Cream of the Crop Read online

  “Nice.”

  “Nice?” I asked, shaking my head. “That’s all you got, is nice?”

  “It is nice. It’s so nice,” she replied with the most perfect sense of peace and contentment I’d ever seen. “I don’t get to sleep with Leo every night; some weeks there’s only one or two nights we can have an actual overnight due to Polly’s schedule. So when we’re together, of course it’s full of slap and tickle, but then, when that’s through, and it’s just him and me and the quiet—that’s the nice.” Her eyes looked right through me; she was in her own world now. “He always drifts off first, of course, so I get this time with him to just . . . be with him. Watch him sleep, listen to him breathe, listen to him snore, for God’s sake, and just feel this big, warm man next to me, his body wrapped around me, those big callused hands on my hip or on my belly, and it’s honestly the best feeling ever. It’s just . . .” She trailed off, dreamy and faraway.

  “Nice,” I breathed, understanding.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  I’d had nice. Once. But then it was so very not nice.

  We both mooned for a moment, lost in our own thoughts, and then I broke the spell by telling her I was off to meet her high school crush.

  “Tell him I’m still waiting for direction on Logan’s birthday cake. I don’t know what I’m making, but if he doesn’t tell me soon it’ll involve Walmart fruit cocktail,” she called out to me as I headed down the stairs and off to the Jeep.

  “I’ll do my best, but I’m sure with all the flirting going on, it’ll be hard to remember,” I teased, knowing how she felt about her high school crush.

  “I loved that man since puberty; you better watch your ass, city girl,” floated out to me through the open kitchen window. As I turned back I could see the curtains fluttering, and I pantomimed my finger doing something inappropriate to the hole my other hand was making.

  I couldn’t wait to meet this guy . . .

  “How adorable are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Excuse me, but you’re the second beautiful man I’ve seen in this town since arriving last night. What is in the water upstate?”

  “You must be Natalie,” replied the beautiful man who was exactly as Roxie had described The Chad Bowman to be. Tall, handsome, confident but not cocky, the guy was worthy of many a high school crush.

  “And you are definitely Chad Bowman. You’re as gorgeous as Roxie described.”

  “Back at you—she gave me the lowdown on you as well. As soon as you strutted through the door, I knew it was you,” he said, pulling out a stool for me.

  “I don’t strut.” I gracefully lowered myself onto the seat. Adjusting, I winked. “Okay, maybe a little. I prefer to think of it as sashaying.”

  “Either or, you’re killing me with the shoes,” he said, gesturing to my heels. “How many accidents did you cause walking in here this morning?”

  I thought back to the two blocks I walked after parking the Jeep. A couple of dropped jaws from some teenage guys, one shy wave from the little old man at the barbershop I sauntered past, and a whistle from the gentleman who was walking out of the butcher, right before he dropped his pork loin. Nothing crass like I’d get in the city, no hoots or hollers—but definitely some nice, respectable ogling. “A few near misses, but no fender benders.”

  “I can imagine.” He ordered up two coffees and I pulled out my things to get started.

  I studied him while he interacted with the server, talking to her, not at her. Something that I made a mental note of. He was handsome in that “is he real?” sort of way that all high school crushes are made from. I imagined him and Roxie back in the day, her fawning all over this godlike creature, and him causing heart failure everywhere he went.

  The diner was packed with a steady breakfast crowd; everything from singles to couples, moms and babies, and a pair of grumpy old men who sidled up to the counter looking so old that the town was probably built on their backs.

  Ideas had started swirling late last night when I was flipping through local commercials. You learn a lot from the ads that small towns create. From the small fifteen seconds of Karla’s Klip ’n’ Kurl to the robust ads that the Bryant Mountain House put out to court the weekender, this town had a little bit for everyone. The plan was coming together.

  “So tell me, what do you think of our little Bailey Falls?” Chad said, blowing on his hot coffee before taking a sip.

