Cream of the Crop
Page 63
Score one for me, with my specifically chosen use of the word we.
“Oh yes, when Oscar came to help, he suggested we come pick you up on our way to the auto shop. He arranged to have my car towed there for me.”
Score two for the Girl Scout for managing to not only use we to her advantage, but slip in an our for good measure.
“Well, Oscar’s good like that, isn’t he? He’d never leave a woman stranded on the side of the road.” I smiled through my teeth, to make sure she knew I had them.
She showed me her own toothy smile. “He’s sweet, looking after me the way he does.”
“Hopefully you’ll bake him some more muffins.” I smiled back just as sweetly. “I loved the last batch—they were great for breakfast.”
We drove across town toward the shop where Missy’s car had been towed, tension thick inside the cab. I wasn’t mad; what kind of a guy would he be if he left her stranded on the side of the road?
On the other hand, what kind of ex-wife was she, calling only Oscar when she had honey-do’s to be done? She’d had her chance; it was my turn to have my honey done.
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 fucking 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.
“Oh yes, when Oscar came to help, he suggested we come pick you up on our way to the auto shop. He arranged to have my car towed there for me.”
Score two for the Girl Scout for managing to not only use we to her advantage, but slip in an our for good measure.
“Well, Oscar’s good like that, isn’t he? He’d never leave a woman stranded on the side of the road.” I smiled through my teeth, to make sure she knew I had them.
She showed me her own toothy smile. “He’s sweet, looking after me the way he does.”
“Hopefully you’ll bake him some more muffins.” I smiled back just as sweetly. “I loved the last batch—they were great for breakfast.”
We drove across town toward the shop where Missy’s car had been towed, tension thick inside the cab. I wasn’t mad; what kind of a guy would he be if he left her stranded on the side of the road?
On the other hand, what kind of ex-wife was she, calling only Oscar when she had honey-do’s to be done? She’d had her chance; it was my turn to have my honey done.
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 fucking 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.
