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  But as the economic recovery was still struggling, Leo began to voice some of his concerns over the practices that not only the Maxwells were employing, but the banking world in general. “She’d encourage me to speak up, share my ideas, but I began to notice that she’d always add in something about it not being the right time, or to maybe keep some of it to myself until the climate had shifted, things like that. She knew I was unhappy with things at work, yet when we’d talk it out, I’d always come away feeling more confused than I was before, unsure about my position and how vocal I should be.”

  He suddenly looked into my eyes, intense and a bit haunted. “Have you ever gotten so totally thrown by someone, you have no idea how it could have happened?”

  “Honestly? No.” I paused, chewing on my lip. “But that’s because I never let anyone get close enough.” Very dramatic gulp. “Until you.”

  We stared at each other, the emotion between us shimmering in the air in giant waves of ohmygodthisguycouldwreckmeforalwaysbutImightbeokaywiththat until a noisy jaybird startled us.

  Lifting one corner of his mouth in that adorable way, he went on. “Well, until Melissa, I’d been the same way. But she snuck right on under the fence, under everyone’s fence—and my entire family was born with a gold-digger alarm.”

  “No,” I breathed, and he nodded.

  “Oh yeah. She was so good, I didn’t even see her coming. I continued to waffle back and forth about how involved I wanted to get at work, whether I wanted to make a shift into a different division, try something new—and then we spent a weekend up here in Bailey Falls. I hadn’t been up to the farm in years, but we both wanted to get out of the city for a long weekend, and she seemed fascinated by all the properties my family owned, and away we went up the Hudson. She seemed impressed by the overall size of the house, and the grounds of course, but a bit disappointed in the state of things up here. Especially since no one had lived on the farm full-time in years, things were a bit rustic.”

  “Rustic as all grand old country homes can be,” I said in a simpering Upper East Side accent, and he grinned.

  “Exactly. Anyway, three very important things happened during that trip. One, I visited a nearby organic farmer, a farm that I’d been read about in The New Yorker, about how he was doing amazing things with an old property. That Saturday morning while she was still asleep, I took out the old caretaker’s Jeep and ran around our property all day, following the old fields and seeing possibilities with the land I’d never seen before.” His face lit up as it always did when he spoke about the land, and the way he tended to it.

  “And the second important thing?” I asked.

  “I heard the end of a conversation Melissa was having with her mother, bragging about how big the house was, but also how rundown everything seemed to be, and what she’d do to it if given the chance to be a Mrs. Maxwell.”

  My nose wrinkled, and my lips pursed together. Once more, he nodded in agreement.

  “So did you tell her to pack it on up and take her big but rundown ass back to the city?” I asked, rolling my eyes when he shook his head.

  “No, but I did tell her the beginnings of the idea that became Maxwell Farms,” he said ruefully. “She wasn’t too keen on the idea.”

  “I can imagine,” I huffed, knowing already who this woman was. She seemed exactly like Mitzi St. Renee and the gaggle of size-zero assholes whom I used to cook for in Bel Air. But I was also seeing Leo in my mind’s eye—younger, more citified, standing right on the edge of becoming the fantastic guy I knew, doing exactly what he loved, making the world a little bit better, and a lot sexier. “So, what was the third important thing that happened?”

  “Right after I told her she shouldn’t worry so much about how rundown the house might be, she told me she was pregnant.”

  The swing stopped so suddenly I almost pitched forward onto the porch, not realizing for a second or two that it was my own foot that stopped it.

  Leo reached out to catch me, then set a comforting hand on my shoulder as I reeled from the news he’d received almost eight years ago.

  “You’re shitting me,” I said through my teeth.

  “I’m not shitting you,” he assured, rubbing my back in soothing circles. “Although I said something similar.”

  “Do you think she planned it? To get pregnant I mean, or is that too rude to ask?”

  “It’s not rude, and it’s also the same question almost every person I know asked at one point. Whether she did or not, it almost doesn’t matter.”

