She was wearing her Chanel pumps. Pumps reserved for serious moments, like when I’d been caught smoking in eighth grade and she was called to the headmaster’s office. Moments like when tenth-grade Todd and his twelfth-grade girlfriend got caught with their pants down in our attic, and my mother had the girl’s parents over to discuss why this could never happen again. Pumps reserved for board meetings, for social functions with people she didn’t like but was required to play nice with . . . and funerals.
The swinging door to the kitchen flew open, and there was my mother. Smiling. Which was the scariest part of all . . .
“Natalie, so nice of you to show up. Care to tell us all about this cheese maker you’ve been running around with?”
Here it comes . . .
Chapter 19
I lasted two days. Then I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew when Roxie held her cooking class, I knew Oscar went to it, and I knew I could get up there, get to class, get a quickie in afterward, and be back in the city by midnight.
“Holy shit!” I squealed to myself as I sat on the train, nearly bouncing off the walls with the excitement of sneaking off to the country for a midweek tryst with my . . . boyfriend.
Officially I was writing this off as market research, just another way I was going above and beyond on the Bailey Falls campaign to make sure I was highlighting everything that could bring in revenue for the town.
Hee-hee-hee . . .
Every other time Roxie hosted one of her Zombie Pickle classes, I’d been busy and hadn’t had a chance to come up and take part in the class. I wanted to take the class because it was another way to spend time with my new friends and check out my best friend in action . . . and see my caveman.
Zombie Pickle class started out with just her and her boys (Leo, Chad, and Logan). She wanted to teach people how to do things in the kitchen that everyone’s grandmother knew how to do, but that most young professionals didn’t have a clue how to do. Canning vegetables. Making jam. Cooking from scratch with a little bit of fun and love. As well as knowing how to make pickles so that if the zombie apocalypse ever hit upstate New York, Bailey Falls would be able to weather the storm as long as someone kept planting cucumbers.
Her classes were a hit right from the beginning. Everyone from teens to the retired was heading to the diner for the classes and spreading the word on social media.
When I’d decided at the last minute to come up for class, Oscar was thrilled at the prospect of getting a little midweek nooky.
Roxie was less than thrilled. “It’s not that I don’t love you; it’s that kitchens don’t love you,” she said as I raced across town to Grand Central to catch the train.
“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad—”
“You have burned water, Natalie—that’s as bad as it gets. Don’t you dare ruin my class.”
Point taken. I’d have to be on my best behavior.
The diner was filled by the time I arrived. Roxie waved when I walked in, standing near the only empty station.
“Your apron is hanging on the back of the chair and everything you need is here,” she explained, pointing to the table and giving me a “this is a terrible idea but we’re going to try it anyway” smile.
I looked around, wondering which station I should go to, when I heard a low voice chuckle behind me. “Hey, Pinup.”
I turned with a smile, almost tripping over myself to kiss him hello. Towering over his work space, surrounded by little glass bowls and measuring cups, was Oscar.
He chuckled, deep and sexy. Judging by the heat present, he was thrilled to see me. His eyebrow quirked up as he gave me a very thorough once-over, and he licked his lips when his eyes reached mine.
How scandalous would it be if I just pushed him down on top of the counter and had my way with him in front of the class?
Roxie cleared her throat and banged a wooden spoon on a pot to get everyone’s attention.
“Tonight, in case you couldn’t tell by the ingredients, we’re making banana nut muffins! It’s something that a bunch of you requested.”
Great. I raised an eyebrow at Oscar, knowing that his ex-wife kept him swimming in muffins, and he tried not to laugh.
Roxie was moving on to the next step. “If you’d prefer a loaf pan instead of a muffin tin, I’ve got a few pans up here. Anyone?”
My hand shot up. Oscar looked over, but I brushed off his silent question.
Roxie tossed me the loaf pan and I got to work buttering it while everyone else was lining their muffin tins. Oscar’s and Leo’s big hands were struggling with dropping the tiny paper liners into their trays, but they seemed to be enjoying the experience. Everyone was, actually.
Roxie walked through the class, offering tips and praise. “Very good, guys. Louise, try a little less butter. Elmer, you don’t need that many liners in the same tin, they’ll never bake that way. Looks good, Oscar.”
While I was still greasing the pan, she moved on to the next step. My hands weren’t cooperating and I fumbled over the flour measurement, spilling some of it onto my station.
“What are you doing?” Oscar whispered to me, watching me make a mess.
“Having fun,” I whispered back through my teeth.
During the banana-mashing process, I dropped an earring into the macerated mush and had to fish it out with a toothpick.
When it came time for the whisking, I splattered not only myself with the batter, but poor Elmer in front of me.
“Stop laughing,” I snapped at Oscar and Leo.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized to Elmer, handing him another paper towel.