Nuts (Hudson Valley, #1)(58)
“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?” an 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.