Nuts (Hudson Valley, #1)(50)

Still looking a bit disturbed, he poked at the little bit of garlic left on the plate. Checking to see if it was a tiny fish perhaps? “Anyway, yeah, the chef. He’d come over, make some super fancy stuff for the guests, but once things were under way he’d make a pan of pasta just for me. Sometimes he’d throw in something extra, if there was lobster or crab, something like that. But good god damn, it was incredible.” He smiled a little at the memory.

“Did they have a lot of parties?” I asked, thinking about what a party at the Maxwells’ must have been like.

“All the time,” he said, his expression changing a bit as he moved away from the pasta memory and onto something else. “There were always people in town on business, or families who were on holiday, deals to be brokered—some kind of bullshit. My family hardly ever ate dinner together. They were either out with friends, or we had friends over, but just our family? By ourselves? Not often. A lot of nights, it was just me and my sister, Lauren. And Angela.”

“Another sister?”

“Nanny. Gabriela was there in the morning, but Angela was there afternoons and evenings.” He smiled as he said it, but there it was again, that fleeting sadness. Maybe there was something to the “poor little rich boy” cliché.

“Where’s your sister now?” I asked.

“She’s still in the city, works with my dad. She heads up our international division. I don’t see her much.” He looked lost in thought.

“When we had parties at my house we made ice cream out back with a hand crank, and whoever my mother was dating grilled hot dogs or sausages. Someone brought potato salad, we’d bring coleslaw from the diner, and the adults would play horseshoes until everything was ready to eat. It was all sticky fingers and mosquito bites and half-burned hot dogs and enough Kool-Aid spilled to bring every ant east of the Hudson into our backyard.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Leo replied.

I thought back to those lazy days. The sun baking down and everything as bright as a crayon box, and the entire world boiled down to a skinned knee or a stubbed toe. And I realized something all of a sudden. “You know what, it kind of was.” My gaze traveled around the well-worn kitchen: the scratched linoleum, the little bit of peeling paint, the height chart that was still on the doorframe from when I grew up. I slid my foot across the floor under the table and covered his foot with mine.

We sat in silence again, this one a little different, heavier. We each seemed lost in our own memories. He, perhaps thinking of a childhood filled with nannies and fancy. Me, thinking of a childhood filled with nothing fancy and full of love, not knowing how rich my life had been.

Now my world boiled down to a warm foot tucked under mine. And when he rose and pulled me into his arms, then led me back upstairs to my creaky twin bed, I didn’t even think about giving him my standard speech about my insomnia and not being able to sleep with someone else in my bed. I just let him tuck around me and spoon.

And color me the most surprised when I slept five whole hours that night.





Chapter 14


Five whole hours was luxurious. Equally luxurious was the way those hours ended. Soft lips tracing a path across my shoulder, a deliciously callused hand pulling me back against a warm chest, and then—oh!—as Leo thrust into me from behind.

I came back to this memory over and over again while I worked in the diner, trying to concentrate on steak and eggs, when all I could think about was the way his eyes burned into mine as he f*cked me on my front porch. I poured coffee, I flipped burgers, I did what I could to not think about the night before—and the fact that I’d slept with a man for the first time in my entire life. As in forty winks. Mr. Sandman.

I was deep in piecrust, not thinking about this at all, when Chad Bowman sidled up to the counter looking like he was headed out to Montauk for some boating. Pleated navy shorts, spiffy white Sperrys, and a salmon polo shirt. Not pink, not peach, not sunset or orange. Salmon, for pity’s sake. All that was missing was the knit cardigan around his shoul—And there it was. He tied it into a perfect loop around his broad shoulders and popped a pair of silver aviators onto his blond hair.

“You look like something out of a catalog,” I said, tugging on his popped collar. The. Popped. Collar. “J. Crew called, you’re wanted on page sixty-nine.”

He preened, his tan skin pinking under my praise. “As Queen Bey says, I woke up like this.” Smirking, he gave me the once-over. Then he gave me a twice-over.

I smoothed my hair automatically, straightening my apron. Could he see? Could he tell? Surely he couldn’t—

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, settling onto a stool and giving me a knowing look.

“Mmm-hmm what?” I asked, smoothing my apron again.

“Oh, you know exactly what, Little Miss Crushing on a Farmer.”

“I am not crushing on a farmer!” I snapped, loud enough that the entire diner fell silent. Which never happens. Forks hovered, mouths hung open, and every pair of eyes was on me. I’m pretty sure they were all picturing me naked.

Judging by the glint in his eye, Chad was picturing Leo naked.

A wave of embarrassment flashed over me, hot and fast. I didn’t like my business being put out there. And I was pretty sure Leo wouldn’t like his business out there either.

“Mmm-hmm.” He lifted up his menu, which shook as he laughed quietly.