Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(47)
“Of course,” I replied, reaching down to tangle my fingers with his.
“When are you heading back home?”
“Not until Sunday.”
“I’ll text you when I get back tomorrow, see what you’re up to?”
I wanted more than anything else to say That sounds great, and then maybe we can have more of the naked.
But what I said was, “I’ve got a pretty full day, sightseeing with Chad and Logan, and meeting some more business owners who couldn’t make it this morning.” All true, and all decidedly unclingy.
I didn’t kiss him again when he dropped me off at Roxie’s, making a joke about my red lipstick. But he kissed me; on my neck, under my ear, on my nose, on each eyelid, and the center of my collarbone, his breath tickling at my skin as it bloomed frosty and white in the chilly air.
When I said good-bye and waved him back into the car, breathless and silly, I snuck a last glance at his lips, and checked that there was still a noticeable lipstick stain . . .
Rain check, indeed.
Chapter 14
“I love that that is what you’re wearing for a walking tour,” Logan said when I opened Roxie’s front door. He laughed, motioning to my wedge-heeled boots.
“What? Chad said boots,” I rebuffed, pointing a toe forward. I waved a hand at his getup. “Are we stopping by Lands’ End for a catalogue shoot?”
“Har-har. Let’s get moving.”
“Where’s your equally gorgeous other half?” I asked, looking around him to see the porch and car empty of Chad. Logan smoothed his hair back, giving me a view of those damn cheekbones. Good Lord. I’d only seen them together, as some kind of Gorgeous Team. But Logan was the kind of good-looking that stood on its own. “He’s ordering at the coffee shop while I fetched you.”
With Oscar in the city, selling his wares and getting his swoon on (I was under no illusion that I was the only one in his line swooning), I was heading out with Chad and Logan to see the must-sees and -do’s of Bailey Falls. It was something that I’d been meaning to do, but when given the choice between spending free time being pranced through town or being bundled up in warm dairy farmer . . . not so much of a choice.
The tour would afford me incredible insider information—and not to mention uninterrupted time with my two new favorite guys.
By the time we pulled in front of the café, I was as in love with Logan as I was with his husband. We parked and were joined by Chad, carrying a few bags and a tray of coffee.
“Is it coffee or tar?” I asked warily, sniffing the cup, grateful when he assured me that it was the former.
We air-kissed quickly before he planted a solid one on his husband. In the middle of the town square on a Saturday morning, while families of all kinds passed by on the crowded sidewalk. Another mark in the plus column for Bailey Falls, and one worth mentioning. Having a place city couples could escape to in the country, and still enjoy their lifestyle without scorn and scuffle, was something I felt very happy to be selling.
“So, where are we off to first?” I asked around a mouthful of banana nut muffin.
Chad handed his coffee to his husband and pulled out a list from his pocket.
1. Stroll through town
2. Bryant Mountain House
3. The Tube
“The Tube?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Swimming hole.”
“I don’t have a suit. And it’s a bit nippy.” I thrust my chest out to further cement the idea.
“Trust me,” Chad insisted.
“And we’re doing this by foot?” I asked, seriously rethinking my choice of footwear.
“Mostly,” Logan said knowingly. “We’ve got a carriage taking us up to Bryant.”
Oh, thank God.
“Where are we starting?”
Chad pulled out his keys and unlocked his car. Grabbing a camera bag, he said, “We’re getting more of those photos that you wanted for the campaign around town first. Then heading up to Bryant to tour the grounds.”
We finished our quick breakfast and started out. The town was just opening up its shutters on a lazy, cool Saturday morning. Chad and Logan walked beside me, answering any questions I had about a business or a townsperson. With the sunlight coloring the town just right, we stopped every few feet to take a photo. Some were just signs; others were of the owners in the doorways. Anything to illustrate just how special this town was.
By the time we reached the pickup spot for the carriage, I was happy to sit.
Bryant Mountain House was as much a part of this community as anything else around here. One of the original Catskills resorts, it was built back in the mid-1800s when city folk were beginning to realize the benefit of traveling out to the country and “taking the air.” Built into the mountain, the place had every amenity that a vacationing New Yorker would need. I took notes in my phone as they gave me its history, and I sent myself a text to make a reservation for a few nights to see what the fuss was all about.
On the way back down the mountain, we stopped so I could change my shoes before heading over to The Tube.
“It’s a little cold for us to skinny-dip. Or are you two going to hop in and give me a show while I stay warm on the shore watching?”
Logan laughed. “You wish.”