  “I suppose not,” I answered, leaning into the circles he was painting on my back, which turned into an entire arm around my shoulder. I leaned into that, too.

  “Anyway, we tried for a while to make it work, considered getting engaged, but my eyes were wide open now, and I knew it was just a matter of time before it all went to hell. What I didn’t know was that it was also a matter of money.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We tried to make things work between us because we were having a kid. But it became clear very quickly that ‘things working’ wasn’t going to be in the cards for us, and we began to fight constantly. Which made me nervous, because I knew all that stress wasn’t good for the baby. But when I made an off-hand comment one night about giving her a bag of cash to just give me the baby after she was born, she jumped all over it.”

  “No, oh my God, no,” I whispered, horrified.

  “I couldn’t believe it, either, but she was dead serious. Turns out all her contacts in Manhattan were a little shady. She wasn’t nearly the big swinging dick she thought she was at her firm, and for an accountant, she had a terrible spending habit. So having a Maxwell baby?” He spit out the words, two red spots burning high on his cheekbones. “That was a payday she was pretty excited about.”

  “Leo. I’m so sorry,” I said, turning in his arms and resting my head on his chest, wrapping my arms as tightly as I could around his waist.

  “It’s all good, Sugar Snap. Because I got that fantastic kid out of the whole deal.” He held me just as tight, his chin resting on the top of my head, where he now dropped a kiss affectionately. “It was a mess for a while, sure—the gossip columns were brutal, and I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy. But once the lawyers got involved and a settlement was reached, it was a done deal. She had the baby, she held Polly exactly three times, and we haven’t seen her since. My accountant tells me the checks are still cashed monthly, and that’s the only contact I have with her.”

  The backs of my eyelids prickled, wondering how this woman could give up her own child for a check.

  “But after that, things got so much better. I quit my job after talking to my father, explaining that I just couldn’t be a part of that scene anymore. And I’m grateful my name afforded me the opportunity to take over the farm and really grow something incredible.”

  “Pardon the pun,” I chuckled quietly.

  “Once Polly was a few months old, I started spending more and more time up here, getting things ready, building the house we live in now, and apprenticing at the farm I’d visited that weekend when everything exploded. I hired a few people to help me out around the property, started turning over the fields, and a year after Polly was born, we moved out of the city and into the country full-time. I didn’t want her growing up the way I did, and with the Page Six mentality swirling around my family and speculation about where Polly’s mom might have gone, I knew it was better to remove ourselves altogether. It rocked the Maxwell boat a bit, and I don’t see my family as often as I’d sometimes like, but my family is really all about me and Polly now, and this life we’re creating together.”

  “Sure. That’s got to come first.”

  “Polly did really well here, and even though people in this small town read the same magazines as they do in the city, they seemed to kind of . . . I don’t know, watch out for us. I found a great nanny, a few actually, and if I wasn’t with Polly, she had really great people with her. It’s a gre
at town to raise a kid.”

  I smiled.

  “Everything revolved around Polly, and the farm. And after everything that happened, the absolute last thing on my mind was getting involved with another woman.”

  “You never even thought about it?” I asked, twisting in his arms to look up at his sweet face.

  “Sure, I thought about it,” he admitted sheepishly, a different kind of pink coloring his cheeks now. “But never wanted to risk upsetting this life. Never wanted to trust anyone with Polly, after I saw her own mother throw everything over just for money.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, something low, and unexpected, twisting in my stomach.

  “And then you showed up,” he said, forcing my chin up to look him in the eyes, which were soft. “And Polly was away at summer camp for the first time. And I had a summer where I could just . . . relax. Be a guy. Get a little starstruck over some L.A. chick.”

  “And I made sure to tell you a thousand times I was leaving at the end of the summer,” I sighed, as the last puzzle piece clicked into place.

  “You sure made it easy for me to simply enjoy,” he said, his voice heating up and heating me through. Nuzzling my neck, he pressed a kiss just behind my ear. “But something happened that I wasn’t expecting.”

