Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(81)

“Natalie, I’m just teasing you,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Not all women can cook.”

Logically, I know he didn’t mean anything by it. But I wasn’t feeling logical right now: I wanted to have cute muffins like everyone else. I could have tried harder, I could have listened better, but—

Fuck that. Natalie Grayson wasn’t a Susie Homemaker. And I wasn’t ever going to be.

“Don’t worry, I’ll share my muffins with you,” he offered, draping his arm over my shoulder. He looked proud when Roxie pulled his tray out of the oven.

They were perfect. For all the screwing around he and Leo did throughout the class, they managed to not f*ck it up. The muffins were light golden brown and smelled fantastic. Had Missy taught him how to bake?

Jealousy wasn’t something I liked to experience. Add in my failure of the evening, and I was downright cranky. And what was this other feeling, making the backs of my eyes burn? Suddenly I wanted to be at home, in my apartment, ordering takeout and not feeling all the feels.

“You know what, I’m not feeling that well. I think I’m going to head back into the city.”

Oscars eyebrows rose. “Now?”

“Yeah, can you run me back to the station? I can be at home and in bed by eleven. Do you mind?”

“Well, no, I mean of course I want you to feel better, but I thought that we’d get a chance to—”

“Not tonight. I need to go home,” I interrupted, not sure why I needed to so badly, but home right now sounded like a better place to be.

His disappointment spoke volumes, and part of me really wanted to explain. But how could I when I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling? It was hard enough figuring out my own shit, let alone having to worry about how he might take it.

As I gathered my things, Roxie handed out the trays labeled with the students’ names. It was little touches like that that I wanted to make sure I included.

As she hugged me good-bye she said, “We can make something else next time you’re in town.”

“I’ll pass,” I said firmly, and kissed her on the cheek. “This class is f*cking fantastic.”

She nodded thanks, looking like she wanted to ask me what was going on, but knowing me well enough to leave it alone.

Oscar drove me to the station, I kissed him good-bye, and was back in my bed by eleven as promised. Though I didn’t fall asleep for a long time . . .



Over the next week I thought about what had happened at the cooking class, and I wanted to do something to make it up to Oscar. And I think I knew just the thing . . .

“It’s just like babysitting,” I told Roxie over the phone.

“It’s a hundred percent not just like babysitting.”

“But it could be—it’s just a matter of rebranding it.”

“Then call Clara to babysit your boyfriend’s cows! She’s the rebranding expert.”

“First of all, Clara can’t babysit cows; she doesn’t have the necessary skill set. Second of all, I resent you insinuating that she’s the only rebranding expert around—I’m an expert, too. Third of all, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not your boyfriend—that’s hilarious!”

“Fourth of all, I’m not asking you to babysit Oscar’s cows; I’m asking your boyfriend to do it. So Oscar can spend the entire weekend in the city with me.”

I held my breath and waited. We’d been texting all day about this, and I’d finally called her to see if I could work some magic this way.

It was Thursday afternoon, my desk was covered with All Things Bailey Falls as I worked on the Hudson Valley campaign, and all the pictures of fall leaves and glacial lakes and down-home family fun were making me horny.

In my head, that sounded better . . .

I’d woken up this morning with the brilliant idea of asking Oscar to come into the city a day early and spend the entire weekend with me. A real New York weekend.

Oscar didn’t have the same kinds of responsibilities a regular boyfri— Er . . . guy would have. It wasn’t as simple as canceling a tennis match or theater tickets; Oscar’s plans involved other people each weekend. Not to mention bovines.

So I was trying to get Roxie to help me smooth the way before I broached the subject. Since Oscar’s herd seemed to enjoy pasturing over on Maxwell Farms occasionally, maybe they could have a weekend getaway, too?

Oscar would have the final say, of course, but my analytical mind liked to always present problems with solutions, getting out ahead of any possible no’s in order to make it a yes. Or at least a very firm maybe . . .

Because when it came to firm, I needed it. Bad. I’d been strung out in orgasm withdrawal all week, and if I didn’t get some this weekend . . . well, then . . .

“Just talk to Leo, see what he says. If he says no, then fine. But if he says yes—”

Roxie laughed. “It’s not like watching somebody’s dog for the weekend, Nat. It’s a little bit bigger deal.”

“Yeah, but all you farmers are tight up there, helping each other out all the time and all, right? Don’t the Amish always get together, raise each other’s barns and such?”

“We’re not Amish.”

“Semantics. Say you’ll do it,” I commanded, pounding on my desk with my fist, trying to be as forceful as possible. “I need to get laid.”