Cream of the Crop
Page 71

But when the tongue and the coming and then the fingers and the screaming and the oh my, that was unexpected but awesome, can you do that exactly the same way again . . . Things like phone chargers tend to go by the wayside.
So I refocused. I spent the week getting caught up on the work that was beginning to slip. Phone messages were falling through the cracks, my in-box was beyond full, and I might have missed a deadline on the T&T campaign.
Word got back to Dan that I’d been unprepared for the Monday meeting, and I had to sit in his office when he returned and listen to him artfully ask me questions designed to find out if anything was going on outside of the office that might be affecting what was going on inside of the office. Nothing had officially happened, except for one slightly late deadline. But I’d always delivered everything on time or early, and I was never behind on emails or phone calls. He seemed reassured—but there might’ve been a hint of What the hell is happening to my number-one account exec . . .
I buckled down, worked twelve-hour days, and by Friday I was back on top of the pile, work completed ahead of schedule. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d fallen behind, which for me was unheard of. Technically nothing was really late, because I routinely had my work done ahead of schedule. But for me, I felt very behind.
Oscar and I had been texting some throughout the week, in the few moments when I surfaced. I tried to keep my focus on work entirely, which was so hard to do when my mind kept flying up the Metro North to a town where leaves were crunchy underfoot, jack-o’-lanterns gave way to November pumpkin and squash arrangements, and my handsome farmer was sending me messages like:
I miss your mouth
I miss your taste
Get your great big comma ass back up here so I can bite it
Oscar was coming in for the whole weekend—a first! Technically he came into the city every Saturday—but this time he was spending the night.
Friday night I stayed at the office until nine thirty, then finally headed home. There was a new club opening that I’d RSVP’d to, and a birthday party being held at one of my favorite restaurants uptown. But by the time I climbed the subway steps, all I wanted to do was soak in a tub. And eat Malaysian takeout, which I did at eleven, while soaking in that tub.
The delivery boy said he’d missed me.
Saturday morning dawned clear and cold, the stiff wind making my coat swirl as I made my way down Fourteenth Street. I’d told Oscar I’d arrive early, and my feet burned to skip across the market when I caught sight of his booth.
Carefully carrying two coffees, I moved through the throngs of early marketers to cut in line at Bailey Falls Creamery, which was already about twenty deep.
As I searched for Oscar, nodding to the salesgirls I’d actually come to know by now, I felt my skin begin to tingle. I smiled even before I turned.
“Thought you were coming early,” a deep voice said.
“Oh, I came early. At home, in my bed, alone,” I purred. “You should have been there—I was magnificent.”
His eyes narrowed as he imagined exactly what I’d been up to this morning. It was true, too. I was wound so tightly in anticipation of seeing him I’d taken care of business twice before heading to the market. I needed to take the edge off, but it’d only made me more excited to see him. Even now, as he stepped closer to me, I could feel my body begin to hum at having him near.
“I believe it,” he whispered, leaning down to place his mouth next to my ear. “I came all over my hand this morning, thinking about seeing you today.”
I shivered. He quivered. And all around us, people waited to buy cheese.
The day was long, but fun. I stood behind the counter and helped him take and fill orders, listened to his regular clients sing his praises, and watched Oscar shake off the compliments as though they meant nothing. I’d come to realize that he was genuinely shy and reserved, which sometimes came across as . . . well . . . being an ass.
“You need to be nicer to your customers,” I whispered, after one particularly uncomfortable moment.
“I’m nice,” he insisted.
“You’re dismissive and rude,” I insisted back.
“I don’t want to get to know my customers. Why is that rude? They like my cheese; I like making it and taking their money,” he said, tugging on my apron string. Thank goodness he didn’t insist on the hairnets when at the market. “Where is it written that to sell cheese I also have to be best friends with everyone here?”
“It’s just good business, Oscar. Plus, you’re adorable when you smile.”
“I’m adorable?” he asked. Six foot six inches, covered in tattoos and scars, with hands as big as a boule and arms as big as tree trunks. And now with the same menacing look he used to give me when I’d approach him to buy his Brie.
“Yeah, you kind of are,” I grinned, tugging on his apron string.
Without meaning to, and most certainly without wanting to, he grinned back. Then he realized how adorable he might be, and away went the smile. He turned to the first person in line, an attractive woman in her fifties who was looking like she was shopping for more than Camembert. “What do you want?” he growled, and I had to turn away to stifle my laugh.
The woman looked head over heels. I knew the feeling.
I spent the day making change and wrapping up orders, chatting with the customers since Oscar wasn’t, asking them questions about what they liked and what they loved. Sort of informal market research. I went on a coffee run with him just before lunch, and found myself pressed against a giant bale of hay over by the free-trade sustainable green coffee roasting booth, getting felt up through my apron as he stole kisses.