  I held my breath, waiting to see what he would say.

  “It became more than just a summer thing—don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, answering his question as well as my own. It was out there now. We had gone beyond the simple pleasure and were into something deeper, unexplored on my end, and likely scary on his.

  “And then Polly came home early, with almost no warning. I would have told you, Rox, but she came back while her nanny was on vacation. I had no one to watch her so I could come talk to you, and that’s not the kind of thing you want to say over the phone. I was already trying to think of a way to tell you about her, about us, to make staying here a . . .” He trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

  I finished it for him. “A possibility?”

  “Is it?” he asked.

  I sighed. “I don’t know Leo,” I admitted. I felt him exhale. “But I’ll . . . I’ll think about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Obviously its gone beyond a summer fling for me, too. Dammit, why the hell are you so awesome?” I laughed, sliding off the swing and pulling him with me. He had baggage, Lord knows I had baggage, but maybe. Just maybe. “Just let me think a little bit, okay?” I said, letting my hands creep up his chest and around his neck, feeling his good heat soak through my shirt and into my bones. He killed me.

  “We can still have fun, you know,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to my backside, crushing me further into him.

  “I’m going to need you to prove that, please,” I laughed, bumping my hips against his, “because this day has been weird long enough.”

  He proved that we could still have fun. And that farmers are hot. But damn near nothing is as hot as Farmer Dad.

  Chapter 19

  “You are the best goddamn thing I’ve seen all day.” I inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh, earthy smell, even salivating a little. I looked around to make sure no one was looking, then I rubbed my cheek over the firm, thick loaf of artisanal sourdough rye that the bakery just delivered. Tender, crumbly, with a beautiful brown scored crust, I was delighted to find that it was still warm.

  “Ahem,” I heard, bringing me out of my doughy reverie.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said to the scandalized driver.

  I signed for the delivery and paid the poor man, who backed out of the door, clipboard in hand, as I stood cradling the bread like a baby.

  “Get a grip, Roxie,” I told myself. But two seconds later, I smelled the loaf like I’d seen mothers sniffing their baby’s head. Something about the smell of a newborn? Is it wrong that I feel the same way about a warm swirled rye?

  Racks of gorgeous bread were waiting to be sliced for sandwiches. My mother had been ordering white bread from the local bakery since before I was born, sliced thin for toast and thick for sandwiches—which she almost endearingly called sangwiches.

  I’d altered her order, keeping the traditional white bread but adding a few other varieties, mostly for the new line of deli sangwiches I’d premiered to great fanfare.

  Swirled rye for the Reuben. I’d updated the classic by adding a little lemon to the Russian dressing, and a very thin slice of smoked Gouda hidden between the Swiss.

  Dark, dense pumpernickel. I paired it with thinly sliced Vidalia onions, horseradish cream, and thick slices of Polish ham.

  Caraway rye for the pastrami. Cut thick from whole briskets that I sourced from a local butcher in Hyde Park, the pastrami was reminiscent of that from 2nd Ave. Deli in the city. It was slathered with teary-hot deli mustard . . . and nothing else. Come on, I was still a New York girl.

  I used other breads in other ways too. We still made our traditional French toast with thick-cut white bread, but I’d added a brioche bread pudding to the menu. Eggy brioche slices soaked in vanilla egg custard, then baked with currants and pecans in between, topped with powdered sugar and allspice? It might have sold out every day since I’d added it to the menu.

  I admired this bread the way a sculptor might admire a piece of virgin marble. Just a block of rock, but what else might it be? What could it become under a master’s hands? I rubbed the pumpernickel again.

  “Would you rather we left you alone?” Leo asked from behind me. Starting a little, I turned to see him standing in the swinging door that led to the dining room.

