High Heels and Haystacks: Billionaires in Blue Jeans, book two

by Erin Nicholas

  And realized she’d been stupid not to do the what-if thing prior to this. Because this awareness of him was not, actually, new. She vividly remembered the first time he’d stepped into the pie shop kitchen, all scowls and sarcasm, telling her that she better figure this all out, and calling her Boss in that way that made her really want to boss him around.

  Dammit. She’d ignored it. How? Why? The attraction didn’t make sense. There was nothing about him that made her think she should want him. Well, other than the biceps. And the brown eyes. And the scowls.

  The scowls? Ava frowned herself. But yeah, the scowls. She was used to guys who smiled. A lot. With lots of teeth and an enthusiastic handshake and lots of words. Lots and lots of words meant to compliment and convince. Words to show off how smart they were and all they had to bring to the table. Her dinner dates had been undistinguishable from her business meetings.

  But Parker Blake didn’t smile at people to make them feel more at ease. He didn’t say things like “I’d like to talk about how we can further both of our agendas”. As far as she could tell, he didn’t really have an agenda.

  And that was all…attractive. And unexpected.

  Dammit.

  He drove a truck. He lived in Kansas. He made hamburgers for a living.

  And he made her aware of body parts that she hadn’t given a lot of thought to in a long time.

  “Ava?”

  He was watching her with both eyebrows up.

  “We should really get going,” she managed.

  He glanced at the clock and nodded. “Yeah, we should.” He pulled a rack of clean, steaming hot dishes from one side of the industrial dishwasher and shoved a full rack of dirty dishes into the other side. “Let me load the last of these and then we’ll head out.”

  She nodded. Then looked around. She’d been in this kitchen a number of times, borrowing eggs and butter and sugar and vanilla and a number of things she’d never used in her life. She vaguely recalled baking cookies as a kid, but Cori had always been the one who enjoyed that stuff most. Ava had mostly watched…and taste-tested. She smiled thinking about it now. She and her sisters had been close. They still were, mostly. But things had changed when they were about ten. Their father had developed more of an interest in them and their activities and had spent more time with them then, for some reason. But Ava mentally shook her head. She knew why. He’d realized they were his only hope for heirs to his company and fortune, and he’d decided to start molding them.

  “You okay?”

  Ava looked up to find Parker watching her. She swallowed. “Yeah. Of course. Just…hungry,” she said, grasping for an excuse for her distraction.

  Something flickered in his eyes, and Ava found her breath lodged in her throat. Hungry could mean so many things…

  “That I can actually help you with,” he told her.

  And he’d enjoy it. She wasn’t sure why those words whispered through her mind just then, but she knew it was true. And she wasn’t talking about cooking.

  Ava cleared her throat. “I’m sure you can.”

  Yep, still not just talking about food.

  “Do you want a burger or something?” he asked.

  It was possibly the strangest thing she’d ever felt, but she had the craziest notion that if she said yes to something on the menu, he’d be disappointed. And why that mattered to her at all, she had no idea. But it worked out, because she wasn’t a burger girl.

  Her eye caught on a bowl of fruit and vegetables on the center island. “Hey.” She crossed to the bowl and picked up an avocado. “You don’t have anything on your menu that uses avocado.”

  He leaned back against the edge of the sink. The dishwasher was still whooshing beside him. He crossed his arms. “You sure about that?”

  She widened her eyes. “Trust me, if you did, I would have noticed.”

  “You like avocado?”

  “Who, in their right mind, doesn’t like avocado?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She tossed it up into the air and then caught it again. Then, on a whim, she tossed it to him. He caught it without moving anything more than his one arm and hand.

  “Everyone says you’re amazing with burgers,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “I don’t really like burgers.”

  “Because you’ve never had mine.”

  It was ridiculous to feel a hot, tickling sensation down her back from that, but there was something in his low, rumbling voice, and the confidence that exuded from him like the steam from the dishwasher, that made her stand a little straighter. “Well, hot shot, you’ve been making burgers most of your life. What if I told you that I want something amazing made with avocado. And—” She looked back at the bowl. She picked up a bunch of green onions and a lemon. “And these.” She held them up.

  He just looked at her for a long moment. Then slowly, one side of his mouth curled up. “I don’t take orders in my own kitchen,” he said. “And this isn’t some damned cooking show on TV.”

  She’d never watched a cooking show on TV. “So you’re saying that you can’t make something on the fly with these three ingredients?” she asked. “You can only do the same old recipes you always do here?”

  “I am not saying that.”

  “Okay, then. Do it.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. Then he shook his head and pushed away from the edge of the sink.

  It wasn’t as if leaning like that had made him short, but as he stretched to his full height, Ava found herself mentally measuring where she’d come up to in her favorite heels. Even in the four-inch Louis Vuittons, the top of her head would maybe come to his nose.

  She really freaking loved that.

  “I’m doing this only because I’m hungry too,” he said, crossing to the fridge.

