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“Only that they might eat the décor,” Mom joked.
“It won’t be easy getting photographs of two puppies being still,” Knox said.
“I’ll do my best. Maybe an action shot would be better anyway. How soon do we need to get these done? You open—”
“The week before Thanksgiving,” I said.
“That doesn’t give us much time. Maybe two weeks to get everything ready and posted.”
“Is it possible?” Ireland asked.
Marley pulled out her phone and took some notes. “I’ll get it done.”
“I don’t want it to interfere with your work,” I said to Marley.
“It won’t. My business is automated. I have the emails ready to go; I just need to make some tweaks and send them out. I might need to do a few live streams to drum up interest, but those don’t take longer than an hour or two, and I have a team that edits the videos.”
“Are you sure?” I was appreciative of her help, but not if it came at the detriment of her business.
“I’m positive.” Her expression was determined.
I nodded, then looked across the table at Emmett. “Do you have any concerns?”
“I don’t like the idea of pictures posted on the site.”
“It sounds like it will just be us,” I said to Marley, and she nodded. “Of course. This is just the brothers, your mom, and maybe one with your dad for the history section of the website.”
“Dad would have loved this,” Mom said, and everyone got quiet. “Thank you for helping us. I would have liked to do something like this years ago, but I’m not handy with a camera and wouldn’t know the first thing about social media. Sebastian is the one who posts for us now, and as you can see, it’s very little.”
“I’ll handle your social media accounts, and I’ll run it by you before I post,” Marley said.
Ireland nodded. “I can double-check everything.”
“Is there anything else?” Marley asked.
I wondered if Marley would stay here for the duration. Selfishly, I hoped she would. I couldn’t wait to see how everything looked and if it made a difference.
“Did you notice anything about the other farms in the area that could be an issue for us?” Ireland asked.
“This one has a pie shop. They take orders at Thanksgiving and Christmas and apparently, make the pies on the property in a little house. The pictures are great.” She scrolled through something on her phone and tilted it toward Ireland.
“There are trays of pies everywhere. They must get a ton of orders,” Ireland said, passing the phone around the table.
“No one here can bake like that. I make cookies, but pies are not my specialty,” Mom said.
“Daphne makes the pies,” Cole said when the phone was handed to him. “That’s who that is.”
“You know her?” Emmett asked him.
“We went to school together. She’s the only daughter. I think she has a few older brothers who work there, too.”
“It’s something they can offer that we can’t,” Marley said.
“Is that a problem?” Emmett asked.
Marley frowned. “It gives them an advantage. They have people coming to the farm in November to order the pies and then to pick them up. It’s convenient for them to pick up a tree with the pie.”
The room fell silent, everyone lost in thought about what we could offer that was similar.
