But while I could appreciate these pictures, in my mind’s eye he’d always be dressed in well-worn jeans, a vintage concert tee, two weeks’ worth of scruffy beard that felt incredible on the soft skin between my thighs, and kind green eyes. An easy grin. Peaceful and happy and so content in his world. City Leo was obviously good-looking, but I preferred Country Leo.

I came back to the conversation, where Natalie and Clara were talking animatedly.

“So wait, he left New York when—”

“Exactly, after the baby was born. She disappeared, and then he all but disappeared. He was gone, no parties, no trips—he sank everything he had into making that farm his life,” Clara said.

I blinked. “Okay, wait. So you guys both knew Leo?” I asked, confused.

“Knew him, no. Knew of him, of course. I just never put two and two together that Leo Maxwell was your Farmer Leo,” Natalie said, lying back on the floor and kicking her legs up in the air. “There was no one in this town who didn’t know Leo Maxwell. Everyone was trying to land that guy—what a fucking catch!”

“Seriously, Roxie, he was a young Mr. Big. Until he met Melissa. And once she sank her claws into him, that was it. No one ever really knew what happened; just that they were together, she was pregnant, there was a rumor they were getting married, then they weren’t together, and then once the baby was born he took his daughter and headed upstate. She bounced around town for a while, but eventually took off for Europe. I think she married some Russian guy. No idea what happened between her and Leo, though. It was just . . . over.”

I knew what had happened. Leo had told me the story. And I think some of the people in Bailey Falls knew what happened, or had guessed. Because no one really ever talked about Polly. Not that she was a secret, but they were . . .

Protective? Of both of them?

Yeah. Maybe. Small town, taking care of their own.

No wonder Leo wanted his daughter to be a country mouse.

“Please tell me you and Leo never dated,” I said, looking at Natalie.

“No, I never met him. Though I probably would have hit that, if I had. Hey, how weird would that be?” She laughed, rolling onto her side and looking at me carefully. “If I’d banged the guy you were in love with.”

“Hey, how weird would that be if I killed you until you were dead?” I replied.

Natalie and Clara dissolved into giggles, but all I could think about was Leo.

And the fact that when she called him the man I was in love with, I hadn’t corrected her.

Shit.

That night something specific kept me awake instead of the usual insomnia. I Googled Leo after the conversation with the girls, and I was swiping away at two in the morning, looking at a slice of his life that’d been captured by publicity photos.

This was a Leo I didn’t know. He seemed cool, more detached, very blue blood. I saw nothing of the Leo I knew.

Who would rather be riding in an open Jeep than in a town car. Who would rather have his hands full of sweet-smelling earth than martinis. Who was made happy by wet-with-morning-dew sugar snap peas. Who was caring sweet kind loving tender gasping panting moaning groaning rocking thrusting slipping sliding living life to the fullest, because it was a life he’d created exactly the way he wanted, and he wouldn’t live for anyone other than his daughter.

I tossed and turned most of the night, wondering if I’d made a terrible decision leaving Bailey Falls the way I did.

“Coffee. I require coffee,” I mumbled as we wove down an already crowded 17th Street.

“We’ll get it, don’t worry. We just need to get there before it gets too busy.”

“When did Natalie start getting up so early on a Saturday morning?” Clara whispered to me.

“Better question, when did she start caring so much about where her produce came from?” I whispered back.

Natalie turned around to make a face at me. “I heard that,” she singsonged.

“I meant you to,” I singsonged back.

“Seriously, Nat, what’s the rush? I don’t remember you ever being so concerned about getting ‘farm-fresh produce’—although I understand the draw of eating local as much as possible.”

“Now, when you say eating local, I assume you’re referring to Leo enjoying a trip downtown?” Natalie replied with a grin, leading us into the fray of the Union Square Greenmarket.

Clara laughed. “You have a one-track mind.”

I didn’t laugh. I was thinking about Leo’s eyes as he watched me, when he did in fact enjoy a trip downtown. And I Kegeled right there, just thinking about it.

“I have a multitrack mind,” Natalie said. “I just make sure one of those tracks is always on sex with guys who like to take a taste.”

A very good-looking man who was heading away from the farmers’ market with a bag full of leafy greens did a double take, then a complete about-face. Was he aware that he was licking his lips?

Natalie didn’t notice; she was on a mission. She consulted a map, smoothed her already perfectly messy hair, and took off across the market.

“Hey, hey! Can we please get some coffee before stocking up on your suddenly-so-important groceries?” I asked.

She slowed. A bit. “Yes yes, there’s a stall just around the corner from where I’m going. We can get coffee afterward.”

I hadn’t been here in years, and the place was humming. Stall after stall was packed with beautiful produce, eggs, poultry, meat, flowers —everything you could ask for. Many of the stalls were from farms in the Hudson Valley, and I wondered if Maxwell Farm had a stall here. And then I wished I’d brushed my hair before we left.