“Whoa, sister. My position on dating has not changed.”
I didn’t one-night-stand per se. More like . . . enough nights to get to know the guy’s body and what he liked, and to make sure he knew what I liked, but not long enough to get into anything serious. Easy. Simple.
“Yes, but you’re going to have some free time this summer. Maybe Leo would be good company.” I could practically hear her waggling her eyebrows.
“Who knows? My career is still my focus, so if I need a little something to take the edge off, I’ll get a guy on standby. No strings, no attachments. Just easy breezy fun times.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That’s totally how a guy would set things up.”
“Yeah, if a guy bangs chicks all over town, he’s just being a guy. But if a girl does it, she’s slutty, right?”
That’s probably how Bailey Falls people would react. I wondered again if this was a huge mistake. But as usual, Natalie knew what I needed.
“I think it’s kind of brilliant, actually,” she said. “You’ll make it work. Just find a way to run into him again.”
“This is silly to even talk about—it’s hardly the focus of my life. Now, what’s up with you? Break anyone’s heart lately?”
We chatted for over an hour, until I began to feel more awake and more like myself. And guilty for not maximizing every moment to figure out the diner before my mother headed off into the sunset. I promised I’d check in with Natalie again once I had things under control, and we hung up.
Chapter 5
I spent the next few days reacquainting myself with the family diner, picked my mother’s brain about everything I needed to know to keep things afloat. Who her vendors were, when she placed her orders, who had keys and could lock up, when deliveries were made, and was she absolutely, positively married to the idea of a blue-plate special? Married she was. But she didn’t say I couldn’t try out something new if I was so inclined. Excellent!
As I headed toward the prep table, I heard someone say Leo’s name. There was a small window between the kitchen and the station where the waitresses tended to hang, where they kept all the side items for their tables, like lemons for iced tea, extra napkins, etc. I sidled closer, staying out of sight ninja style. Sandy and Maxine were always good for local gossip, and I wanted to hear as much about Leo as I could. I was determined to redeem myself next time I saw him—as in carrying on an actual conversation.
“He’s just—dammit, he’s just . . . dammit!” Ruby said, swooning.
Maxine agreed. “I know, I hear what you’re saying. Did you see that cucumber he brought last week? Gave me ideas.”
“Girl, if Roy ever had a cucumber that big, you think I’d have left him?”
“Hell no! You’re better off though, you know that.”
“I do. I also know that I’ve never seen Leo around town with anyone. Maybe he’s just waiting for the right gal.”
“And you think the right gal for him is a fifty-seven-year-old waitress from Bailey Falls?”
“Point taken. But if I were thirty years younger, I’d be throwing myself at him.”
Maxine snorted. “You’d have to be thirty years younger. A cucumber that size would kill you now.”
“But what a way to go!”
No girlfriend in the picture. Hmmm . . . I definitely needed to be on the lookout every time a delivery dude came through the back door. Strictly for redemption’s sake.
And that might also be why I found myself at the farmers’ market on Saturday morning.
I mean, maybe not. I was looking to see what was in season, who had the freshest produce. After all, excellence is my area.
Okay, and perhaps I was looking to see if a certain someone with a certain pair of eyes and a certain pair of strong and capable hands was there. So I could speak to him as an adult this time.
He was indeed there, and he had the biggest, longest line of all the vendors. Of course.
I also noticed how different the farmers’ market was from while I was growing up. Back then my mother and some other granola heads kept it alive, doing the local-food thing way back before it was hip. It was literally a few tables with giant tomatoes and the Jam Lady (best jam ever), and occasionally someone would bring in some eggs. It was held in the parking lot behind the Methodist church; there were never more than ten people at a time, including the farmers; and it usually ended with everyone sitting in the back of a truck, eating all the leftover caramel corn.
But this place was booming! The market had been relocated to the edge of town, in an old barn that was older than the town itself, from back when everything in the Hudson Valley had been farmland. Soaring high with white oak beams and rafters, it still held honest-to-goodness barn dances. And it was now home to the Bailey Falls farmers’ market, with permanent vendor booths set up inside the old stalls.
Each booth had the farm’s name proudly displayed over its table, which displayed whatever they were producing. Late spring greens were everywhere, turnip and mustard greens the most prominent. Lettuce of all varieties. Carrots in a riot of colors, not just orange—ruby red, purple, and vibrant yellow carrots spilled over their baskets and into customer’s waiting hands. One farmer had plates of sliced fresh radish set out, with piles of coarse salt and soft butter ready for dipping. Root vegetables, spring onion, garlic, and garlic scapes, that wonderful delectable that was only available in the late spring. Asparagus stalks, thin and tender, begged to be barely blanched and then tossed with the greenest olive oil. Early strawberries, still with their vines attached. And rhubarb for days.