“God, Madison,” I say, even though I probably should let it go. But I can’t. I’m on edge. I should never have touched her. Everything she does is turning me on.
“Sorry,” she says around her bite, dropping her head back against the seat. “But this is just so damn good! It’s actually filling me with dish ideas.” Her head pops back up, eyes round. “Wait! This is why you had me come along today, isn’t it? You knew this would happen.”
I only grin at the road in answer.
“How?!”
“You always seemed happiest making food that was inspired by what we ate growing up. I figured if you weren’t feeling inspired in New York, maybe you just needed to have some of the best home-cooked food I could find. And Della . . . somehow everything she makes is magic.”
“How did you know I’ve always been most inspired by what we ate growing up?”
“Because you talk a lot,” I say, trying to deflect with a joke. But she’s not having it.
“And you listen a lot.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” I glance at her and she’s staring at me.
So many times over the last year I’ve wished she would look at me like that—reallylook at me. But now, I wish she’d look away. I’m afraid she’s going to see too much.
“Hey,” she says, still not looking away. “How come you never date?”
I turn left onto Huxley Road, the longest road in Rome, Kentucky. It not only winds past the farm but carries travelers through town and all the way to the interstate. “What makes you think I don’t date?”
“Della said she worries about you.”
I laugh. “Well, no offense to Della, but I’m not usually taking my dates with me to her house.”
“Oh, right. Duh.” She laughs and then goes oddly quiet, turning to look out the window.
“I’ve dated.” For some reason, it’s important to me that she know this. Important to admit it to myself, I think.
“Anyone I know?” she asks.
“Actually, yeah. Jeanine and I dated for a while.”
Madison’s feet, which were up on the dash, slam to the floor. “You . . . you andJeanine.We’re thinking of the same one? Red hair, worked at the Diner, but now is manager of the Pie Shop? Has a little boy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh my god. Are you still together?”
“No.”Because she isn’t you.
“No,” she repeats softly, and if I didn’t know better I’d think she sounds relieved. “How long did you date?”
I tip my head in thought. “Four months.”
Madison suddenly clutches her throat like she’s choking. “Four months,” she wheezes.
I’m glancing between her and the road. “What the hell is your problem? You think I’m that undatable?”
“No. I’m just—” She stops herself and swallows what she was going to say. “I’m struggling to picture you dating anyone.” She casts her distant gaze out the front windshield. “James being a boyfriend. James walking up to a front door. James picking someone up. PickingJeanineup. James kissing Jeanine goodnight. James—”
“Okay, conversation over.”
“Holy crap, you had sex with her, didn’t you?” She chokes more.
“I’m going to pull over and push you out now.”
