Nuts Page 18

  “Sorry, I just dropped the phone. And come pick them up the morning; we’re closing early for the holiday. Good-bye to you too.”

  Revved up and ready to go beyond belief, I took off in the direction Leo had gone, pushing him up against the ice machine and kissing him until he was breathless too.

  I also rubbed his goose egg.

  Ten minutes later I was still breathless, and decidedly glowing. Our quickie had come to a screaming (me) end just before the front door dinged open, announcing the first arrival for Zombie Class Number Two. You’ve never seen someone straighten out an apron faster in your life—trust me.

  And the door kept on dinging as more and more people poured in: some I recognized and some I didn’t. What in the world?

  It seemed my class was a sleeper hit; everyone wanted in on it. And as I started counting how many people were here, I felt a weird sensation in my stomach.

  I was carving out a niche. In the town I swore I’d never niche in again. And worst of all, it felt . . .

  Strange? Not entirely.

  Familiar? Not really. Though the setting was familiar, this summer was anything but.

  Nice? Perhaps.

  Too much? Perhaps.

  Quickly getting away from me? Oh, perhaps!

  I sighed. It didn’t help that my mind was still a bit scrambled by the ice machine boning.

  Misinterpreting my sigh, Leo kissed the tip of my nose. “It’s totally normal to have butterflies, Sugar Snap.”

  From the kitchen, we were peeping through the window in the swinging door. We’d needed an extra moment to collect ourselves. After all, he’d been inside not two minutes before. Even thinking these words made me clench. Mmm . . . aftershock.

  “Not really nervous,” I said. “I just didn’t expect this many people.”

  Chad and Logan’s Realtor, Mary, was here with her boyfriend, Larry. Mrs. Oleson and Mrs. Shrewsbury from the Ladies Auxiliary. I recognized a few of the younger interns from Maxwell Farm. And the woman from the farmers’ market whom I’d seen fanning herself with a leaf of romaine and making eyes at Leo. And one very tall guy with wavy black hair caught back in a leather tie, who was very tattooed, very loaded-for-bear in the muscles department, and looking very uncomfortable to be attending a jam-making class.

  “Who is that?” I whispered.

  “Which one?”

  “Game of Thrones guy back there.” I pointed to tall, dark, and fuckhot.

  Leo looked, then snorted. “Oh, he’ll love that. That’s Oscar, the dairy farmer next door.”

  I pushed him out of the way and took another look. He was so tall he’d just bumped his head on the Drink Local Beer sign that hung over the front door.

  “That’s Oscar?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yep,” he nodded.

  “The dairy farmer?”

  “Yep.”

  I shook my head, watching as the young girls, no doubt lured by Leo, were now giggling stupid in the presence of Oscar. “Fuck me, the other men in this town don’t stand a chance.”

  “Pardon?” Leo asked.

  “Forget it.” I pushed the door open into the diner. What the hell had they started putting in the water since I’d moved away?

  After welcoming everyone, I hurried about, setting up everything they’d need to make jam. Since there were way more people than planned stations, I paired everyone up two by two like a jam-making Noah. Except for Oscar. He’d been drafted onto Chad and Logan’s team, and looked relived to be there.

  Once everything was ready, I got their attention. “Hi, everyone, thanks again for coming tonight. We’re making jam!” God, I loved teaching!

  “Do we get to drink beforehand?” Chad asked Logan with a giggle.

  I fought back a grin. “As you can see, I wasn’t expecting so many of you, so you’ll be sharing jars. Next time we’ll have more. You’ll find everything you need in front of you: jar, funnel, pectin, sugar, and lemon juice. I’ve already washed the fruit, boiled the jars, rings, and lids, so you get to do all the fun stuff. For the fruit portion of tonight’s activities, you have a choice of delicious fresh berries courtesy of this guy here and Maxwell Farm. There are blackberries, boysenberries, raspberries, and even a few gooseberries.”

  As if on cue, Leo put his arm around me and popped a gooseberry into my mouth.

  Oh. Public Display of Affection—our secret was out!

