So there was no way anyone here actually thought that he was going to get all worked up about Ava. No way they really thought that he was going to suddenly change all of his habits or shirk his responsibilities even for a chance to peel those blue jeans off of her. So what if he was closing for a couple of hours this afternoon. That was supposed to be how this worked every day. Working six a.m. to six p.m. every single day in a little town where everything else was open eight to five left little time for chores at his farm, changing the oil in his truck, errands like picking up a new phone charger, or even stopping at the post office.
And frankly, no one needed a burger at three in the afternoon. He supposed some might say that was just his opinion, but truthfully, it was right. He didn’t like the whole breakfast-for-dinner idea either. Don’t even get him started on brunch. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were three distinct meals that each had their own special tastes and style. In his diner, breakfast ended at nine o’clock, lunch ended at one, and dinner ended at six, and that was perfectly reasonable. And had been the schedule for twelve years now. Ever since Parker had taken over.
However, he did care that their teasing words about how Ava bossed him around did nothing to get his mind away from the idea of her telling him exactly what she liked—how hard, how fast, and how long.
“I’m suddenly in the mood for fruit pie,” Mark added.
Parker gave him a stern look. “Knock it off.”
It was only because he didn’t need his mind wandering to the idea of Ava with pie filling spread all over her…
Fuck.
Parker worked on not reacting. And not moving out from behind the counter that was blocking the erection that was suddenly pressing insistently against his fly.
But he was torn between laughing and rolling his eyes as she crossed the diner, the red purse swinging from her arm, her heels clicking on his tile like some kind of fucking countdown clock ticking away. He simply reached behind the counter and started handing out to-go boxes. Which people filled immediately.
This damned town. He’d been trying to get people out of the diner by one p.m. every day for the past twelve years. But the door rarely closed behind the last customer until at least a quarter after. That was one of those things where he tried to exert some control over that didn’t really work. The food really was the only thing he was completely in charge of, it seemed. Yet all Ava had to do was strut in here in her kick-ass red heels and mention the time.
Of course, no one was shoveling their fries in because they were scared of her. It was because they all wanted Parker to get lucky. It should probably be disturbing to think that the entire town was this interested in him getting laid. But he was used to these people being in his business—his actual business and his personal business—and this was exactly where he wanted their minds to be right now.
He didn’t respond to Ava as she leaned a hip against the counter next to the cash register, watching as people reached for their wallets. As if she was overseeing her subjects.
Amazingly, the door bumped shut behind the last customer at 1:03 p.m.
Ava hadn’t even blinked as people told her to have a good time, and that they were happy she was getting Parker out of the diner for a while and to enjoy the fruit picking. If she’d noticed the way they’d said “fruit picking”, she didn’t show it. She’d smiled, nodded, and said goodbye sweetly to everyone who had spoken to her.
After they were gone, she crossed back to the door, turned the lock and flipped the CLOSED sign around as if it was her diner, her door and her sign.
4
Ready to go?” Ava asked, turning back to him.
Parker lifted an eyebrow. “My dishwasher is full of dirty dishes, my workstation needs cleaned up, and I have some tables to clear off.”
She sighed. “I thought we’d agreed on you spending the time between shifts on pie shop business?”
“This shift isn’t really over as long as there’s cleanup to do,” he said mildly.
“I can’t believe you do all of this by yourself,” she said, looking around.
He did it by himself because he liked it that way. No one loaded the dishwasher the way he wanted it loaded. No one cut the onions the way he wanted them cut. No one garnished the plates the way he liked it. But when things got crazy, he could call his mom and her best friend to come help. They didn’t cook, but they helped with waiting on tables and cleanup. They didn’t do it the way he did either, but he could tolerate the differences from them.
Right now, though, they were spending a couple months in Florida with a friend from high school. Partying like it was 1984, according to her last text.
“Thanks,” he said with a lift of his shoulder. He was proud of his business. And yeah, he might occasionally wish he could experiment with creole shrimp pasta or even change up the meatloaf recipe, but for the most part, keeping things the same worked. It allowed him to keep running the place on his own, which was more important than having an expanded menu with new dishes. Routine. Habits. Patterns. Those were good things.
Ava looked back at him. “That wasn’t really a compliment. It’s very inefficient.”
Right. “Well, if you want to get out of here faster, how about you pick up some dishes? Or is your manicure too fresh?”
Yeah, it was a dig at her girly-ness. Because it drove him crazy. In a I-don’t-want-to-find-all-of-that-hot-but-I-do way. He didn’t want to get turned on by the things that screamed high maintenance. He didn’t consider himself one to notice lipstick, for instance, but he knew every color Ava had worn this week—and if they made him think of things like cotton candy and red wine and Red Delicious apples, well that was just a symptom of being a food guy. Probably.
“My manicure is fresh, as a matter of fact,” Ava told him, wiggling her fingers that boasted red nails that matched her shirt, shoes, lipstick and purse. “But I can probably handle carrying some plates and cups.”