  “It’s darling, but you know that,” I started, eyeing up the pie case. There was a slice of awesome that would go just right with my diner coffee. “I don’t mean that in a condescending way, either. It’s truly a little spot of perfect, nestled in the mountains. The scenery on the train ride up is worth any price of admission.”

  Chad beamed, much like Roxie did when she got all moony and pie-eyed talking about the town. Having been away from it for so long, she’d been convinced that she’d hate it when she’d returned for the summer. Get in and get out was her goal, but it hooked her and didn’t let go. It wouldn’t be for everyone in long doses—but in short?

  More of the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

  “I’m glad you see the potential. The town is a huge part of our lives. My husband, Logan, comes from a small town, so when I brought him home for the first time he absolutely fell in love with Bailey Falls, and we immediately started making plans to move our business here.

  “We brought you in to show everyone why this is a great weekend destination or summer hot spot. I see it. The town sees it. But you saying that you see it is really very validating.”

  My heart pitter-pattered, the way it always did when I was excited about a project. “Things are percolating, but I need to see more of what I’m working with first,” I said, waving over the waitress. “We’ll take two slices of whatever your best dessert is, please.”

  With a quick nod, she examined the full glass case. Choosing two slices, she plated them and hustled over. “Hummingbird Cake. Roxie’s specialty.”

  “They feature Zombie Cakes here, too? I’m surprised Callahan’s didn’t try to put a lock-down on sharing the family love with the competitor,” I mused. Roxie’s mom must have had a fit when her daughter started plying her wares around town and not just within the confines of Callahan’s Diner.

  I didn’t just moan around the fork. I eye-rolled, legs-clenched, and obscenely licked every last stitch of frosting from the fork. Poor, adorable Chad Bowman looked like I just asked him to motorboat my lady bits in front of his husband.

  “Good goddamn, that woman can bake a fucking cake,” I moaned around another mouthful.

  Chad shifted in his seat, smothering a laugh. “Yes, yes she can.”

  I finished the cake without further embarrassing poor Chad, who couldn’t stop staring at my mouth after seeing me defile the fork. I made a mental note to have Roxie start shipping me Hummingbird Cakes once a week in the city.

  We chatted a bit longer about the hopes for the town. He explained that the town council was trusting him with this venture to take Bailey Falls in a new direction in terms of advertising, and that he’d do damn near anything to make sure it worked.

  “You’re in good hands, Chad. I’ve landed more accounts for Manhattan Creative this year, or the last three years, than any other account executive. My initial approach is simple: get to know Bailey Falls in and out. Top to bottom and everything in between. I want to know what makes this town tick, and why it should be the destination for city dwellers, retirees, and families. This place seems to have it all, and we just need to make sure that everyone knows it.”

  Chad thought for a moment, then smiled big at me. “Normally I’d just shake your hand and tell you to get to work, but because of the Roxie connection, I feel like I want to hug you.”

  “It’s been at least twelve hours since a gorgeous man has had his hands on me, and technically that
was Leo, so get over here,” I said, waving him off his stool. “The Roxie Connection—that has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Very eighties-dating-show-meets-Agatha-Christie-novel.” He laughed, pulling out his wallet and settling the bill. “So what sort of crazy plans does Roxie have planned for you this weekend?”

  I laughed. “I think a shorter list is what she doesn’t have planned for me. She’s got the whole weekend packed in an effort to make me fall in love with Bailey Falls.”

  He slid from the stool and smiled. “I selfishly have to say that I hope it works and that you never leave. We need some more badass women up here to shake things up.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. I had a farmer fantasy, for sure, but long term? I belonged in the city. “You may have converted me into a weekend transplant.” I swiped the last bit of frosting on the plate with my thumb and sucked it off while I thought about someone who might be able to make me visit Bailey Falls more often.

  Sucked it off indeed . . .

  What I “know” about living on a farm comes from picture books and movies. I also have a tendency to embellish and gild images that I revisit in my mind, coloring and shading things until I can get it just right, until I believe that’s exactly how it is.

  Two things happened at Maxwell Farms.