  The truth is, no one cared except for the mooning interns, who quickly shifted their attention to Oscar’s direction. As I realized the town wasn’t going to implode just because I’d come home and was getting it put to me good by Leo Maxwell, I realized that there were some nice advantages to living in a small town after all.

  My smile filled my face. “Okay, everyone come choose your fruit!”

  “Maybe jam wasn’t such a good idea,” I said, washing off the countertops one last time. The blueberry syrup had gone everywhere, and the class stayed to help clean up—stacking pots, hanging spoons on their racks, and setting measuring cups back in their places.

  “Are you kidding? This was the most fun I had in ages,” Logan said, affectionately blotting the blackberry juice on Chad’s Key Lime Pie polo shirt. I’d love to see the lineup of J. Crew polos in his summer closet.

  “Did you have fun, Oscar?” I asked.

  He was at the sink, cleaning out a bottle with a brush, thrusting it in and out. I’d really like to say I heard his answer, or anything he’d said all night beyond, “Hi, nice to meet you,” but it’d be a lie. Because . . . so hot. Chad, Logan, and I all stopped to stare as he thrust and talked and thrust. Sweet merciful God. Eventually he put on his hoodie and left, tossing a wave to Leo on his way out the door. Which he had to stoop to clear.

  “You know, Miss Roxie, you could easily get a thousand a class in the city for these lessons,” Chad said.

  That brought me back down to earth. A thousand a class? Wheels started turning and ideas started churning in my brain, pinging off the synapses like a pinball machine.

  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have the beginnings of a mental checklist of reasons to stay in Bailey Falls vs. reasons to run screaming back to Los Angeles. And a weekly class was a solid checkmark in the Stay column. It’d take me a while to establish such a willing audience in Los Angeles—especially since there was no predicting how long the culinary hit would be out on me by Mitzi and her crew.

  Leo was watching but trying to be inconspicuous about it, sweeping the floor.

  “I see the gears working. Tell me you’re considering it,” Chad pressed in a lower voice, leading me to the corner to have some semblance of privacy.

  My eyes found Leo, who was still watching closely. He’d laugh at something or join in a conversation, but I could tell one ear was tuned into us.

  “Mmmmaybe?” I clapped my hand over his mouth before he could squeal.

  “Wow, Leo must really have a magical beanstalk on that farm to get you to consider staying.”

  He meant to tease, but I recoiled and verbally struck out. “That’s not why! I mean, yeah, it’s a great summer thing, but that doesn’t mean I’d . . . I mean . . . Just because its only for the summer doesn’t mean that it doesn’t mean . . . Fuck!”

  Whatever this was, it was the kind of fun that could quickly kindle into something beyond. That’s what my instincts were telling me. But with the hopeless romantic gene pool I came from, I didn’t know whether to trust my gut. Whichever way my heart told me to go, I usually ran in the opposite direction.

  But how was he feeling? He seemed to be enjoying this just as much as I was. And like me, he went into it with his eyes wide open. He was counting on three months. But what if—

  “The amount of internalizing you’re doing right now is going to give you an ulcer.” Chad patted me gently on the back. “This isn’t something you need to decide tonight. Get through the next class first,” he said, laughing and joining the rest of the group.

  “What are we making next week, Roxie?” a
n intern asked expectantly, and the diner fell silent as the group waited for my answer.

  Leo stopped sweeping, the broom beneath his chin as he leaned against it, waiting.

  I glanced to the counter, spying a stack of cooking magazines that my mom ignored monthly in favor of the diner usuals. On the cover was a big blue bowl filled with linguine, clams, and tomato sauce.

  “We’re canning tomatoes,” I blurted, my eyes on Leo.

  Who was beaming.

  Chapter 16

  My best friend Natalie moaned. “Do you know what I’m having right now?” It sounded like she had a mouth full of something. “Guess.”

  “Judging by the moaning, I’m going to guess a big, beautiful dick.” I laughed when she starting choking.

  She’d called as I was taking a break between the breakfast and lunch rush, and I was eager to get caught up with her. I slid into the corner behind the unused coat rack for privacy, balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear. The diner had been busier than usual, the lull between breakfast and lunch getting shorter each day.

