Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(38)

I pulled myself out of Bailey Falls and thoughts of phone numbers. Something told me I needed to play this one easy, casual, and not crowd him. And since my instincts were unfailing in this area, I literally sat on my hands more than once to stop from texting Roxie. But I wondered what he was up to this week, and if he was thinking of me.

I was giddy. And giddy plus Natalie can equal dangerous territory.

When I was walking home after work and saw Bailey Falls Creamery cheese in the window of La Belle Fromage, my heart raced. When I saw a red flannel shirt in the window at Barneys, in a display of fashionable lumberjacks, my skin tingled. And when I saw a salami in the window of Zabar’s, it was almost more than I could bear.

I was stopping by to pick up a few things to have sent over to my parents’ house, since I’d missed brunch the previous Sunday. Work-related issues were an acceptable excuse for missing brunch, but only when cleared in advance and only when it was career enhancing. I usually adhered to this rule, but in the haste to get out of town last week I’d forgotten to call my mother, thus beginning the biggest case of recorded guilt the city had seen since my neighbor Francis Applebaum had forgotten to call his mother on Rosh Hashanah. That he’d been having an emergency appendectomy was usually overlooked in the relaying of this story, but the entire block had taken sides.

It was Wednesday night, and though I’d originally planned to have the treats delivered, it was a nice night out and I wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. I felt a little out of sorts, twitchy, perhaps a little restless? And wondering how in the world I was going to tell my mother I’d be missing brunch again this Sunday . . .

I was planning on taking the train up to Bailey Falls again on Thursday afternoon. I had a breakfast planned for Friday morning at Callahan’s with the chamber of commerce and some of the local business owners. I wanted to chat with them about what they wanted, how they saw their town, and how they’d like others to see it. Chad was helping me organize the meeting, making sure the key players were there. Roxie had already been tasked with making the cakes that would follow the meeting. If it went well, cake to celebrate. If it went not so well, then everyone would hopefully just remember the cake . . .

“You’re heading up there again? This weekend?” Dan had asked when I gave him my expense report for the week before.

“Yeah, this weekend I get to hobnob with the elite of Bailey Falls, including the mayor’s wife. You know how it is, mingling with the upper crust.” Perched on the edge of his desk, I mentally ran through my wardrobe and wondered if there’d be time to get another pair of thigh-high Chanel boots before the weekend. Sadly, the extended vacation they’d taken in the mud and the water had ruined them. Twenty-two hundred dollars, down the drain.

Oscar did say he’d like me in the boots, though, and only the boots . . .

“You’ll be back Monday?” Dan asked, interrupting my daydream.

“That’s the plan. I’ll take the train back home on Sunday.”

“Staying up there the entire weekend again? Two Saturday nights in a row, this town has been deprived of Natalie Grayson. I’m surprised the lights didn’t dim on Broadway,” he teased.

“I’m dedicated, what can I say?” I laughed, snatching back the expense reports after he signed them and running them down to accounting before he could ask me any more questions.

And speaking of questions . . .

“I just don’t understand. What in the world could possibly be so interesting upstate that would keep you away from brunch? I mean, it’s brunch, for God’s sake, Natalie,” my mother was saying, walking from the kitchen to the dining room with a tray to arrange the cookies I’d brought. “Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Mom,” I said, biting into one of the cookies.

“I must be, since I’m not understanding this. Two Sundays in a row, Natalie. Two!”

“Ma! It’s for work, okay? New campaign. I’m working with out-of-town clients, and I’m still collecting information. Its research that I need to do, and it helps when I’m in the place I’m actually supposed to be selling to everyone, you know?”

“I understand that, but—”

“And Roxie’s there. It’s great to see her, and meet her new boyfriend and her friends, and it’s a great little town. It’s . . . I don’t know . . . it’s nice,” I muffled my voice with a cookie, “spending some time out of the city.”

She blinked several times. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

“Who’s the he that’s making you miss brunch all the time.”

“All the time?” I laughed. “Two brunches is hardly ‘all the time.’”

“Quit deflecting,” she said, sitting down across from me at the table. She’d been in her studio today; she had paint under her nails. She had a new show coming up soon, her first in a few years. “You’ve met someone.”

“You’re psychotic.”

“That’s twice now you’ve changed the subject or not answered me directly.”

“Maybe because you’re being psychotic,” I said through the cookie.

“You always tell me about the guys you’re dating. Why aren’t you telling me about this one?”