  Ava grinned behind his back. Sure he was. He was totally rising to the challenge she’d just issued. But she didn’t care why he was making whatever he was about to make. Parker had bought an avocado. He wasn’t the type of guy to have a bunch of stuff lying around that he didn’t intend to use. And she wanted in on that. He was a really good cook. Really good. She hadn’t had his burgers, but she’d had his tomato basil soup, his grilled chicken sandwich, his white chili, his cheesy baked potato soup…he made a lot of soups, come to think of it. And those didn’t make it on the menu either. They were just under Soup of the Day. But they were all really good. Really, really good. She never cared about food that much, but she’d dreamed about that tomato basil soup.

  Parker rummaged in his fridge for a few seconds, and Ava unapologetically leaned to the right to get a better look at his butt in the blue jeans he wore. The jeans she had on today were only the second she’d ever bought, and she didn’t find them particularly comfortable. They were fine, but she was so used to skirts, it felt strange to have something between her legs.

  She blushed as those words went through her mind. Which was really stupid.

  Just then Parker straightened, his arms full of food, and she was effectively distracted. So, yes, she had a personal chef. An actual person she paid to come in and cook for her. And she went out a lot. No, she didn’t make meals. If her cook had the day off, Ava poured cereal, opened yogurt, scooped cottage cheese. And yes, ate soup from the take-out place on the corner. She loved soup. But that was pretty much it.

  He carried everything to the center island and set it all down. There was a package of bacon, two hard-boiled eggs, a container of shredded chicken, and an ear of corn.

  The hum of the dishwasher and the sound of bacon frying and Parker chopping filled the air as Ava watched. She could admit she was a little mesmerized. She didn’t often watch people preparing food for her either. She’d been in the kitchen with Cori a number of times while she made dinner or dessert, but Ava hadn’t really paid attention.

  Then again, she didn’t think that she’d find it hot to see Cori grasping an ear of corn and slicing the kernels from it with long, sure strokes of a butcher knife.r />
  She did when Parker did it. She also found the way he deftly, but gently, scooped the avocado from its skin, and the way he chopped the bacon, a little hot for some reason. And then there was the lemon squeezing.

  He mixed it all together in a glass bowl, then dished it out onto two plates, handing her one with a fork without a word. He was that confident that she’d eat it. And like it. But she was actually a little hungry and this was not on his lunch menu, so she was curious. Maybe he knew how to do more than make soup and burgers.

  She scooped up a bite that contained avocado, chicken, bacon, and the lemon and olive oil dressing. She was aware that he was watching her as he also took his first bite. She closed her lips around the tines of the fork and…her taste buds lit up. Ava felt her eyes widen as the salty, lemony tang of the dressing mixed with the other flavors. The textures were divine together, the creaminess of the avocado and the crunch of the bacon a perfect complement to one another.

  She might have moaned.

  When she looked at Parker, he was still simply watching her. He’d even stopped chewing.

  “Wow,” she managed, without completely gushing. “That’s delicious.”

  He swallowed. “One of my favorites.”

  “You make this a lot?”

  He nodded, taking another bite.

  “Why isn’t this on the menu?”

  There was a little crease between his eyebrows for just a flash before he smoothed his expression and said, “This is a burger town.”

  “A burger town,” she repeated. She took another bite, because she couldn’t help it, before continuing. “No one can eat burgers every day.”

  “That’s why I have BLTs and Philly cheesesteaks and Reubens and tuna melts on the menu too.” He turned toward the sink, scooping the last couple of bites of the chicken avocado salad into his mouth.

  She scooped up another big bite too, then said, “Well, then a sandwich town anyway, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” He rinsed his plate and then pulled the rack of clean dishes from the dishwasher and shoved the last load inside.

  “And soup,” she added, taking another bite and chewing slowly, savoring it.

  “Yeah, soup too,” he said flatly.

  “And of course, pancakes and eggs and meatloaf and pot roast and steak and—”

  “Do you have a point?” he asked, facing her again.

  She took the final bite and considered licking the plate. “Just that it’s not only a burger town.”

  “It’s a town where people like what they like.”

  And she realized that frustrated Parker. Making the same things over and over because people didn’t want to try new things. She didn’t know why she thought that. He gave no indication he had any emotion about it, really. He stood, feet slightly apart, meeting her gaze directly, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. He looked almost bored.

  But that was what got her instincts humming.

  Her father hadn’t taught her nursery rhymes or how to throw a ball or about the classics of literature. But he’d taught her about reading people—body language, the things they weren’t saying, their reactions. And she knew this guy cared about food.

  He was completely at home in the kitchen. The look on his face when he’d been mixing everything up was exactly how Cori looked when she was baking. Even back when she’d been making cookies as a kid, she’d had an air of delight about her as she turned several simple ingredients into one delicious concoction. And Cori loved to watch people take the first bite of something she’d created. Ava could swear that Cori got more pleasure from that than she did from eating the food herself. And that was saying something.

  Ava swiped a finger through the dressing left on her plate. “Well, I don’t care about everyone else. If you just make this every other day for me, it will all be good.” She lifted her finger to her mouth.

  He didn’t reply immediately, and Ava looked up. And froze. He was watching her lick the dressing from her finger. His eyes were hot, and Ava felt the snaps of awareness along her nerve endings.