  One, I realized I had no idea how an actual farm works. It’s not some idealized place where an overalled farmer pats pretty cows while his wife, an extra from The Donna Reed Show, skips through the pasture at lunchtime with a chicken pot pie tucked in a basket under a red handkerchief, after which they shtup each other silly under the blue sky. A farm is dirty, kind of smelly, and a lot of really hard work.

  Two, Maxwell Farms is an idealized place, where people work hard and make something beautiful out of a few acres and serious sweat. I saw chickens laying eggs, picked a pumpkin from a vine, and scratched a pig on his actual pork belly. It was a riot of smells, sights, sounds, and tastes as well, since Roxie made us sample everything in the kitchen garden, some still with dirt clinging to it. I laughed as she dusted everything off on her farm jeans, telling me to just go with it and let my country out a bit. It really was a magical place.

  When I’d shown up at the big stone barn, she took one look at my high-heeled boots and made me put on a pair of Leo’s galoshes, which were like canoes on my feet. But after stepping in crap for the fifth time, I was grateful for them.

  I took pictures everywhere, sneaking in a few of Leo with his land in the background, dirt on his hands, a smile on his face, and the love for what he did shining through with everything. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had yet with the pictures I’d taken, but I knew they’d lead me where I needed to go with this campaign.

  Leo moved the animals around the farm to keep things trimmed down, and to provide a kick-ass place for the chickens to relax all day. I’d already seen the chickens and their charming coop-on-wheels get moved onto a freshly sheep-mown pasture. Then we went to see the sheep on the next field, fluffy and white and bleating away as the wind ruffled their coats. Now we were finally moving on to the moo cows, which I’d fight to my death to call them despite Polly’s disdain.

  I wondered if Leo had any idea how much trouble he was going to be in when that very smart girl turned into a teenager. I grinned to myself.

  And speaking of grinning, Roxie looked like the Cheshire cat, even bouncing a little in the front seat as Leo drove his Jeep to the cow pasture.

  “What’s with the grin?” I asked her, leaning forward.

  “Who, me?” she asked with a wide smile. “I’m just having a great day. I’ve got my best friend here, I’m sleeping with the hottest farmer since Almanzo Wilder—”

  “Don’t let her fool you, Natalie. She’d throw me over in a second if the actual Almanzo was available,” Leo interjected.

  “—and the sun is shining. What more could anyone ask for?” Roxie finished, brushing a few pieces of my hair back away from my face and fussing with my headband.

  “A dirty martini and couple of nudie magazines?” I asked brightly, earning a high five from Leo.

  “Dirty, I can manage,” Roxie said suggestively.

  And just as I turned to ask her what she meant, I saw Oscar. In the field, surrounded by moo cows.

  “Fuck me,” I breathed as we pulled up to the gate. Behind him was a parade of fall colors, rich browns and bright reds and oranges. Around him, pretty-looking cattle, deep red and silky brown, with big, gentle eyes. And in the middle of it all, this golden man.

  Vaguely in the background, where my internal soundtrack plays, I could hear the opening riff of “Here Comes Your Man” by the Pixies . . .

  He looked up from the herd to our Jeep, and waved to Leo. Chestnut hair as always tucked back with a tie, black ­T-shirt with flannel shirt tied around his waist, faded blue jeans wrapped around long legs. Seeing him here, in his natural element, was even more striking than seeing him at the market in the city.

  And speaking of striking . . .

  I leaned forward and whispered to Roxie, “I can’t believe you!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t what me, lady! What are you up to?”

  Oscar was cutting across the field, his big, long strides taking up probably twenty yards at a clip. Fucking Paul Bunyan, this guy. I was pre–panic attack and getting over the pre- pretty quick.

  Leo, beautiful and oblivious, just grinned and pointed. “That’s my neighbor Oscar; I let his cows graze on my land sometimes.”

  “You don’t say.” My smile felt like it had a lot of teeth. “We’ll be right over.”

  Oscar was almost to the fence now. Just another few steps and he’d be here!

