Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(66)

On the third hand (work with me), I was hardly in a position to be thinking about Oscar in any way but a fun weekend thing. This wasn’t my territory, there was no reason to be pissy.

On the fourth hand, if no one was at fault here and it was just three people who didn’t truly bear anyone any ill will, then this was just silliness and I could be the bigger person.

“So, Natalie, I was planning on making another batch of pumpkin muffins this weekend, but if you’re here, maybe I should whip up my low-fat bran cookies instead. Lots of fiber, not so much sugar, better for us girls when we’re watching our figures.”

And with my fifth hand, I’d slap the shit out of—

“Natalie doesn’t need to watch her figure.” Oscar sounded amused, but his voice held a note of warning. My grin was so wide it could have pulled in neighboring planets.

Now tell her not to bake you any more muffins! No more muffins!

“You know I like those blueberry ones you make, with the maple drizzle?” he asked, and Missy beamed triumphantly.

I stared out the window. Who cares? She can only bake him muffins. You get to watch him eat them naked.

While I might not be his future, I was his present, and she was his past. Once she shut the hell up about blueberries and climbed out of this truck, I’d be the one f*cking his brains out.

My grin was back.



At the garage, Oscar went inside with Missy to make sure everything was sorted out. A new battery was being installed, so once he knew she’d be on her way, Oscar said good-bye and returned to the truck.

I said nothing when he climbed in. And I said nothing when he pulled out, heading down the road. The silence pressed in on both of us, begging to be noticed.

Finally, he looked my way. “You okay over there?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He chewed on that a moment. “Is that a loaded mm-hmm? Like when a woman says mm-hmm, but it means the opposite of mm-hmm?”

“Mm-hmm,” I answered, letting my eyebrows do the rest of the talking.

“Look, I’m sorry I surprised you like that. That isn’t how I planned to start this weekend. But she was stranded—what was I supposed to do?”

“You did the right thing, of course,” I said, turning to face him. “But do you always have to be the one she calls? Doesn’t she have someone else to fix her water heater or take her to get her car fixed?”

“Why wouldn’t she call me?” he asked, looking genuinely curious. Oh, bless his heart.

“I’m just saying that not all exes are on such good terms.”

“It would be better if we were nasty with each other?” he asked, and I had to shake my head. Damn him and his common sense sometimes.

“Of course not. It’s actually refreshing to see two people who used to be married still be good friends,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I just wonder if that’s all she wants—friendship.”

“Missy? And me? Oh no, she doesn’t want that any more than I do. And I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. Oh, bless his heart twice.

He turned off the main road, heading underneath the archway for Maxwell Farms.

I looked at him, then looked back at the sign. “What are we doing here?”

“Remember, I told you, I’m helping Leo get ready for the Halloween festival tomorrow.”

Dammit, I had forgotten. All those thoughts of potential road head, then commonsense ex-wives, and I plum forgot.

I looked at the fine mist of rain sprinkling down, then looked at my four-inch booties. Dammit. I really need to start packing more—ugh—practical shoes.

Turned out that most of the work we’d be doing was in the barn, which was great for me and my booties.

Roxie was there, and she gave a surprised shriek when she saw me. “What are you doing here? Did I know you were coming? I’ve been baking damned pumpkin pies for three days for this festival, so it’s quite possible I forgot you were coming. Yes, Polly?”

Leo’s daughter was tugging at her shirttail, holding up a mason jar.

“Oh crap. I mean, not crap! Ugh, that’s three, isn’t it?” Roxie asked.

Polly laughed delightedly. “Yeah—twice just now, and the one about the pumpkin pies.” She held out the mason jar while Roxie rummaged in her jeans pockets.

“I’ve got fifty cents, that’s it. Natalie, you got a quarter?”

“I think so. What’s this for?” I asked, digging through my purse. I handed over a quarter, then looked at her expectantly.

Polly said, “I started a bad-word jar, because Roxie is so bad about not saying bad words. I’ve got almost fifteen dollars already!”

“That’s all? I’m surprised it’s not more,” I said, watching as Roxie dropped the money into the jar.

“Fifteen dollars just this week!” Polly told me.

“That makes more sense,” I agreed, digging back into my purse. “Here you go—here’s a dollar in advance, for the next four.”

“Awesome! That’ll take us through the rest of tonight, I bet!” Watching Polly tease Roxie was pretty great, and I could tell by observing the two of them it was enjoyed by both. “But Oscar never has to give me money for the bad-word jar.”

“Nope,” Oscar said with a stoic look on his face. “Unlike these ladies, I’m a gentleman.”