Sophia couldn't stop staring.

She didn't know what she expected Finn's house to look like, but it wasn't this; a white house with a wrap-around porch stood on top of a hill. Pink flowers dotted the grassy slope, and an apple tree towered over a picnic bench. It looked like a miniature version of the White House, Sophia thought, if the president was partial to sweet iced tea and porch swings.

"What?" Finn asked.

Sophia climbed out of the truck. "Nothing."

"Tell me."

She tipped her head back, shielding her eyes. "I just wasn't expecting you to live in a place like this."

Finn's lips quirked. "Where did you think I lived? A red barn?"

"No. I just—"

"Finn!" a voice called.

They both turned. A petite blonde woman was jogging towards them, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. She was dressed in cut-off jeans and a white top, and freckles covered every inch of her face. This, Sophia thought, had to be Gemma.

Gemma held out a hand. "You must be Sophia."

"Guilty as charged."

"Goodness, you're pretty," Gemma said. "Finn didn't mention that."

Sophia's stomach dropped slightly. She never knew what to say to things like that. Thanks? You, too? There's more to me than how I look? She was flattered — of course she was — but it always made her uncomfortable. Finn must have sensed her discomfort because he nudged his sister's arm.

"Where's Cam?" he asked.

"Probably knocking things over," Gemma said, rolling her eyes. "You know how he is." She smiled at Sophia. "Cameron's our photographer today. He's clumsy, but he's talented. You'll be in good hands."

"He's also," Finn said pointedly, "Gemma's fiancé."

Gemma winked at Sophia. "Guilty as charged. Follow me." She beckoned them towards the house. "I'll show you the product."

She led them to the apple tree, where a picnic blanket groaned under wheels of cheese, fresh bread, and golden honey. Una grazed nearby, and a man — redheaded, tall, and fiddling with a camera — gave the horse an absent pat. Hay bales and crates were stacked pell-mell, a small city of battered wood and straw rooves. Gemma bent down, picking up two bottles of wine from the picnic blanket.

"Most wineries are out in B.C. — better climate for white wine, you know — but you can still make a syrah and a rosé in Alberta. We make both types at Blush Estates. All of them are grown on the property and certified organic."

"And delicious," the redheaded man added.

Gemma patted his shoulder. "You're a bit biased, babe, but thank-you." She turned to Sophia. "Shall we get started?"

"Sure." Sophia shrugged off her purse. "Where do you want me?"

Gemma ran a tough shoot.

For the next two hours, Gemma swept through the set like a tiny blonde whirlwind, tutting over the decorative hay and rearranging the pink flowers in Una's hair. The disgruntled horse looked as if she was a second away from bolting. The redheaded man — presumably Gemma's fiancé, Cameron — looked even more desperate to leave.

"Okay, babe," Cameron told her, shifting the camera. "I think we got it."

"One more shot."

"But—"

"One more shot, Cam," Gemma repeated, her eyes glinting dangerously, and Cameron immediately raised the camera.

"Sure thing, honey."

Sophia frowned at Una, who was shifting under her weight, mere inches from toppling the precarious tower of Blush wine bottles next to them.

"You better not throw me," she muttered to the horse.

Una huffed.

Finn grinned at her. He was leaning against a wooden post nearby, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His white t-shirt set off his tan, and his blond hair glistened in the late October sunshine.

Sophia paused, horrified.

Good god, had she just described Finn's hair as glistening?

She was losing it. Officially.

"Okay, Sophia," Gemma added, more gently this time. "Can you try lifting the wine bottle more? We need to see the label."

"Sure."

"And lean closer to Una," Gemma added.

Sophia exchanged a glance with the horse; it was hard to say who was more horrified by this suggestion.

Cameron snapped a few more shots, and Gemma rearranged more flowers and finally — mercifully — they were done. Sophia dismounted from Una, her legs shaking slightly. She couldn't remember doing a more strenuous shoot — and that was including when Sophia spent an hour suspended from silk ropes in Monaco.

"I can't feel my legs," she muttered to Finn. "Is that normal?"

His lips quirked. "Don't be a baby, Toronto."

"I think I need ice."

Finn muttered something vaguely non-complimentary about Sophia needing a new attitude, and she scowled at him.

Dinner was a two-course affair; Gemma set a wooden table on the patio, and they dined on sweetcorn soup and steak under the twinkling fairylights. Gemma even added a few festive pumpkins and potpourri to the table; the air was spiced with cinnamon and clove.

"So," Cameron said, cutting into his steak. "How long have you two been dating?"

"Oh, they're not," Gemma said airily. "They're fake dating."

