“It’s darling, but you know that,” I started, eyeing up the pie case. There was a slice of awesome that would go just right with my diner coffee. “I don’t mean that in a condescending way, either. It’s truly a little spot of perfect, nestled in the mountains. The scenery on the train ride up is worth any price of admission.”

Chad beamed, much like Roxie did when she got all moony and pie-eyed talking about the town. Having been away from it for so long, she’d been convinced that she’d hate it when she’d returned for the summer. Get in and get out was her goal, but it hooked her and didn’t let go. It wouldn’t be for everyone in long doses—but in short?

More of the puzzle pieces were falling into place.

“I’m glad you see the potential. The town is a huge part of our lives. My husband, Logan, comes from a small town, so when I brought him home for the first time he absolutely fell in love with Bailey Falls, and we immediately started making plans to move our business here.

“We brought you in to show everyone why this is a great weekend destination or summer hot spot. I see it. The town sees it. But you saying that you see it is really very validating.”

My heart pitter-pattered, the way it always did when I was excited about a project. “Things are percolating, but I need to see more of what I’m working with first,” I said, waving over the waitress. “We’ll take two slices of whatever your best dessert is, please.”

With a quick nod, she examined the full glass case. Choosing two slices, she plated them and hustled over. “Hummingbird Cake. Roxie’s specialty.”

“They feature Zombie Cakes here, too? I’m surprised Callahan’s didn’t try to put a lock-down on sharing the family love with the competitor,” I mused. Roxie’s mom must have had a fit when her daughter started plying her wares around town and not just within the confines of Callahan’s Diner.

I didn’t just moan around the fork. I eye-rolled, legs-clenched, and obscenely licked every last stitch of frosting from the fork. Poor, adorable Chad Bowman looked like I just asked him to motorboat my lady bits in front of his husband.

“Good goddamn, that woman can bake a fucking cake,” I moaned around another mouthful.

Chad shifted in his seat, smothering a laugh. “Yes, yes she can.”

I finished the cake without further embarrassing poor Chad, who couldn’t stop staring at my mouth after seeing me defile the fork. I made a mental note to have Roxie start shipping me Hummingbird Cakes once a week in the city.

We chatted a bit longer about the hopes for the town. He explained that the town council was trusting him with this venture to take Bailey Falls in a new direction in terms of advertising, and that he’d do damn near anything to make sure it worked.

“You’re in good hands, Chad. I’ve landed more accounts for Manhattan Creative this year, or the last three years, than any other account executive. My initial approach is simple: get to know Bailey Falls in and out. Top to bottom and everything in between. I want to know what makes this town tick, and why it should be the destination for city dwellers, retirees, and families. This place seems to have it all, and we just need to make sure that everyone knows it.”

Chad thought for a moment, then smiled big at me. “Normally I’d just shake your hand and tell you to get to work, but because of the Roxie connection, I feel like I want to hug you.”

“It’s been at least twelve hours since a gorgeous man has had his hands on me, and technically that was Leo, so get over here,” I said, waving him off his stool. “The Roxie Connection—that has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Very eighties-dating-show-meets-Agatha-Christie-novel.” He laughed, pulling out his wallet and settling the bill. “So what sort of crazy plans does Roxie have planned for you this weekend?”

I laughed. “I think a shorter list is what she doesn’t have planned for me. She’s got the whole weekend packed in an effort to make me fall in love with Bailey Falls.”

He slid from the stool and smiled. “I selfishly have to say that I hope it works and that you never leave. We need some more badass women up here to shake things up.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. I had a farmer fantasy, for sure, but long term? I belonged in the city. “You may have converted me into a weekend transplant.” I swiped the last bit of frosting on the plate with my thumb and sucked it off while I thought about someone who might be able to make me visit Bailey Falls more often.

Sucked it off indeed . . .

What I “know” about living on a farm comes from picture books and movies. I also have a tendency to embellish and gild images that I revisit in my mind, coloring and shading things until I can get it just right, until I believe that’s exactly how it is.

Two things happened at Maxwell Farms.

One, I realized I had no idea how an actual farm works. It’s not some idealized place where an overalled farmer pats pretty cows while his wife, an extra from The Donna Reed Show, skips through the pasture at lunchtime with a chicken pot pie tucked in a basket under a red handkerchief, after which they shtup each other silly under the blue sky. A farm is dirty, kind of smelly, and a lot of really hard work.

Two, Maxwell Farms is an idealized place, where people work hard and make something beautiful out of a few acres and serious sweat. I saw chickens laying eggs, picked a pumpkin from a vine, and scratched a pig on his actual pork belly. It was a riot of smells, sights, sounds, and tastes as well, since Roxie made us sample everything in the kitchen garden, some still with dirt clinging to it. I laughed as she dusted everything off on her farm jeans, telling me to just go with it and let my country out a bit. It really was a magical place.

When I’d shown up at the big stone barn, she took one look at my high-heeled boots and made me put on a pair of Leo’s galoshes, which were like canoes on my feet. But after stepping in crap for the fifth time, I was grateful for them.

I took pictures everywhere, sneaking in a few of Leo with his land in the background, dirt on his hands, a smile on his face, and the love for what he did shining through with everything. I wasn’t sure exactly what I had yet with the pictures I’d taken, but I knew they’d lead me where I needed to go with this campaign.

Leo moved the animals around the farm to keep things trimmed down, and to provide a kick-ass place for the chickens to relax all day. I’d already seen the chickens and their charming coop-on-wheels get moved onto a freshly sheep-mown pasture. Then we went to see the sheep on the next field, fluffy and white and bleating away as the wind ruffled their coats. Now we were finally moving on to the moo cows, which I’d fight to my death to call them despite Polly’s disdain.