The backs of my eyelids prickled, wondering how this woman could give up her own child for a check.
“But after that, things got so much better. I quit my job after talking to my father, explaining that I just couldn’t be a part of that scene anymore. And I’m grateful my name afforded me the opportunity to take over the farm and really grow something incredible.”
“Pardon the pun,” I chuckled quietly.
“Once Polly was a few months old, I started spending more and more time up here, getting things ready, building the house we live in now, and apprenticing at the farm I’d visited that weekend when everything exploded. I hired a few people to help me out around the property, started turning over the fields, and a year after Polly was born, we moved out of the city and into the country full-time. I didn’t want her growing up the way I did, and with the Page Six mentality swirling around my family and speculation about where Polly’s mom might have gone, I knew it was better to remove ourselves altogether. It rocked the Maxwell boat a bit, and I don’t see my family as often as I’d sometimes like, but my family is really all about me and Polly now, and this life we’re creating together.”
“Sure. That’s got to come first.”
“Polly did really well here, and even though people in this small town read the same magazines as they do in the city, they seemed to kind of . . . I don’t know, watch out for us. I found a great nanny, a few actually, and if I wasn’t with Polly, she had really great people with her. It’s a great town to raise a kid.”
I smiled.
“Everything revolved around Polly, and the farm. And after everything that happened, the absolute last thing on my mind was getting involved with another woman.”
“You never even thought about it?” I asked, twisting in his arms to look up at his sweet face.
“Sure, I thought about it,” he admitted sheepishly, a different kind of pink coloring his cheeks now. “But never wanted to risk upsetting this life. Never wanted to trust anyone with Polly, after I saw her own mother throw everything over just for money.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, something low, and unexpected, twisting in my stomach.
“And then you showed up,” he said, forcing my chin up to look him in the eyes, which were soft. “And Polly was away at summer camp for the first time. And I had a summer where I could just . . . relax. Be a guy. Get a little starstruck over some L.A. chick.”
“And I made sure to tell you a thousand times I was leaving at the end of the summer,” I sighed, as the last puzzle piece clicked into place.
“You sure made it easy for me to simply enjoy,” he said, his voice heating up and heating me through. Nuzzling my neck, he pressed a kiss just behind my ear. “But something happened that I wasn’t expecting.”
I held my breath, waiting to see what he would say.
“It became more than just a summer thing—don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I whispered, answering his question as well as my own. It was out there now. We had gone beyond the simple pleasure and were into something deeper, unexplored on my end, and likely scary on his.
“And then Polly came home early, with almost no warning. I would have told you, Rox, but she came back while her nanny was on vacation. I had no one to watch her so I could come talk to you, and that’s not the kind of thing you want to say over the phone. I was already trying to think of a way to tell you about her, about us, to make staying here a . . .” He trailed off, not finishing his sentence.
I finished it for him. “A possibility?”
“Is it?” he asked.
I sighed. “I don’t know Leo,” I admitted. I felt him exhale. “But I’ll . . . I’ll think about it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Obviously its gone beyond a summer fling for me, too. Dammit, why the hell are you so awesome?” I laughed, sliding off the swing and pulling him with me. He had baggage, Lord knows I had baggage, but maybe. Just maybe. “Just let me think a little bit, okay?” I said, letting my hands creep up his chest and around his neck, feeling his good heat soak through my shirt and into my bones. He killed me.
“We can still have fun, you know,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to my backside, crushing me further into him.
“I’m going to need you to prove that, please,” I laughed, bumping my hips against his, “because this day has been weird long enough.”
He proved that we could still have fun. And that farmers are hot. But damn near nothing is as hot as Farmer Dad.
Chapter 19
“You are the best goddamn thing I’ve seen all day.” I inhaled deeply, reveling in the fresh, earthy smell, even salivating a little. I looked around to make sure no one was looking, then I rubbed my cheek over the firm, thick loaf of artisanal sourdough rye that the bakery just delivered. Tender, crumbly, with a beautiful brown scored crust, I was delighted to find that it was still warm.
“Ahem,” I heard, bringing me out of my doughy reverie.
“Oh, sorry,” I said to the scandalized driver.
I signed for the delivery and paid the poor man, who backed out of the door, clipboard in hand, as I stood cradling the bread like a baby.
“Get a grip, Roxie,” I told myself. But two seconds later, I smelled the loaf like I’d seen mothers sniffing their baby’s head. Something about the smell of a newborn? Is it wrong that I feel the same way about a warm swirled rye?