Sophia choked on her soup. Gemma patted her absently on the shoulder, using the other hand to butter a bread roll. Cameron's brows contracted.

"So you're not dating?"

"Oh, no," Finn said cheerfully. "Definitely not."

"Hoag," Sophia hissed, still wheezing slightly. "What about Clause 37?"

Finn gave her an odd look. "You didn't actually expect me to read that contract, did you? I thought it was a joke."

Sophia debated flinging food at him but decided against it; the sweetcorn soup really was too good to waste. "You're not supposed to tell people," she said to Finn instead, exasperated. "That defeats the purpose of this whole thing."

"But she's family," Finn said.

"Oh, don't worry." Gemma bit into a bread roll. "I won't tell anyone." She winked at Sophia. "I love a secret; it makes life so exciting, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Cameron mused. "You didn't like when I lied about shrinking your sweater in the wash last week, darling."

Gemma gave him a withering look. "That's not a secret, Cam; that's a betrayal."

Cameron — clearly wise beyond his years — chose not to say anything. Gemma polished off her bread roll, wiping her hands on a napkin. "Where'd you learn to ride, Sophia? You looked like a natural today."

Sophia glanced sideways. "Finn taught me."

"Did he, now?" Gemma's eyes sparked. "Interesting."

"I did it for the shoot," Finn said, shooting his sister a look that Sophia couldn't interpret. "You're welcome, by the way."

Gemma smiled, dabbing at her mouth with the napkin. "Finn's always been obsessed with horses. You should have seen his childhood bedroom. He had a life-sized rocking horse, and these pajamas—"

"Gemma!" Finn sputtered.

"—with little pink horses on them—"

"I'll kill you."

"—that we later found out were actually unicorns—"

"Stop," Finn groaned. "Right now."

"—but Finn loved them so much that he refused to get rid of them, even when he grew too big for them. I'm convinced he still has them somewhere." Gemma grinned at her brother. "Care to comment, Finn?"

"Yes." Finn picked up his fork. "This steak is lovely."

Sophia took a sip of wine to hide her smile. "I think it's sweet."

"No, you don't," Finn said.

"I really do."

"He still wants an adult-sized version," Gemma said in a stage-whisper. "But it turns out that it's really difficult to find pajamas with pink horses on them in a men's size large."

"Let's change the topic." Finn turned to his sister. "When are you releasing the photos, Gem?"

She glanced at Cameron, who gave a non-committal shrug. "This weekend, I think, so long as they're edited and ready to go."

"What's the Instagram handle?" Sophia pulled out her phone. "I'll follow the account."

Gemma told her. Sophia scrolled through the account; it was tastefully done. Blush Wines was all soft pinks and marble, girls wearing oversized sunglasses and text posts that read "Rosé All Day". It would attract a millennial audience, which — according to Gemma — was the target demographic. She paused at the bio, nibbling her lip.

"What?" Gemma asked.

Sophia looked up. "Hmm?"

"You made a face."

"Oh," Sophia said. "It's nothing. I just thought..." She set the phone down on the table. "But never mind. It's not a very good idea."

"I love bad ideas," Finn announced. "They can go terribly wrong or terribly right." He leaned back in his seat. "Either way, they're always more exciting than good ideas."

"It's true," Cameron said. "Aerosmith used to hold weekly meetings called 'Dare to Suck' where each bandmember put in ten stupid ideas. The more outlandish, the better. It's what inspired most of their hit songs."

Gemma leaned forward. "Go on, Sophia. Tell us."

Hesitation filled her. All three people watched her expectantly. Would they laugh at her? Dismiss her ideas? Finn didn't seem like the type, but then again, most people didn't. Slowly, Sophia raised her phone.

"Well, you see this bolded part?" Sophia asked. "Where people put their name? Most people don't know it, but Instagram uses that for SEO purposes. So if I was... Let's say I'm a Vancouver food-blogger. If I put 'Vancouver Foodie' in that section, anytime someone searches that key term, my account will pop up."

Gemma caught on immediately. "You think I should put Alberta winery? Or YYC wines?"

Sophia nodded.

Cameron whistled. "Clever."

Her cheeks warmed. "It might not work. It's just an idea."

"It's brilliant," Gemma said firmly. "Thank-you."

Finn was silent.

He was watching her steadily, his blue eyes reflecting the candlelight. There was no surprise on his face, Sophia realized, just an unwavering faith. She thought of what he'd said to her the other day in the truck: You're smart, and you obviously have a knack for social media. I'm sure you get that a lot, though.

Finn rose, picking up his jacket.

"Come on, Toronto," he said. "I'll take you home."