Chapter 22

I’ve actually been wearing it secretly since November 1 st …

– Marcella

“Get over it,” I say as I reach for another shiny red apple. My orange engagement ring winks in the sunlight, and Finn has been pretty much useless from the moment I put it on.

“Get over…what?” He drops the apple I hand him on the ground, not in the basket.

I scowl, and he snaps out of the daze long enough to look down.

Plucking the apple off the ground, he murmurs, “How did that get there?”

“A real mystery.”

He’s still fighting for a grasp on his brain cells when we cart our apples back to the barn to pay, so I say, “It’s not a big deal. Stop staring, or I’ll throw it in a lake.”

“We’re nowhere near a lake,” he comments, quite magnanimously, as he hands over his card.

In the limo—while Finn holds my hand and examines the ring as though he didn’t pick it out himself—I stare ahead at the bushels of apples on the seats across from us and mutter, “We bought enough apples to feed a small country. I think I got carried away picking them. Who knew twisting and snapping things was so fun?”

“A real wonder.”

At home, with an apple skin noodle hanging out of my mouth, I toss baked slices into their crust beds and groan. “ Fine . What do you want to say about it?”

Finn’s smile turns on like a spotlight, blasting all the flesh off my bones. With perfect innocence, he says, “About what?”

Thankfully, Penny comes skipping into the kitchen before I follow through on the urge to throw the rest of my boiling apple compote on him. “Mm, pie!” she cheers. Without catching her breath, she presents me with a tiny canvas. “What do you think of this one?”

“Penny, I told you I don’t have to approve every one you make.”

She nods. “Right, right. Yes, of course. But , look!” She taps a fingernail to the tiny image. “ This one has a little butterfly.”

I stare at the itty bitty wings and have the inexplicable urge to keep it for myself.

“What’s this?” Finn asks, drawing me from the trance.

“Wedding favors!” Penny tosses her head in his direction, and her short curls dance. “Marciboo hired me to make tiny easel paintings.”

I clarify, “They’re going to be set on actual tiny easels and decorate the reception place settings. They will then double as part of the favors people can take home.”

“I may have quit my part time jobs in order to make several a day.” Penny giggles. “I’m a full-time artist right now.”

“Speaking of jobs, this is an elaborate scheme.” I meet Finn’s eyes. “And I need your help with it.”

His brows rise. “Oh?”

“Since you don’t have any friends but can invite whoever you want to your wedding with a decent chance they’ll show, I’d appreciate it if you selected a handful of connections who will fall in love with Penny’s work and make her a millionaire.”

Finn blinks.

“It’s very important to me.”

He turns his attention to Penny. “Are you solely interested in traditional art?”

Her lips press together as her attention skids. “Well…” Her throat clears. “See…about that…”

I interject, “Penny likes to make a mess of anything and everything. She has been into traditional art, digital art, screen printing, jean painting, watercolor, charcoal—”

“I even know how to make logos! I’ve made about twenty-three logos for myself to reflect every time I shift my artistic focus into a new medium that I’m positive will be the one .” She links her finger in a curl, which has a bit of butterfly wing paint on it. “It, um, never exactly is, though.”

“Penny suffers from a chronic case of I’ll try that , overburdened by a lack of immediate, raging success. Despite her ample skill, it is unfortunate that she never spends long enough on anything in order to build a dedicated audience for it.”

Penny shrinks. “Ow.”

“I’ve told you all this before. Consistency, trends, reliability. Finding your niche and sticking to it. If you want to make a career out of this, you need to embrace the work part.”

“The boring stuff…”

“The necessary stuff. Everything is art, so the demand for artists isn’t as underwhelming as the naysayers claim, but you need to focus your energy well enough to make more than a ripple in the pond of a thousand other unfocused minnows. Be the big fish who knows where she’s going and keeps swimming.”

Softly, Penny begins humming the Finding Nemo “Just Keep Swimming” song.

Finn switches his shaved apple out for a fresh one on the machine prongs and passes me a new skin snake. “Do you have a portfolio of some kind, Penny?”

Finishing the tune with an exaggerated facial expression, Penny beams. “I have a random stack of pictures I don’t hate right now?”

“That sounds like an excellent portfolio.” Finn grins.

When Penny trots off, I glare at my fiance .

Finn’s back straightens. “What?”

“You’re going to offer her a job yourself, aren’t you?”

“It makes more sense than inviting random people to our wedding and hoping they think that’s the appropriate time to peruse resumes, doesn’t it? I have positions requiring artists, too. She puts a few years in at Marsh, then she has it on her resume alongside a glowing recommendation from me. Not only that, if I can, I’ll put her in with a marketing team. Maybe she’ll pick some things up there that she can use on a business of her own if that’s the direction she wants to go.”

Planting my elbows on the counter, I thread my fingers and lean toward Finn. “You scheming schemer, you. You make nepotism look ethical.”

His eyes catch on my ring again. “Are you flirting with me?”

I blow at a spot of flour on his face, then reach to dust it off his forehead before conking him gently. “I would never do anything that cringe.” Returning to my pie, I begin the tedious process of laying the lattices. “Thanksgiving is a week before the wedding and two weeks away. When I go wedding dress shopping later today, Mom will ask where we’re spending it. I am prepared to tell her that all my aunts and uncles and cousins who are flying in for Thanksgiving and staying through the wedding can see me at the wedding, because you want to know something really bad, Finnegan ?”

His throat clears. “Not particularly?”

After placing the pie in the oven, I drag the pastry dough I’ve had rising since the start of this grand baking adventure to me, pull my ring off to set safely aside, and begin beating down the dough. “I still haven’t met your mother, even though I might be marrying her son in a matter of days.”

Finn’s smile falters.

“Do you have any extended family I need to prepare to meet as well? I know when I asked you how many people you’d invite to the wedding, you said maybe ten, so I’m not expecting the same kerfuffle my family goes through on holidays, but ten people is ten people. And ten people I don’t know are ten strangers I have to navigate. Also, now that I’m thinking about it, please tell me you got your maybe ten invites sent out? I don’t think I followed up with you on that.”

Focusing a bit too heavily on the apple he’s rotating in the confines of the peeling machine, Finn murmurs, “I invited a few of my more enjoyable business relationships. Leopard, Pratt, Amare. With their plus ones. So my ten is actually six.”

My mind sorts through the database I have compiled of Finn’s business relationships. “You invited Levi, Velspar, and Leslie?”

He nods.

That should be interesting. I’ve only met Levi, the CEO behind Leopard, the largest growing social media site since MySpace collapsed into Facebook and Instagram, and the developer of my precious LeoPad. I’m half-sure that Velspar is married to a singer-songwriter who’s always topping all kinds of charts, but I’ve not met either of them. And Leslie? Well, Leslie is the leader of a body-positive fashion empire whose brand will be available at the boutique I’m going to this evening.

“I’ll try to pick an Amare wedding dress later and I’ll carry my LeoPad up the aisle in lieu of a bouquet. How am I going to explain the fact I don’t know the lyrics to any of Velspar’s wife’s songs, though?”

“I think they’ll understand if you show them your Probs Need Therapy playlist. They may even take it as a compliment.”

Wow.

That was almost mean.

“Finn.”

His gaze rises from where it settled on my ring. The emptiness in it sends a disturbance down my spine.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

His lips part, but before he can reply, Penny comes barreling into the kitchen, arms full of loose pages and random sketchbooks. Once she’s done displaying her portfolio, I don’t get another chance to address my unease before we have to rush to meet up with Mom and Brigid at the boutique.