  “You think I would cook for just you?” he finally asked, his voice low and with a gruff note around the edges.

  Ava dropped her hand and shifted her weight. Dammit. She never shifted her weight. That was a body language signal that confirmed discomfort. But dang, having little fireworks going off all over her body was uncomfortable. Why did the idea of Parker cooking—doing something he so clearly loved—just for her, set off those fireworks?

  “People do things just for me all the time,” she said, putting a note of haughtiness into her voice. It was true, after all.

  “You don’t say,” he practically drawled.

  5

  Okay, he needed to not do that anymore. It wasn’t a deep southern drawl or a Texas drawl. It was more of a hot-alpha-male drawl. And she was really into that. Apparently.

  She shrugged. “People like to be on my good side.” Which reminded her of a very obvious way Parker was unique.

  “And why would I worry about that?” he asked.

  Exactly.

  “I’m a lot easier to get along with when I’m well fed,” she said.

  That was true. She didn’t have a close, lust-filled relationship with food. She didn’t even really like sweets. Which made her owning—and baking in—a pie shop ironic. She liked chocolate but preferred it in liquid form. Like hot cocoa. Or a martini. But most of the time she just didn’t give a lot of thought to food.

  “What’s your favorite food?” he asked, surprising her.

  “Oh, well, probably…” but she trailed off. Huh. She wasn’t sure.

  “You don’t know?”

  “I like…a lot of things.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her. And she wasn’t sure she believed her. She liked avocados. And chocolate martinis. And…the rest was kind of just there. She ate it. She had things she didn’t like. Beets for one. Things with pumpkin spice for another. And octopus. No thank you.

  She decided to level with him. “A lot of my eating happens during business meetings, or social outings that are about networking and making nice with business contacts. So I’m usually a lot more focused on the conversation than I am on the food. I can eat almost anything.”

  She ate. She had learned the hard way that her mental and physical energy suffered if she skipped meals. But other than beets and octopus—which she doubted she’d run into in Bliss anyway—she could handle most other things.

  Parker scowled. “You can eat almost anything,” he repeated.

  He sounded very judgey about that.

  “Shouldn’t a guy who cooks for a living love people who will eat anything?” she asked, truly curious about why he seemed annoyed.

  “People who will eat anything don’t really care about what they’re eating,” he said. “They don’t—” He broke off.

  “They don’t what?”

  “They don’t actually enjoy it. None of it is special. It doesn’t matter to them.”

  Ava thought about that. He was right. None of the food really ever mattered to her. Except maybe this chicken avocado salad. “You want your food to matter to people?” she asked.

  He frowned, and she was sure he wasn’t going to answer her. But he shocked her by saying, “Have you ever seen the look on a person’s face when a plate of their favorite thing in the world is set down in front of them? Have you ever seen someone try something for the first time and fall in love with it? Have you ever seen someone start off upset or angry or tired and then, after they eat, start smiling and take a deep breath and relax?”

  Ava knew her eyebrows were nearly in her hairline. But she felt herself nodding. “I’ve seen ice cream do that to Cori.”

  And he cracked a smile. Sparkles of fire danced along her limbs in response.

  “Exactly. Food can actually mean something to people. And food is what I do. It’s the only thing I really know how to do. So yeah, I want my food to matter.”

 
; Wow. That was…personal. And she was shocked. She couldn’t deny it.

  “So the burgers matter to the people around here?”

  And the shuttered look was back in his eyes, and his mouth set in a straight line. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.

  “But—”

  A high-pitched beeping hit the air, and Ava lost her train of thought. She looked around, but Parker reached for the watch on his wrist and pushed a button. The beeping stopped.

  “An alarm?”

  “We should head back from the fruit picking now,” he said wryly.

  He’d set an alarm on his watch so he’d leave on time to get back to the diner. Forget all the cooking and low, rough drawling and the hot gaze on her mouth—being on time for stuff was sexy.

  Then what he’d said sunk in. “So we missed it again?” she asked. Dammit.

  “We can go tomorrow,” he said.

  Of course they could. There was nothing saying today had to be the day. The way Hank had said “fruit picking” the other morning made Ava think that perhaps the town thought they were going to be doing something else entirely. Which was fine. The town thinking she and Parker were having nooners played right into one of her goals here.

  If he was going to be in her space on a regular basis and act like God’s gift to pie lovers—which he would—then she was going to get something extra out of it. Like closer to completing her dating stipulation.

  “I guess so,” she said. She glanced at her salad plate. She couldn’t quite regret hanging out in his kitchen today though. And she wouldn’t pass up lunch from Parker again tomorrow. Maybe people would just start believing the nooners were happening on his kitchen island.

  Of course, the health department might frown on that.

  Parker let out a long sigh and she looked up. “Come here,” he said, starting for his back door.

  “Hang on a second.” She hurried to the front of the diner and slipped her heels back on to walk outside. The back parking lot was different from walking around in the diner barefoot. Parker’s diner was immaculate, honestly. She would eat that chicken salad off the floor of his kitchen probably. Hell, she might eat that chicken salad out of a dumpster.