“Not really nervous,” I said. “I just didn’t expect this many people.”

Chad and Logan’s Realtor, Mary, was here with her boyfriend, Larry. Mrs. Oleson and Mrs. Shrewsbury from the Ladies Auxiliary. I recognized a few of the younger interns from Maxwell Farm. And the woman from the farmers’ market whom I’d seen fanning herself with a leaf of romaine and making eyes at Leo. And one very tall guy with wavy black hair caught back in a leather tie, who was very tattooed, very loaded-for-bear in the muscles department, and looking very uncomfortable to be attending a jam-making class.

“Who is that?” I whispered.

“Which one?”

“Game of Thrones guy back there.” I pointed to tall, dark, and fuckhot.

Leo looked, then snorted. “Oh, he’ll love that. That’s Oscar, the dairy farmer next door.”

I pushed him out of the way and took another look. He was so tall he’d just bumped his head on the Drink Local Beer sign that hung over the front door.

“That’s Oscar?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yep,” he nodded.

“The dairy farmer?”

“Yep.”

I shook my head, watching as the young girls, no doubt lured by Leo, were now giggling stupid in the presence of Oscar. “Fuck me, the other men in this town don’t stand a chance.”

“Pardon?” Leo asked.

“Forget it.” I pushed the door open into the diner. What the hell had they started putting in the water since I’d moved away?

After welcoming everyone, I hurried about, setting up everything they’d need to make jam. Since there were way more people than planned stations, I paired everyone up two by two like a jam-making Noah. Except for Oscar. He’d been drafted onto Chad and Logan’s team, and looked relived to be there.

Once everything was ready, I got their attention. “Hi, everyone, thanks again for coming tonight. We’re making jam!” God, I loved teaching!

“Do we get to drink beforehand?” Chad asked Logan with a giggle.

I fought back a grin. “As you can see, I wasn’t expecting so many of you, so you’ll be sharing jars. Next time we’ll have more. You’ll find everything you need in front of you: jar, funnel, pectin, sugar, and lemon juice. I’ve already washed the fruit, boiled the jars, rings, and lids, so you get to do all the fun stuff. For the fruit portion of tonight’s activities, you have a choice of delicious fresh berries courtesy of this guy here and Maxwell Farm. There are blackberries, boysenberries, raspberries, and even a few gooseberries.”

As if on cue, Leo put his arm around me and popped a gooseberry into my mouth.

Oh. Public Display of Affection—our secret was out!

The truth is, no one cared except for the mooning interns, who quickly shifted their attention to Oscar’s direction. As I realized the town wasn’t going to implode just because I’d come home and was getting it put to me good by Leo Maxwell, I realized that there were some nice advantages to living in a small town after all.

My smile filled my face. “Okay, everyone come choose your fruit!”

“Maybe jam wasn’t such a good idea,” I said, washing off the countertops one last time. The blueberry syrup had gone everywhere, and the class stayed to help clean up—stacking pots, hanging spoons on their racks, and setting measuring cups back in their places.

“Are you kidding? This was the most fun I had in ages,” Logan said, affectionately blotting the blackberry juice on Chad’s Key Lime Pie polo shirt. I’d love to see the lineup of J. Crew polos in his summer closet.

“Did you have fun, Oscar?” I asked.

He was at the sink, cleaning out a bottle with a brush, thrusting it in and out. I’d really like to say I heard his answer, or anything he’d said all night beyond, “Hi, nice to meet you,” but it’d be a lie. Because . . . so hot. Chad, Logan, and I all stopped to stare as he thrust and talked and thrust. Sweet merciful God. Eventually he put on his hoodie and left, tossing a wave to Leo on his way out the door. Which he had to stoop to clear.

“You know, Miss Roxie, you could easily get a thousand a class in the city for these lessons,” Chad said.

That brought me back down to earth. A thousand a class? Wheels started turning and ideas started churning in my brain, pinging off the synapses like a pinball machine.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have the beginnings of a mental checklist of reasons to stay in Bailey Falls vs. reasons to run screaming back to Los Angeles. And a weekly class was a solid checkmark in the Stay column. It’d take me a while to establish such a willing audience in Los Angeles—especially since there was no predicting how long the culinary hit would be out on me by Mitzi and her crew.

Leo was watching but trying to be inconspicuous about it, sweeping the floor.

“I see the gears working. Tell me you’re considering it,” Chad pressed in a lower voice, leading me to the corner to have some semblance of privacy.

My eyes found Leo, who was still watching closely. He’d laugh at something or join in a conversation, but I could tell one ear was tuned into us.

“Mmmmaybe?” I clapped my hand over his mouth before he could squeal.

“Wow, Leo must really have a magical beanstalk on that farm to get you to consider staying.”

He meant to tease, but I recoiled and verbally struck out. “That’s not why! I mean, yeah, it’s a great summer thing, but that doesn’t mean I’d . . . I mean . . . Just because its only for the summer doesn’t mean that it doesn’t mean . . . Fuck!”