Page 53 of Axe-Rated Lumberjack

Bridget had asked us to send the latest material as soon as it was ready.

I transmitted the files, confirmed the upload, and closed the session.

“We’re finished for today,” I announced, turning away from the workstation. “That leaves us with the final choice scene and any pickups tomorrow, which means we can go enjoy ourselves without feeling guilty about abandoning Isadora in another enchanted forest.”

Hudson stretched his arms, looking relieved. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all afternoon. I’ve been thinking about those pastries at the farm since breakfast.”

I laughed and began gathering our script pages. “Then I’d better change before you decide to go without me.”

“Not a chance, honey. You’re the reason I’m looking forward to it.”

He caught my hand and brought it to his mouth, and for a moment I forgot all about our remaining Sunday pages.

We’d worked hard, and I was pleased with what we’d accomplished. The recording could wait until tomorrow.

For the rest of Saturday, I was looking forward to doing something considerably less professional with Hudson Hewitt.

***

I changed into a navy corduroy skirt, cream sweater, warm tights, and ankle boots, then added my plum coat against the afternoon chill.

Hudson gave me an appreciative look when I emerged from the bedroom.

“You look beautiful. And those boots ought to hold up just fine at the farm.”

“Thank you. I’ve decided that if I’m going to be introduced as your date, I ought to make a respectable showing.” I smoothed the front of my coat, rather pleased with how the dark blue looked against the plum. “Although I suspect you’re going to be considerably more interested in the food than my footwear.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey. I was already planning to show you off.”

That was an exceptionally effective thing to say to a woman who’d spent most of her dating life wondering whether a man would ever be pleased to have her beside him.

I kissed him before he could make me blush any more.

We drove into Maple Lane Falls with the windows cracked just enough to enjoy the cool autumn air. The streets were busier than they’d been Friday afternoon, with families heading toward the festival and people carrying bags of produce from the farm stalls.

Hudson parked near the Carlton Family Farm entrance, and we joined the stream of visitors moving between the pumpkin displays and food booths.

The farm grounds were beautiful in daylight. Rows of pumpkins stretched beyond the central path, their orange skins bright against the dark soil. Wooden stands overflowed with apples, gourds, and autumn decorations, and strings of small lights hung above the busiest walkways, ready for evening. Children hurried toward a display of miniature pumpkins, while several adults contemplated an enormous specimen that looked as though moving it would require a forklift.

Hudson caught me looking.

“Before you ask, yes, we’ve got equipment that could handle that thing.”

“I wasn’t going to ask about equipment. I was wondering whether it would make a suitable carriage. It has a remarkably Cinderella-like quality.”

He laughed and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Cinderella. There’s somebody I want you to meet, and I can smell her baking from here.”

He led me toward a large shared booth decorated with autumn garlands and baskets of fresh produce. The delicious smell of pastry immediately made me reconsider whether I’d eaten enough breakfast.

A woman with dark-blonde curls, freckles, and a cream-colored apron stood behind a display of baked goods. Beside her, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and clean flannel shirt was arranging jugs of cider at the neighboring service counter. Their adjoining displays looked attractive together, although each had its own merchandise and register.

The woman looked up as we approached.

“Hudson Hewitt! I haven’t seen you in ages. Have you come to rescue me from this mountain of pastry?”

“I’m planning to make a respectable dent in it, if that’ll help.” He rested a hand at my back. “Stormi, this is Peyton Appleby. My date. Peyton, meet Stormi Peters. She owns Bramble & Butter, and if you leave here without trying something she’s baked, she’ll probably take it personally.”

I was so delighted by the introduction that I almost forgot to shake her hand.