I came back to this memory over and over again while I worked in the diner, trying to concentrate on steak and eggs, when all I could think about was the way his eyes burned into mine as he fucked me on my front porch. I poured coffee, I flipped burgers, I did what I could to not think about the night before—and the fact that I’d slept with a man for the first time in my entire life. As in forty winks. Mr. Sandman.
I was deep in piecrust, not thinking about this at all, when Chad Bowman sidled up to the counter looking like he was headed out to Montauk for some boating. Pleated navy shorts, spiffy white Sperrys, and a salmon polo shirt. Not pink, not peach, not sunset or orange. Salmon, for pity’s sake. All that was missing was the knit cardigan around his shoul—And there it was. He tied it into a perfect loop around his broad shoulders and popped a pair of silver aviators onto his blond hair.
“You look like something out of a catalog,” I said, tugging on his popped collar. The. Popped. Collar. “J. Crew called, you’re wanted on page sixty-nine.”
He preened, his tan skin pinking under my praise. “As Queen Bey says, I woke up like this.” Smirking, he gave me the once-over. Then he gave me a twice-over.
I smoothed my hair automatically, straightening my apron. Could he see? Could he tell? Surely he couldn’t—
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, settling onto a stool and giving me a knowing look.
“Mmm-hmm what?” I asked, smoothing my apron again.
“Oh, you know exactly what, Little Miss Crushing on a Farmer.”
“I am not crushing on a farmer!” I snapped, loud enough that the entire diner fell silent. Which never happens. Forks hovered, mouths hung open, and every pair of eyes was on me. I’m pretty sure they were all picturing me naked.
Judging by the glint in his eye, Chad was picturing Leo naked.
A wave of embarrassment flashed over me, hot and fast. I didn’t like my business being put out there. And I was pretty sure Leo wouldn’t like his business out there either.
“Mmm-hmm.” He lifted up his menu, which shook as he laughed quietly.
“Don’t start rumors, Bowman,” I said quietly, straightening the tines of his fork to line up with the paper placemat. “It’s just . . . it’s not like that.” I looked around to see if people were still watching. And listening. . . .
Ninety-nine percent of the diner’s customers went back to their breakfasts, busily gossiping and doubtless passing it through the town’s phone tree. But one older fellow at the counter was glaring a hole into the back of Chad’s shirt.
I blinked. Surely he couldn’t have a problem with Chad?
“Pay the bigots no mind, lovey,” Chad said, turning me to face him. “That’s Herman.” He smiled and tipped his coffee toward Herman, who looked irked that attention was being volleyed back at him.
Throwing back his coffee, the man tossed a few bills onto the counter, then stormed out of the diner. Unfortunately, the door did not hit him in the judgmental ass on the way out.
“A good friend, I see.” I leaned my elbows on the counter across from Chad. Though he’d brushed it off like it was no big deal, I could see that it bothered him. “Do you get that a lot? The nasty staring ?”
I hoped that the answer was no, that most people were accepting, and only a few were assholes. Especially in this town, where half of the businesses flew rainbow flags outside.
Chad shifted on his stool. “No, that doesn’t usually happen here. That’s a big part of the reason we decided we could move back. And I can handle that crap now, but just after high school, that kind of thing would have killed me.” He smiled. “I would have panicked and said nothing, and then thought of ten great comebacks an hour later.”
His admission gave me such a new perspective on him. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to hide that big a secret. To pretend to be something I wasn’t.
“I wish I knew then, in case you wanted someone to talk to or whatever.”
“Enough about this,” he said dismissively. “I want all the explicit details about last night!”
“Phone for you, Rox,” a voice rang out from the kitchen, and I grinned in relief.
“Gee, looks like I have to take a call.”
Chad pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at me, telling me he that knew something was up and he’d be watching me.
I grinned and grabbed the phone off the wall. “This is Roxie.”
“Hello, Roxie, this is Mrs. Oleson, from the mayor’s office.”
“Oh hello, Mrs. Oleson, how are you?”
Chad’s eyebrows went up. Mrs. Oleson had worked in the mayor’s office for as long as anyone could remember, no matter who the mayor was. She had her hand in nearly everything that happened in town. Huh. Not unlike a Mrs. Harriett Oleson from Walnut Grove. I allowed myself a few seconds of Almanzo fantasy.
“Roxie, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. What can I do you for, Mrs. Oleson?”
“I’m in a bit of a pickle, dear, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”
“I’ll do what I can. What’s up?” I replied, confused but intrigued.
“Well, you know I always bring cakes to the ladies’ luncheon, and this year I’ve just totally overextended myself. Linda and Evelyn were positively raving over the walnut cake they had at the diner last week, and I wondered—”
“You want a walnut cake too?” I finished.