Cream of the Crop
Page 24

Eventually the silence became too much to bear, and Roxie jumped right in.
“So, Oscar, did you know that Natalie is here to help put Bailey Falls on the map? From an advertising perspective, that is.”
“Your name’s Natalie?” he asked, once again conveying an entire world of words in a simple three. He’d had his thigh between mine, his hands on my hips, and his mouth all over my face earlier, and only now is he realizing he doesn’t even know my name? Mmm, how scandalous!
“It is,” I answered, brushing my strawberry-blond hair over my shoulder, revealing the full power of my bosom. His eyes flared. Naturally. “Your town councilman Chad Bowman wrote to our firm in the city asking for some help. They want to bring more money into your adorable town, more tourists.”
“Tourists.” He chuffed like a horse. Go back to the part where his thigh was pressed between mine, and I can attest that his chuffing wasn’t the only resemblance to a horse. Hung like a . . . “Why do we need tourists?”
“They can add significant income to any small town—especially one that not only captures the natural beauty of the landscape, but also has something that I haven’t seen featured in any other travel publication regarding the Hudson Valley.” I popped in a prawn.
“What’s that?” Leo asked, as Oscar continued his laser lock on me.
I chewed, thought about how to phrase this, and then decided on the direct approach. “Hot fucking farmers, that’s what.” Leo’s eyes grew to the size of Oreos. “I mean, you two are ridiculous—how do the women in this town get any work done?”
“There’s a reason why Leo and I don’t work together,” Roxie snorted as Leo looked at her in surprise. “What? It’s true. I don’t know exactly where Natalie’s going with this, but I have to agree with her assessment.” She then turned to me. “Where are you going with this?”
“You’ve got Leo Maxwell here, heir to the Maxwell banking fortune, who gives it all up to run upstate and raise organically produced eggplants—you don’t think there’s a great story there? Before you say anything, I’m not talking about exploiting anyone here—but think about it. It’s interesting, right? When the entire country is starting to really consider where their food is coming from, and who is growing it, it’s a perfect fit. Show New Yorkers how coming to the country and touring that gorgeous farm is a great way to not only do something good, but bring new eyeballs to this fantastic town.”
Leo was shaking his head, unsure.
Undaunted, I prattled on, working on the pitch out loud as I ran with it. “I’m not talking about a Men of Bailey Falls calendar—just a few key stories placed in exactly the right magazines, exactly the right social media platforms, all about getting back to nature and experiencing a quieter way of life. Brought to you by these hot fucking farmers. All very tasteful of course, no one would even have to take their shirt off. No beefcake. Just implied gorgeous. Accidental hotness. And this guy,” I said, pointing at Oscar. “I don’t know the story here yet, but I know there must be one. A hot dairy farmer? The copy writes itself.”
Everyone had stopped eating. Leo’s forkful of prawns was poised a few inches from his mouth, frozen there as he listened to me position this in the worst possible way. Oscar gave me a long, hard look, then shrugged and returned his attention to his plate. “There’s no story here.”
Hmmm. No one without a story has ever said there’s no story here. But this wasn’t the time to dig.
“You know what, let’s table this for now. Let me finish touring the town, get to know the DNA a bit more, before we start thinking about anything concrete.” I turned to Oscar. “So, I hear you’ve got a huge barn. Care to show it me sometime?”
Roxie started coughing, and Leo handed her a glass of water and patted her on the back. “You okay there, Sugar Snap?”
I just grinned at Oscar. Who actually grinned back. Now that I’d talked to him, and been kissed by him, my old confidence had returned. He’d be putty in my hands soon enough—they always were.
Oscar leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “My barn is enormous.”
My internal soundtrack immediately began to play Salt-N-Pepa’s “Shoop,” but it was hard to hear over Roxie’s coughing.
After lunch was over, Roxie and Leo left to clean up, leaving me alone with Oscar.
“So, all kidding aside, I did really hear about your barn. Roxie said it’s over two hundred years old?”
“Two hundred and seven, built out of local fieldstone.”
“And has the farm been in your family all that time?”
“Nope.”
“Let me guess: two hundred and six?”
“Nope.” He didn’t say much, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
I snorted. “You really do have a knack for scintillating conversation, as I’m sure you’ve been told.”
“Says the girl who, until today, only knew two words,” he said, lifting an eyebrow as well.
As a blush came into my cheeks, his warm hands closed around mine. “I say plenty.” His voice was low and soothing. “When the mood strikes.”
All the air left the room. And then thirty seconds later, so did he. When Roxie and Leo came back into the room, I was grinning like a schoolgirl. Or an idiot.
“How do you always manage to con me into doing dishes, Callahan?”
“You do the dishes because your cooking sucks, Grayson.”