  We always closed early on the Fourth of July and stayed closed on the fifth, a minibreak for the staff. I was eagerly looking forward to putting my feet up and relaxing. Or perhaps putting my feet up, and around, a certain green-eyed gorgeous. Mmm. But back to Natalie . . .

  “Ass, I could have died. Death by pot sticker!”

  “Natalie! You’re at House of Wong without me? I’m the one who should be saying ass, ass! You know those are my favorite pot stickers—how could you tease me like that! I’m so jealous.”

  “Girl, please—you’ve been in Bailey Falls for how many weeks, and you haven’t once popped into the city. I don’t feel bad about this at all. Hear that?” Cue slurping. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.

  “Are you having their soup dumplings?”

  Slurp. Slurp, slurp. “I’m sick of waiting for you to get your cute little ass down here. What the hell is going on up there?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” I groaned, imagining the bamboo steamer filled with perfectly shaped dumplings, chewy yummy dough, and rich, gorgeous broth.

  “You’re still thinking about my dumplings, aren’t you?” she asked.

  I grinned. “Caught. You make it sound so sordid.”

  “I make it sound so lonely. Get your ass on the train—you can be at Grand Central in ninety minutes.”

  “I’ve still got lunch service. Get your ass on the train—you can be in Poughkeepsie in the same amount of time.”

  She hooted. “Yeah, but then I’m in the sticks. What the hell am I supposed to do there?”

  Natalie suffered from the Manhattan belief that nothing worth doing existed off her island. Normally I’d immediately join in, agreeing with city good, country bad. But . . .

  “The sticks? Not so bad.” Hello, what’s this?

  “Sticks schmicks. That doesn’t explain why I’m enjoying a delicious dumpling crawl, and you’ve still not told me why you haven’t come in to the city to play.”

  “I’ve been . . . busy.” I felt terrible about not being honest with her, but how could I, when I wasn’t fully being honest with myself? I had a day off here and there, and where had I been spending it? Under and over someone dreamy.

  “I’m just busting your chops; I know the diner must be exhausting. But I miss you, Rox! What’s happening? Lay it on me.”

  “Now’s not really a great time,” I said, seeing more and more customers filing in. It was going to get real busy real quick.

  The town always had an influx of visitors for the holiday weekends. The New Yorkers who didn’t hit the Hamptons escaped to the mountains for a hint of the country life. All the businesses were swamped; Leo said the tours around the farm were booked solid for days. Not for the first time, I wondered when I’d get to see him next. We’d talked about watching tonight’s fireworks together, but—

  “Did you just dreamy sigh?” Natalie asked, her tone teasing.

  “What?” I thought back a few seconds and realized that yes, I’d thought about Leo and sighed. Dammit, now I’m swooning.

  “You never dreamy sigh—ever! Tell me right now what’s happening!”

  Oh shit. “It’s not just the diner . . . I met someone when I got here. We’re Summerly Involved.”

  “Summerly Involved? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that I’ve got someone I’m seeing. For the summer. And . . . well . . .”

  She gasped. “And . . . well? You never and . . . well. It’s condom on, condom off, wahoo, back to work. Don’t tell me Miss No Fuss, No Muss is falling in—”

  “Shah-ha-hut-it! Shut it right now. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “What’s he putting in your mouth?”

  I hid my face in my hands. “Oh boy.”

  “I can tell you what I’m putting in my mouth. A entire plate of soup dumplings. Grab your summer love, get thee on a train, and get your ass here!”

  “He can’t really leave during the summer; he’s a . . . well . . . he’s a . . .” I cupped my hand around my phone and quietly said, “farmer.”

  “He’s a what?”

  “A farmer,” I whispered.

  When she finally stopped laughing, she told me all about the farmer she crushed on at the Union Square Farmers’ Market. Farmers were the new It Boy, it seemed.

  Eventually I was able to get off the phone, promising her that I’d get into the city just as soon as I could. But for now, I had a diner to run. I headed back into the kitchen, offering a high five to Maxine as I passed, who congratulated me on getting off my feet for a change.