Parker fought the urge to grin at the way she regarded the dirty dishes on the counter in front of her. Like they were something new and puzzling. Something disgusting and new and puzzling. He waved at the diner as a whole. “Start anywhere. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
As he straightened up in the back, he listened to the clacking of plates and silverware and the tapping of Ava’s heels on the tile and the muttered swearing. He let himself grin then. He heard her cussing a lot when they both had only the screen doors to their restaurants open and she was in there “baking”. There wasn’t a day that went by that something didn’t crash or bang over there. Sometimes it was the metal pie pans and the stainless steel bowls she had, but she’d gone through plenty of glass bowls and measuring cups as well.
He could only imagine that she’d stuck her finger in some leftover ketchup or something when he heard, “fucking disgusting”, and he assumed she’d tipped over a not-quite-empty glass when he heard, “son of a bitch”.
This was the most entertaining cleanup he’d had in a while.
“Speaking of inefficient,” she said, coming through the swinging door with a stack of plates held as gingerly as possible in her hands. “Making a bunch of trips like this is going to take forever. Did the entire damned town come in to eat today?”
Miraculously, she had nothing on her clothes. Not a wet spot, not a dab of mustard, nothing. It was like even the food knew better than to mess with Ava Carmichael.
“They did.” He pointed to where she could set the dishes down. “But it’s your own fault. Half of those people usually eat well before one, but they all came in late and then stalled so they could be around when I had to throw everyone out.”
“They didn’t think you’d do it?”
“Oh, they were absolutely hoping I would.”
“Why don’t you ever make them leave on time?” she asked, tipping her head. “You get all grumpy about the food and the way they eat, but you let them sit around well after closing time.”
“Because the food is what really matters,” he sai
d simply.
He would love it if people respected his business hours, but he also understood that this was how life in Bliss was. People were laid-back here. It was why he loved this town.
Opening and closing times were estimates. It didn’t surprise anyone if they walked up to a storefront and found a “Gone Fishing” sign on the door. Literally. If someone really needed something from the pharmacy after five, the pharmacist, Bob Larson, could be reached by his wife’s cell phone and he’d come down and open up. But if Bob’s granddaughter, Abby, had a piano recital at two p.m., then you’d have to wait until it was over, and Bob had eaten cookies and punch, to get your prescription refilled.
It was what Parker, and everyone else, loved about Bliss. They all just worked together to get everyone what they needed. Though it would just be a lot more convenient if they got out right at one.
But no one got to put ketchup on a steak he made. The food was the one thing he had full control over.
Ava was studying him in a way that made him shift his weight. “What?” he finally asked.
“I get it,” she said with a lift of her shoulder. “The stuff that’s most you is what you get protective of and worked up about. The rest is just…noise.”
Parker had to admit her insight surprised him. “Is that why you swear and throw things when you’re making pie?” he asked. “Because it’s something you’re doing directly and it’s not turning out?”
She gave him a slow smile, and Parker felt his heart kick against his sternum as it reached her eyes. “Parker, there is something you really need to understand as we work on the pie shop.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about pie.”
That caught him enough off guard that he didn’t have time to cover his laugh. “Okay, got it. So what’s with the swearing? You just don’t like having to do something you don’t care about?”
He knew that was true. Ava was the type of woman who was simply good at everything she did. Except pie.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then she said, “I care about getting it right mostly because it has to be good for my sisters.”
“And your sisters are the most you?” he asked, echoing back her words.
“Taking care of them is the most me,” she said. Then she gave him a little half smile and turned to head back to the front of the diner.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing a big gray plastic bin and handing it to her. “You can get more in a trip with this.”
She took it from him. “Did you let the place get so messy because you intended to make me work?”
He lifted a brow. “I can honestly say that having you bus tables in my diner didn’t occur to me for a second.”
She laughed and Parker found himself standing in one spot, staring at the door she’d gone through for several seconds longer than he should have.
* * *
Wow, picking up other people’s dirty dishes was really disgusting.
And it took forever.
This was the third day she’d showed up just before one to get started on her baking lessons, and it was the third day the whole thing was taking so long they weren’t going to make it fruit picking. Or even to the pie shop kitchen. The first day she’d believed Parker when he said having her help out hadn’t even occurred to him, but she could swear yesterday and now today, the place was an even bigger mess. Either Parker had pulled out every dish and utensil he owned, or people in town had gotten wind that she was bussing tables and had decided to be especially messy.
Ava loaded the plastic bin with another stack of dishes and dumped two plastic water glasses on top. She was half kneeling on the booth to reach the far end of the table so she had to scoot back and push herself out of the booth. In retrospect, she should have kept the bin on the table until she was on her feet, rather than dragging it with her, but she didn’t realize that until she tried to stand up.
Her left foot slipped on something wet on the floor, her ankle turned and she pitched to the side, the bin of dishes hitting the floor with an ear-shattering crash. “Son of a bitch!”
