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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…”
