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“It’s lovely to meet you,” I said, taking in the beautiful display of turnovers, scones, and small pastries arranged on wooden trays. “And I assure you, I have no intention of leaving without trying something. Everything looks wonderful.”

Stormi laughed and offered to tell me about her favorites. She had an appealingly quick way of speaking, and despite the steady stream of customers, she seemed happy to spend a moment helping me choose.

When she asked whether I was visiting for the festival, I explained that I’d come from Minneapolis for work and that Hudson had been showing me around.

“Well, you’ve chosen a good weekend,” she said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “The town goes a little crazy over autumn, but it’s generally a very enjoyable sort of crazy. Just don’t let Hudson talk you into judging the pumpkin-carving contest. Everybody gets terribly competitive.”

“I’ve already learned that he has strong opinions about forestry techniques,” I told her. “I’m beginning to suspect pumpkin carving would be no different. He might insist on inspecting everyone’s tools before allowing them to compete.”

Hudson looked thoroughly amused. “I’m perfectly capable of appreciating a decorative pumpkin without conducting an inspection.”

A deep voice came from the adjoining counter.

“That’s not what you said about the one outside the hardware store last year.”

The bearded man had finished arranging his cider jugs and was smiling at Hudson.

“Griffin Carlton,” Hudson told me. “His family runs this farm. Griffin, this is Peyton.”

Griffin offered his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Peyton. Don’t believe everything he says about pumpkins. He’s been known to have opinions about anything involving a blade.”

I laughed as we shook hands.

“Then he’s going to feel right at home with the book we’re recording. I’ve spent the past two days listening to his professional objections to enchanted axes.”

Stormi’s green eyes brightened. “Recording a book?”

“I’m an audiobook narrator,” I explained. “Hudson’s helping me finish a project while I’m in town. The book has some rather imaginative descriptions of forestry.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Hudson said. “I’ve learned more about dragon anatomy this weekend than I ever expected to.”

Stormi burst out laughing.

“Now that sounds like a story I’d enjoy hearing.”

“One I’m not allowed to tell in public,” Hudson replied cheerfully. “But I can recommend the book when it comes out.”

I smiled at him, appreciating how easily he’d kept the conversation friendly without inviting questions about his professional agreement.

Stormi recommended her apple-cinnamon turnovers and maple-pecan scones, explaining which varieties had been especially popular that morning. Hudson bought us a turnover to share, and I selected two scones to take with us for Sunday breakfast.

Griffin poured warm cider for both of us at the neighboring counter while I admired the baskets of apples and pumpkins arranged beneath a handwritten sign.

“I’d have bought an entire bag of apples if I hadn’t already made breakfast with them this morning,” I told him.

“You can always use more apples,” Griffin replied with a smile. “That’s practically the farm motto this time of year. We’re going through them so fast I may have to spend the rest of the afternoon hauling boxes instead of pouring cider.”

Hudson took our cups while I gathered the paper bag of scones.

“Peyton made cinnamon apples for French toast,” he told Griffin. “Did a good job of it, too.”

“Hudson did the actual French toast,” I added. “I mostly contributed stirring and enthusiastic approval, but I’m prepared to accept praise for my portion of the work.”

Stormi laughed as she handed a purchase to another customer.

“Those are both important skills. And if you like cinnamon apples, you’ll enjoy the turnovers.”