  I slid low into the backseat. “Roxie, you’re on my list. Scratch that, you are the list.” Was it possible to call a cab to a field? I started looking for an Uber signal.

  “Oh, list schmist, I’ll go back to favorite-person status the minute he gets here with that hair, which is glorious by the way,” she said, undoing her seat belt. “I wonder what kind of conditioner he uses for— What the hell are you doing?” She stared down at me.

  “Hiding. Which you should try, since once the shock wears off, I’m going to choke you.” I slid down onto the floor. “Is there a trapdoor in here?”

  “Oh, stop being so silly about this guy! It’s time to actually meet, without cheese!”

  I tugged on her shoulder frantically. “Keep your voice down! He’ll hear you!”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  My pulse was racing. What was it with this guy? And not for nothing, if I was going to meet him this weekend, which I knew was a possibility, I had an outfit and a scenario picked out to boot. Something low-cut, a low-lit bar, some witty repartee, and then hours and hours of sweet sweet fucking. Nowhere in this possible meeting was I wearing a trendy turtleneck, velvet riding jodhpurs, and another man’s poopy galoshes!

  I could hear his deep voice coming closer, answering Leo’s questions with words like “Yeah,” and “Uh-huh,” and “About ten inches.”

  I could die.

  Roxie argued with me right up until Leo and Oscar were maybe ten feet away from the Jeep. I wasn’t ready to face him yet, not yet. He existed in another space and time, a space called The Market and a time called The Best Ten Minutes of My Saturday Morning, and seeing him here and now was threatening to unravel the continuum that held our fragile universe together!

  I couldn’t stand him being real yet. So I handled things like any grown-up, professional, adult woman.

  I pulled my turtleneck up and over my face and hid inside my sweater. I could see through the weave two very distinct shadows appear over the back of the Jeep, one impossibly tall.

  I could perceive Leo looking back and forth between me and Roxie, her own shadowy figure shaking her head.


  “Um, Sugar Snap?” I heard Leo say.

  No use. I couldn’t stay inside my sweater forever. I took a deep breath, inhaling a hit of confidence from the perfumed cashmere, and peeked over the top.

  Staring down at me with a curious look was Oscar. His gray-blue eyes had a touch of amusement mixed in with the what-the-hell. And as I pulled the sweater further down my face, his eyes changed from confusion to recognition. And as realization dawned, a flare of heat flashed through them.

  “Brie,” he breathed, placing the face and my order at the same time.

  “Oh. Yes.”

  Roxie was shaking her head back and forth so quickly she was going to give herself whiplash. “I gave you the perfect opportunity, and I mean the perfect opportunity, to talk to him, to turn on the old Natalie charm and make him want you. You were trapped in a field, in a Jeep, surrounded by cows, his cows, mind you. You literally had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And what did you do?”

  “I ran,” I answered, laying my head down on the dashboard. “I. Ran.”

  “Across a field.”

  “Covered in cows.”

  “Totally covered in cows!” Roxie exploded.

  I turned my face toward her, keeping my head on the dashboard. I’d retreated back into my turtleneck, but my eyes were still peeping out, watching Roxie for any sign that I might still be bordering on charming and not psychotic. “To be fair, I didn’t run very far,” I pointed out. “I turned around.”

  “Because a cow was chasing you.”

  I went ahead and pulled the turtleneck up and over my entire head. It was true, it was all true. When he’d realized it was me, and we’d completed our Three-Word Waltz, I hadn’t waited around to see what he would say. Because like a flash, I jumped my size-eighteen ass up and over the side of the Jeep, and took off in a shuffle-hop-step across the field, one of Leo’s galoshes hanging halfway off my foot.

  Turns out gentle sweet dairy cows get startled when someone comes running, and they don’t always take too kindly to a shuffle-hop-step. One of them came after me, and although it was likely at a pace of about a mile per hour, it looked very fast in my head. I panicked, turned back around, and headed for the Jeep again, while Leo, Roxie, and a beautiful but semifuming Oscar tried to call out alternate directions to me.