Nuts
Page 18
As I paused to sip my chai, two hands suddenly appeared in my field of vision. Rough. Ready. And . . . dirty? These hands set a small basket on the table, filled with . . . sugar snap peas. Oh man. I looked at Chad and Logan, both of whom looked positively delighted at the turn this morning was taking. Dammit.
I sighed, then turned slowly in my seat to find Leo standing behind me, wearing an equally delighted look.
“Your last name is Maxwell, isn’t it?” I asked, looking up into his eyes.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, making sure to wave his “dirty” farmer hands. “Brought you some sugar snaps. I picked those with my very own blue-blood hands.” His eyes danced.
I picked up the peas, prepared to eat crow. Standing up, I turned toward him to apologize for the other day and the snarky comments I’d just made. But as I turned, I tripped on the leg of the chair, my forehead hitting his chest as I pitched forward into him, taking us both to the floor once more, sugar snap peas flying everywhere again. Only this time I landed on top of him.
Facedown. Between his thighs. As you do.
The Chad Bowman and The Logan O’Reilly applauded and took pictures.
The next moments unfolded in slow motion: those rough hands on my shoulders, lifting me off and brushing my hair from my face, one corner of his mouth raising again as he surveyed me from this reverse vantage point. He groaned as he sat up, no doubt because my frozen body was still draped across his. His chuckle as he brushed off the peas that clung to his farmery chest muscles. And then the flash of mischief in his eyes as he watched me look around wildly, trying to figure out how to get any shred of dignity I may still have left.
I could see people watching, faces I recognized, that knew me. I knew the story would be all around town within the hour, with nothing better to do in Bailey Falls on a Saturday morning than to tattle on Trudy’s daughter, back in town one day and as klutzy as ever. The Hippie and the Trippie. Still on the floor, tangled with this gorgeous man, I could feel my old self telling me to run, to hide, and pretend this never happened.
Fuck all that noise.
“So, was this your idea of a peace offering?” I asked, plucking a pea pod from his sandy blond hair and twirling it between my fingertips. For the record, I was still draped across his lower half.
“I suppose so,” he chuckled. “Although technically, you’ve now literally thrown yourself at me twice. Shouldn’t you be offering me something?” His eyes were warm, and a little challenging. He seemed to be asking me to play.
Okay Farmer Boy, let’s play.
I propped myself up, hand under one chin, like I was sitting at a desk instead of hovering over his plowshare. “I’ve got half a bagel on that table up there. You’re welcome to it.”
“Before I eat your bagel, we should be formally introduced, don’t you think?”
He licked his lower lip. I very nearly did the same. I’d lick his lower lip till the cows came home.
“Roxie.”
“Leo.”
“Dying!” Chad proclaimed from the table above. I looked up and grimaced as Chad and Logan peered down, gleeful. Understandable. We were covered in peas.
Spell broken, we untangled, then retrieved the sugar snaps that were scattered across the barn floor. Leo helped me up, keeping his hand at my waist a half second longer than he needed to. We faced the peanut gallery, who hadn’t helped retrieve a single pea, watching with wide grins.
I looked at my plate. “Whoops, more like a quarter of a bagel. But say the word and it’s all yours.”
“I’ll pass,” he replied, lifting one eyebrow. “For now.”
“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee, to say sorry for all the falling down?”
He looked over his shoulder toward the Maxwell Farm stand. The line was still long. “I should get back—Saturday mornings are always busy.” He looked genuinely sorry to have to turn down my offer. “Rain check?”
“Sure. I’ll be here all summer,” I said. For the first time, without a hint of grumble.
He grinned, then nodded good-bye to the guys. As he strode off through the crowd, I sank back into my chair with a sigh, poking at my bagel.
“He’s single, you know,” Chad murmured, making me look up from my plate.
“Not a concern, but thank you,” I said primly. “You’re as bad as the waitresses at the diner. I received a similar report from them.” A report they didn’t know they were sharing with me, but still . . .
“He doesn’t date,” Chad added, his face impassive.
“Perfect. Me either,” I purred, watching Leo make his way across the barn.
“Sure.”
Neither of them offered any further information, so I pulled my gaze off Leo’s backside, which was magnificent, and back to my bagel mates.
I sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. He doesn’t date at all? You know this, how?”
“He hasn’t since we’ve been back in town,” said Logan.
“And that’s why so many of the ladies here are always flocking to his stand at the market. Not just for his veggies,” Chad added.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I told them.
“Look at your nose just grow and grow,” said Chad, eyes dancing.
“I may have noticed his line was a wee bit longer than most,” I conceded.
“God willing,” Logan mumbled.
