Free Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton

strutting across the plank floor. “And coral is very autumnal.” I leaned over the counter, looking for anything I could pilfer. Aha! Cherry tomatoes. Snagging a few, I headed over to the table.
    â€œOf course, how silly of me. I’d ask you to help with dinner, but—”
    â€œBut you remember how culinary school turned out for me,” I finished, popping in a tomato.
    She laughed, chopping garlic and throwing it into a pan. Instantly the room smelled incredible.
    â€œMmm, what are we having? Your famous cioppino? Saffron risotto with peas and asparagus? That’s always been one of my favorites. No no, wait, don’t tell me. You’re making that incredible blue cheese soufflé that smells like feet and tastes like heaven?”
    She shrugged. “Nope—spaghetti and meatballs. It’s Polly’s favorite.”
    I smiled. “How stinking cute are you, making her favorite dinner.”
    â€œOh hush.”
    I poured myself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. “Listen, if you’re making spaghetti and meatballs, it’ll be the best spaghetti and meatballs ever made.”
    â€œYou’re so sweet. I know you were expecting something a little fancier.”
    I waved her off. “Please, I can have fancy anytime I want it. I’m just excited to meet your fella and this meatball kid who sounds smarter than I am.”
    â€œShe’s so fucking smart it’s a bit scary.” Roxie chuckled, stirring onions and garlic together. “Grab me that basil, will you?”
    I walked to the windowsill where she had pots of herbs growing and grabbed a handful. “Do you still add sugar to your sauce?”
    â€œSometimes I do, if I’m using really fresh tomatoes, but not usually. I’m amazed you still remember that trick.”
    â€œGirl. I did retain a few tidbits of information here and there. And I still have my knives.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Which you never use.”
    â€œBut they look impressive as hell in my kitchen.” I perched on a stool in the window, watching her add a little pinch of this here, a little dollop of that there.
    â€œI will never understand why the hell you were there in the first place. Especially since you love Manhattan so much—there are incredible culinary schools there, too.” She’d turned around, giving me a pointed look.
    I gave her a little smile. “This is good wine.”
    â€œNatalie 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.”
    â€œDifferent how?”
    â€œDifferent 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.
    â€œHey, 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