  I smiled, a little bashfully, full of feelings I couldn’t name and wouldn’t even try to explain. After last night, I was a bit unsure as to how we moved into this new phase of . . . whatever this was. I’d never been here before. Would it be weird? Would it be strange? Would we immediately go from being cool and happy-go-lucky, into some kind of now-we’re-a-couple-and-this-is-how-couples-behave-and-holy-shit-wait-a-minute-are-we-a-couple—

  A kiss broke me out of my incipient panic. It was just the tiniest brush against my lips, but so warm and sweet that it cut right through my bullshit and made me want another kiss. And another one.

  Leo’s hands sneaked around to the small of my back as he tugged me against him, little light kisses dancing off in a line toward my neck.

  “Hi,” he murmured, speaking directly to my heartbeat, currently thumping against his lips.

  I breathed in deeply, luxuriating in his scent. All that green grass and salty skin. His beard rasped a bit against my collarbone, and I realized that the feel of him, rough and scruffy, was something I’d also gotten very much used to.

  “I’ve got a pile of bacon here that’s getting cold, and you know Mr. Beechum hates cold bacon. So eighty-six the kissyface and get your buns back to work.” Maxine cracked my buns with a dish towel as she walked by with a crooked smile.

  My kissyface had been noticed. My kissyface would be the talk of the condiment station within minutes, and out on the gossip wire within the hour.

  Eh.

  Eh?

  Yeah, eh.

  It’s a new world order.

  I dared to sneak in one more kiss, then smiled up at him. “What’s up?”

  “We’re here for lunch,” he replied, his eyes dancing.

  Riiiiight. Cue cold water bucket. Because Leo was already a we. And would always be a we. And as someone who already had issues with being a we, this would be tricky for me.

  I smiled bravely, determined to see how this played out. I’d promised Leo I’d try.

  Pushing through the swinging door into the hustle and bustle, I spied Polly sitting at the end of the counter. Taking a deep breath, I sauntered out like I owned the place—which technically, in my mother’s will, I did—determined to show no fear.

  “Hey there, Polly, how’s it hanging?” I asked. I actually asked a kid how’s it hanging. And I know this because the words were flashing in the air, enclosed in a bubble like in a
comic strip. A comic strip titled “Things to Never Say to a Child.”

  I looked over my shoulder to see if Leo had caught it, and he was just staring at the ceiling, shaking his head.

  Polly looked confused. “How’s what hanging?”

  Flailing, I said, “Your ponytail, of course!” I smiled so widely I could feel my lips stretch.

  She smoothed her ponytail with her fingers. “Fine, I guess.”

  “Well, that’s just great. So what can I do you for?”

  “I’m starving,” she announced, sitting primly on her counter stool.

  “Then, you’ve come to the right place. I was just getting ready to make myself a grilled cheese. You like grilled cheese?”

  “I don’t like grilled cheese,” she said. As I started to think of other options, she leaned across the counter and said in a dead serious voice, “I love grilled cheese.”

  “Fantastic,” I replied, deadpan as well.

  “Hey, Rox? She likes her grilled cheese with Velvee—”

  “Hush,” I said, which made Polly giggle. “You want the regular grilled cheese or you want the Roxie Special Grilled Cheese?”

  “Roxie Special!” she shouted. Then, as though she’d caught herself having fun, she repeated “Roxie Special” in a nonchalant manner.

  “Coming right up,” I answered, shooing Leo onto the stool next to her.

  “Aren’t you going to ask if I want a Roxie Special?” he asked, just as Maxine came around the corner with a wet dish towel.

  “Another one?” she asked with a wink and a snap of her towel.

  Leo’s mouth fell open, then closed when he saw Polly studying his reaction.

  “What did she mean, Daddy?” I heard her ask as I backed into the kitchen, laughing to myself. Facing the grill, I commandeered a corner for myself from Forever Grumbling Carl, and went to work.

  Ten minutes later, I slid three piping-hot grilled cheese sandwiches onto plates and carried them out front.

  “Oooo,” Polly breathed as I set the sandwich in front of her.

  “Oooh,” Leo breathed as he looked at the sandwich in front of her. “Wow, Rox, that’s beautiful, but—”