Parker came storming through the kitchen door a second later. “What the hell?” He scowled at the bin of dishes then up at her. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Well, asking if she was hurt was nice, considering she’d just broken at least five plates and a couple of cups. “I slipped on some water and twisted my ankle.”
He scowled at her shoes and muttered something that sounded like “death of me.” He strode to the bin and lifted it off the floor, setting it on the table. Then he turned to look at her. His eyes tracked over her from head to toe, and Ava felt some of the jumpiness from the other day before skitter over her skin. “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.
“What?” She propped her hands on her hips, feeling like she was bracing for…something. She wasn’t even sure what.
“You don’t have a single drop of anything on you. And every broken dish is still in the bin. How the hell do you do that?”
She looked down at her clothes. Huh, he was right. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You’re like Teflon or something.” He stepped to her and before she realized what he was doing, put his hands on her waist and picked her up.
“Parker!”
But before she could even muster a good protest—though her nerve endings had no idea why she’d be protesting his hands on her—he’d deposited her on one of the stools at the counter.
“Wha—” She tried again, but he squatted in front of her and cradled one of her feet in his palm. He slipped her shoe off and dropped it to the floor. His hand continued to hold her foot, the heat of it sending waves of warmth and prickly awareness up her calf to her thigh and then higher.
He looked up at her as he moved his hands to her other foot and slid that shoe off too.
The opposite of what Prince Charming had done to Cinderella with the glass slippers.
Ava wet her lips, watching him, and was startled to see his gaze drop to her mouth. The warm prickles of sensation intensified.
“You’re going to kill yourself on these things,” he said as her second shoe dropped to the floor.
“I’m—” She swallowed. “Fine. My ankle is fine.”
He held her gaze for a moment. Then he nodded and stretched to his feet. “Good.” He reached for her, his hands at her waist again, lifting her off the stool and depositing her on the floor. “Watch out that you don’t step in anything weird.”
Then he grabbed the tub of dishes and headed into the kitchen.
Yeah, Prince Charming’s opposite all right.
She didn’t love the barefoot-on-a-strange-floor thing, but she wasn’t about to act prissy or squeamish about it. She was a little prissy at times. Especially compared to Cori and Brynn. Cori was the daring one and would go anywhere and try anything once. Brynn’s mind was that of a scientist and she could rationalize anything. Like the fact that it was irrational to be scared of things that could be easily caught or killed—bugs, snakes, and rodents. But overall, Ava was just not the barefoot or blue jeans kind of girl. She liked dressing up and she loved her shoes.
But she’d already learned that stiletto heels and slick tile floors didn’t go well together over in the pie shop. Most days over there she kicked her shoes off and replaced them with flat, satin slippers. Still, if she was leaving the kitchen, she put her heels back on. Because she liked them. They made her happy. They made a statement without her ever having to say a word. Some of them said I’m-in-charge. Some said I’m-feeling-playful. And others expressed things in between those extremes. The colors, the styles, the heights…they all helped with the message. Today’s trip to pick fruit—because they had to do something pie related today—had inspired her to choose red again today. The red theme she had going on. And every time she looked at the red shoes on her feet, they’d made her smile and anticipate the trip.
And that anticipation was all about the shoes and
the fruit. And nothing to do with the idea of spending the day with Parker Blake. It was work. A means to an end. A way to make sure the pie shop was everything Cori needed it to be.
If she had to put up with Parker Blake to do it…and pretend she liked him…well, then, she could probably pull that off.
Even if he kept putting his hands on her. And she kind of hoped he did. Damn.
Men didn’t touch her without permission. Not that he’d done much. He’d touched her waist and her feet. But yeah, that hyper-awareness she seemed to have around him had washed over her just from that. She did not like that jumpy feeling. It wasn’t a bad feeling exactly. It definitely wasn’t creepy, and it hadn’t made her push him away, or pull her foot away, and it had kind of made her feel warm and tingly…
And that was the problem. It was unexpected. He made her feel something she hadn’t been prepared for. She didn’t like unexpected. She wasn’t always the smartest person in the room, or the most creative, or the most powerful, or even the richest. But she was always the most prepared. She went over what-if scenarios in her head constantly, a habit so engrained now that she did it without thinking and even in the most normal, mundane situations. Situations that didn’t really require a plan B or a plan C. What if Cori doesn’t make dinner tonight, what will we do instead? What if Brynn doesn’t get the new plates ordered in time? What if I never figure out how to make a fucking pie?
Okay, that last one wasn’t unimportant. But she’d already figured out her plan for that one. And, incidentally, for the dinner thing and the plate thing. She always had a backup plan, even when she didn’t need one.
What if I keep having butterflies in my stomach and itchy feelings when Parker is around? What if he touches me again? What if I started wanting him to touch more of me?
Lost in her thoughts about Parker, Ava carried a huge stack of plates into the kitchen and came face-to-face with the man that was unexpectedly making her feel things. She looked at him as he turned.
High Heels and Haystacks: Billionaires in Blue Jeans, book two Page 5
