Nuts (Hudson Valley, #1)(33)

I squashed that thought as I headed into town. As the sun crept over the mountains, I moaned and groaned about how early it was the entire way to the diner. Yet there was something about the air this early, especially in the summer. It was clean and fresh as I drove with my windows down. Though the forecast called for rain, right now the skies were clear, without a trace of humidity.

I yawned as I pulled into my spot behind the diner. I’d slept particularly poorly last night. Was it because I’d had a farmer ambling in and out of my dreams? And in and out of . . . Well. Yes, indeed. I touched my lips in remembrance of the feel of his mouth on mine, and with a secretive smile, I unlocked the back door and started my day.

By 8 a.m. I had veggies prepped for the day, six batches of blue-ribbon meat loaf mixed up and ready for the oven for the lunch service, and I was barking right back at Maxine and Sandy when they asked for four on two over easy, and fry two, let the sun shine. I ran the griddle until Carl came in at 9, then I headed into the walk-in fridge to see about something new for tomorrow’s lunch special. Wednesday had been Beef Stew Day since time began, but I thought I might try something a little different. If Albert was willing to try something new, some of the other stalwart customers might be open to it as well. Modifying the stew wasn’t exactly negotiating a peace treaty in the Middle East, but it could be my own little victory.

Propping the door of the walk-in open a bit to avoid becoming trapped, I perused the shelves, noting my mother’s disorganization. “Carl, you good if I work in here for a bit? Rearrange some things?” I called out.

“Sure, sure Roxie, leave me alone out here,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

I knew he was happier when he was left alone. Carl had worked here as long as anyone can remember; even my mother wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. One of my earliest memories was Carl flicking water on the griddle to clean it off. I liked working with him. He was quiet, he didn’t let the waitresses pull him into any drama, and he never lost his cool, even when we were at our busiest.

I stepped back out into the kitchen to grab my sweatshirt. “Call me if you get in the weeds, okay?” I stepped back into the walk-in, grabbed the clipboard from its hook, and started doing an inventory.

As I did, I rearranged everything so that like went with like. Proteins on one side, vegetables and fruit on the other. The menu was so heavily dependent on the standard diner items (Salisbury steak, chicken pot pie, burgers, etc.) that the fresh selection was a bit sparse; most of the fresh deliveries went directly into the freezer for later. As I reorganized, I started thinking of ways I could repurpose some of these ingredients. I was deeply engrossed in calculating how many pounds of potatoes I needed for fries and if I’d have enough left over to do a fennel and potato gratin when I heard a knock on the propped-open door.

“I’m coming, Carl,” I called, setting down the clipboard and starting to push open the door.

“Why am I suddenly jealous of Carl?” Leo filled up the doorway with his big body and grin.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as he took a step toward me. “It’s not your normal delivery day.”

“Would you believe me if I said I had some beets to bring by?”

“It would depend on the beet,” I said. “What else you got?”

“What are you wearing?” he asked, taking another step.

I backed up into the lettuce. “This?” I opened the sides of my very attractive gray zip-up hoodie.

“It’s pretty f*cking great,” he said, taking the last step and slipping his hands inside my sweatshirt, settling low around my hips.

“You didn’t really bring me beets, did you?” I said, not feeling the cold around me at all. I let my hands come up to his chest, sliding up and around his neck.

“I did,” he murmured, his thumbs sliding underneath my T-shirt the tiniest bit. “I brought mad beets.”

“Oh man,” I snorted, which changed to a snortmmm as he nuzzled my neck. “Did you bring me anything else?”

He brought his face back to mine, tinged with the slightest of blush. “I hesitate to say it now.”

“What did you bring?” I asked, shaking his shoulders.

He buried his head once again into my neck. “A really big zucchini” was the muffled reply, and I threw my head back and laughed. He continued on his nuzzle path, now sweeping kisses back up toward my ear.

“I’m taking my beets and going home,” he whispered, and my laughter stopped as he licked my skin.

“No, no, you went to all that trouble to bring me that zucchini. At least let me see it.”

He groaned into my neck. “Now you’re just killing me.” He made to pull away, and I tugged him back.

“You should stay just another minute,” I said, turning my head to allow him better access to my sweet spot. Well, the sweetest spot accessible right now. “Oh yeah . . . you should definitely stay another minute . . . or seven.”

He answered with a kiss on my collarbone. “Is that the diner version of Seven Minutes in Heaven? I feel like a teenager.”

“I’ll go you one better,” I said, arching up into him, feeling my breasts press against his chest. “My mom’s out of town; you wanna come over for dinner tonight?”

“Now you’re talking,” he told my bra strap, which he was pushing aside to dance little kisses on the skin underneath. My shoulder was in heaven. He gathered my hair back into his fist, sweeping it off my shoulders. He inhaled deeply. “Did anyone ever tell you that you smell like honey?”