  Nice to be needed.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t want to go to the parade. Who doesn’t like a parade?” Leo said.

  We were in the kitchen of my house, washing dishes after dinner. I’d made fresh corn on the cob, Mexican street style with lots of chili powder, salt, and lime, tiny roasted fingerling potatoes with fresh chives and crème fraîche, and buttermilk fried chicken. Which was not just finger-licking good, but apparently Roxie-licking good. After one bite, Leo had pronounced it the best fried chicken he’d ever had, and then made out with my neck for a while. I couldn’t wait to find out what he licked when he found out I’d made pie . . .

  Now we were discussing the town’s activities for the night, and my lack of interest. “I like a parade just fine; it’s just that I’ve been to that same parade every Fourth of July since I was a kid. I know everything that will happen. The high school band plays, the cheerleaders cheer, the prom queen waves from her toilet paper float, and the mayor gives a speech. Which is usually accompanied by heavy sweating and a little slurring, due to the fact that he’s already in his cups a bit. Usually from Mr. Peabody’s homemade hard ginger ale, which is rotgut in a plastic cup. The fireworks go off over the town hall, everyone oohs and ahhs, and then they rush to get to their car and be home by midnight.” I set down the plate I was washing and waggled my eyebrows at him. “I’d much rather stay home and enjoy some oohs and ahhs of a different kind, if you know what I mean.”

  He promptly set down the plate he was drying and moved behind me. Hands sneaked around my waist, drawing me close to his body. “I do know what you mean. And if you’re ready for the oohs and ahhs, I’ve been ready to salute our country’s birthday since you came to the door in that stars-and-stripes bra.” He bumped his hips into mine, sharing his “salute” with my backside.

  “How did you know?” I asked, turning my head to see his bashful grin.

  I’d picked out this bra especially for the occasion after spying it in a window on Main Street. The local lingerie shop specialized in themed underthings. Want to make sure your stocking gets stuffed next Christmas? They’ll fix you right up with a nightie that looks just like a sexy chimney. Want your boobs to look like birthday cakes for someone special? They’ve got a bra for that. Want a pair of panties with a strategically placed bush to commemorate Arbor Day? You betcha.

  But I’d hidden m
y red, white, and blues under my clothes, planning to reveal them to Leo while listening to faraway booms from the town fireworks show.

  “When you were shucking corn earlier, your middle button came undone. I saw it all. And by the way, I’d prefer that all corn shucking now take place naked, or at least stripped down to your skivvies. Because holy shit, you shucking corn is hard to watch without wanting to get immediately involved.” His lips were on my shoulder now, nuzzling my shirt aside and exposing a star and a stripe.

  “You wanted to help me shuck?”

  “Let’s be clear,” he murmured, nipping at me a bit. “I wanted to bend you over that barrel out back and shuck you until there was corn silk everywhere.”

  I closed my eyes at the sudden image of Leo, strong and naked, glorious and naked, and also naked, thrusting into me from behind as he tipped me merrily over a rain barrel, while fireworks lit up the night sky and corn silk blew lazily across the yard. Instant heat bloomed low and my hips arched backward, seeking contact with anything that resembled a cornstalk. As one of his hands slipped under my shirt I felt my heart pound faster, my blood racing around my body.

  My lips felt lonely. My breasts felt heavy and full. My hips felt in need of very specific guidance, mostly of the back-and-forth kind. And other areas felt achingly empty. I tipped my head back onto his chest. As his mouth moved against my neck, his scent surrounded me, earthy and grassy and salty sun-browned. I looked down as he started popping open my buttons, and saw his hands on my body. Wide, strong, and a little dirty, the line of dirt embedded underneath his nails persisting even though I know he scrubbed before coming over. Coarse, callused, hardworking hands, which were gentle as they eased my shirt from my shoulders to pool on the scuffed floor that was used to long, hot, dirty days. I wanted the same thing from him.

  Long, hot, dirty days. And nights.

  I spun around, letting him surround me as he leaned me back against the sink. His eyes burned as he took in my red and white and blue, and he grinned, realizing that I’d planned to celebrate this holiday with him in the naughtiest way possible.