old does he look?
Oakley: Early to mid-thirties. But you know age doesn’t matter to me. I’d be a baddie and date a Daddy.
Tatum: Oakley Jane!
I snicker, knowing how much she cringes when I talk about dating older men. She’s nine years older than her husband so she’s one to talk.
After I send her three kiss emojis, I lock my phone. My sister is my rock and best friend, and I tell her everything. We vowed to have no secrets after she ended things with her abusive ex-husband. I knew something was wrong before she left, but she didn’t want me to worry and lied about how bad things really were.
“So how long have you lived in Vermont?” I ask, trying once more to strike up a conversation.
He keeps his eyes planted on the road. “All my life.”
“Do you like it here?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
Reba McEntire sings in the background, but other than that and road noise, it’s quiet and awkward.
“Are you shy or something?” I finally 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 just doesn’t want to talk to me. 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 just hope this is the last time I have to deal with this guy.
I focus on filming the passing farms and the different shades of leaves as the sunlight hits them. While the 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. 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 rolls his eyes. “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 second glance.
“Asshole,” I whisper under my breath as I 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 kindly says. Her warm and inviting demeanor is just 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, and 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 moleskin notebook.
“James, this is Oakley.” She grabs his attention, then looks at me. “This is my husband.”