“Stop it.” I suppressed a giggle.
“For the record, when I said he doesn’t date, that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t . . . you know . . .” Chad said meaningfully.
I sighed, then turned slowly in my seat to find Leo standing behind me, wearing an equally delighted look.
“Your last name is Maxwell, isn’t it?” I asked, looking up into his eyes.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, making sure to wave his “dirty” farmer hands. “Brought you some sugar snaps. I picked those with my very own blue-blood hands.” His eyes danced.
I picked up the peas, prepared to eat crow. Standing up, I turned toward him to apologize for the other day and the snarky comments I’d just made. But as I turned, I tripped on the leg of the chair, my forehead hitting his chest as I pitched forward into him, taking us both to the floor once more, sugar snap peas flying everywhere again. Only this time I landed on top of him.
Facedown. Between his thighs. As you do.
The Chad Bowman and The Logan O’Reilly applauded and took pictures.
The next moments unfolded in slow motion: those rough hands on my shoulders, lifting me off and brushing my hair from my face, one corner of his mouth raising again as he surveyed me from this reverse vantage point. He groaned as he sat up, no doubt because my frozen body was still draped across his. His chuckle as he brushed off the peas that clung to his farmery chest muscles. And then the flash of mischief in his eyes as he watched me look around wildly, trying to figure out how to get any shred of dignity I may still have left.
I could see people watching, faces I recognized, that knew me. I knew the story would be all around town within the hour, with nothing better to do in Bailey Falls on a Saturday morning than to tattle on Trudy’s daughter, back in town one day and as klutzy as ever. The Hippie and the Trippie. Still on the floor, tangled with this gorgeous man, I could feel my old self telling me to run, to hide, and pretend this never happened.
Fuck all that noise.
“So, was this your idea of a peace offering?” I asked, plucking a pea pod from his sandy blond hair and twirling it between my fingertips. For the record, I was still draped across his lower half.
“I suppose so,” he chuckled. “Although technically, you’ve now literally thrown yourself at me twice. Shouldn’t you be offering me something?” His eyes were warm, and a little challenging. He seemed to be asking me to play.
Okay Farmer Boy, let’s play.
I propped myself up, hand under one chin, like I was sitting at a desk instead of hovering over his plowshare. “I’ve got half a bagel on that table up there. You’re welcome to it.”
“Before I eat your bagel, we should be formally introduced, don’t you think?”
He licked his lower lip. I very nearly did the same. I’d lick his lower lip till the cows came home.
“Roxie.”
“Leo.”
“Dying!” Chad proclaimed from the table above. I looked up and grimaced as Chad and Logan peered down, gleeful. Understandable. We were covered in peas.
Spell broken, we untangled, then retrieved the sugar snaps that were scattered across the barn floor. Leo helped me up, keeping his hand at my waist a half second longer than he needed to. We faced the peanut gallery, who hadn’t helped retrieve a single pea, watching with wide grins.
I looked at my plate. “Whoops, more like a quarter of a bagel. But say the word and it’s all yours.”
“I’ll pass,” he replied, lifting one eyebrow. “For now.”
“Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee, to say sorry for all the falling down?”
He looked over his shoulder toward the Maxwell Farm stand. The line was still long. “I should get back—Saturday mornings are always busy.” He looked genuinely sorry to have to turn down my offer. “Rain check?”
“Sure. I’ll be here all summer,” I said. For the first time, without a hint of grumble.
He grinned, then nodded good-bye to the guys. As he strode off through the crowd, I sank back into my chair with a sigh, poking at my bagel.
“He’s single, you know,” Chad murmured, making me look up from my plate.
“Not a concern, but thank you,” I said primly. “You’re as bad as the waitresses at the diner. I received a similar report from them.” A report they didn’t know they were sharing with me, but still . . .
“He doesn’t date,” Chad added, his face impassive.
“Perfect. Me either,” I purred, watching Leo make his way across the barn.
“Sure.”
Neither of them offered any further information, so I pulled my gaze off Leo’s backside, which was magnificent, and back to my bagel mates.
I sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. He doesn’t date at all? You know this, how?”
“He hasn’t since we’ve been back in town,” said Logan.
“And that’s why so many of the ladies here are always flocking to his stand at the market. Not just for his veggies,” Chad added.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I told them.
“Look at your nose just grow and grow,” said Chad, eyes dancing.
“I may have noticed his line was a wee bit longer than most,” I conceded.
“God willing,” Logan mumbled.
“Stop it.” I suppressed a giggle.
“For the record, when I said he doesn’t date, that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t . . . you know . . .” Chad said meaningfully.
