I gave her a little smile. “This is good wine.”
“Natalie Grayson, what are you not telling me?”
I felt color rise up into my cheeks, wondering how this conversation had arisen when I’d successfully avoided it for all these years. “I just wanted something different from what I knew.”
“Different how?”
“Different from Thomas,” I said, my voice unexpectedly hollow. I took a breath, took a sip of wine, and saw the reflection of headlights coming up the drive to her farmhouse.
A dusty Jeep came around a bend in the driveway and pulled up beside the house, an enthusiastic ponytail wearer already bounding out of the backseat, calling Roxie’s name.
“Hey, I think your farmer’s here,” I said, feeling my heart rate begin to return to normal.
My best friend stared me down. “We’ll come back to this later,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and throwing open the back door. I let out a sigh, downed the rest of my wine, and watched as she hopped down the back stairs and right into the arms of her Leo.
She caught Polly into a close hug, too, then the three of them headed for the house. I smiled broadly, happy to meet them—and wondering, not for the first time, if there would ever be someone that glad to see me at the end of the day.
I’d seen Leo out and about in the city in the past, before he’d beat feet upstate for the simple life. But I’d never met him, and I could see why this guy was such a player. Tall, broad shouldered, and strong, but with an easy look about him. There was a warmth in his smile that I hadn’t seen before. Most of the city had been worn off, revealing a kindness, a quick laugh. It was easy to see that these two females hung the moon for him, and this guy loved his life.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, grinning as he shook my hand.
“Likewise.” I grinned back, tugging on his hand until I got close enough to hug him. “You’ve been putting it to my best friend for months now, so you’re required to hug me.” Surprised but willing, he hugged me back, wrapping his strong arms around me.
“Watch it, that’s my guy,” Roxie warned from the corner.
“Nice,” I replied, slipping out of the hug but still keeping hands-on. I squeezed his biceps a bit. “Very nice.” Leo’s eyes twinkled down at me, and I just shook my head. “You’re lucky I didn’t meet you first.”
“Seriously, still in the room,” Roxie repeated, and I finally released Leo. “And this munchkin is Polly.”
I stuck out my hand for Polly to shake. “As in Pollyanna?”
“Well, I wasn’t named after a polynomial,” the kid said, her eyes as green as Leo’s but much more appraising.
I laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Not a Polynomial.”
Polly grinned up at me. “Smells good in here, what’s for dinner?”
“Polly, we just got here. Maybe ask Roxie if she needs any help?” Leo said, ruffling up her hair. “It does smell really good.”
“Do you need any help, and what’s for dinner?” Polly asked, and I retreated to my kitchen stool, hands raised, knowing full well that the person who was actually in charge had just arrived. I was just hoping she’d let me have some of her spaghetti and meatballs . . .
“So you’re here to figure out how to get more people to Bailey Falls, right?” Leo asked, buttering a piece of bread for Polly and putting it on the side of her plate. She was trying to twirl her pasta on a spoon, just like Roxie. Her little tongue poked out of the side of her mouth while she concentrated.
“Kind of. I’m here to get the lay of the land, so to speak. My firm got an email from Chad Bowman—you know him?” I forked up my own bite of pasta, and my goodness was it good. My girl could cook.
“I do. He and his husband are members of the farmshare program we offer to locals; they’re great guys.” Leo smothered a laugh when Polly’s spoonful nearly went flying. “Want me to cut it up for you, make it easier to get on the fork?”
“Roxie says to never cut pasta,” Polly said with a serious look on her face. “It disrupts the integrity of the noodle.”
“That seems like exactly something she would say,” I agreed. Roxie was coughing into her napkin in a very timely fashion. “So tell me about the farmshare program.”
As Leo talked, I began to get a better sense of what he’d created over at Maxwell Farms. The more I heard about it, the more eager I was to see it. “This seems exactly the kind of thing that could make this town even more inviting. Norman Rockwell charm meets local sustainable agriculture, which everyone is interested in now. You give tours at the farm, right?”
“Every day,” Leo said, “Two on Saturdays.”
“Perfect. Can I come by tomorrow?”