“She’s just being a smart-ass,” Parker said. “But I knew when I gave her the assignment she’d…” He trailed off, realizing that none of that discounted anything about any fantasies. And now he was picturing a big, solid, very sturdy wooden desk. And Ava in glasses.
Crap.
“You knew she’d do a report?” Evan asked.
“No. But I knew she’d do the taste-testing. She likes being challenged.” He scratched his jaw and worked on not grimacing. That was all sounding very sexual.
“Does she now,” Evan said, thoughtfully.
“She loves stuff like this,” Parker said, waving the report in his hand.
Plastic report covers and colored tabs were very in character for Ava. Making a mess in the kitchen, less so. He straightened as a realization hit him. Ava didn’t like messes. But she made them when trying to make her pies. She made huge messes actually. Usually because she got frustrated and threw things around her kitchen. But it clearly irritated her and made her uncomfortable. But messes were a part of cooking. He loved organization and having everything clean and in its place too. But when he was actually cooking, he let go of that. He lost himself in the scents and textures and colors. He didn’t worry about splashes and spills. He cleaned up immediately after cooking, but for the time it took to create, he let it all go, and it was…therapeutic. It was true that Ava seemed immune to getting dirty. Not so much as a crumb touched her skirts, and she never had even a dribble of anything on her shoes. That had to mean that she wasn’t really getting into it.
“She’s into charts and graphs and shit?” Evan asked with a wince.
Organization and schedules and planning were not Evan’s thing. Which made him perfect for the spontaneous and creative Cori. And vice versa. Their house would probably be a mess, but they’d be having a hell of a good time in the midst of all the clutter.
“Definitely,” Parker said, feeling a sense of accomplishment at having figured something out about Ava. And a hint of anticipation, if he wasn’t mistaken. He could teach her so much more than how to make pies. He could teach her to get a little dirty. And how great that could feel. And he didn’t even mean that in a sexual way. At least not entirely. If anyone needed to learn to unwind, it was Ava. And he didn’t mean that in a sexual way either. At least, not entirely.
“Hell, you two are perfect together then,” Evan said.
Like a bucket of cold water had just drenched him, Parker felt shock, then cold, then heat pump through his system as another very important realization about Ava hit him. He shook his head but lowered his voice, as he was aware of the people around him. “No. Fuck no, even.”
Ava wasn’t the type of woman to just take advice or to learn something new and tuck it away. She was driven. She was incredibly focused. She got shit done. And if he did convince her to get a little messy and enjoy baking then…he’d be screwed. She would go all in, one thousand percent, get all caught up. He couldn’t have that. His messes were therapeutic and pleasurable. Hers would be...messing up his world. He could deal with his own stuff. He could handle messes he created and contained. But he couldn’t get someone like Ava all fired up and going at it without getting some of her mess on his.
And he didn’t mean that sexually either. Probably.
Evan just laughed as if he hadn’t just sent a chaotic mix of emotions and thoughts coursing through his friend’s system. “I’m just saying, if you show her your inventory system, she’ll be all over you.”
Yeah. His inventory system was awesome. Ava would love it. So he had to keep that, and all of his other stuff, under wraps. She needed to see only the laid-back, grumpy diner owner next door. Who was being put out by having to teach her to bake. Who was taking over the pie shop only because it had been important to Rudy. Who was willing to help her, and the shop, out because it was going to be his someday. Not because it drove him insane the way she was going about everything. And not because he actually liked the idea of being creative over in the pie shop in a way he couldn’t be in the diner.
He hid—and tried to resist as much as possible—the organized, dot-every-I, color-coded side of his personality because it went against everything his father had wanted for himself and his family when he’d moved them to Bliss. The drive, the give-everything-one-hundred-and-ten-percent, the always striving for more, for bigger and better, had killed his father.
Bill had moved them to Bliss three years before the aneurysm hit. It had been his hope that Bliss, and its laid-back, simple lifestyle and relaxed routine, would save his and Parker’s life. It had probably given him three years more than he would have had under the stress of his job in Chicago. But the sixteen-hour days, the lack of exercise, the pressure and strain of being in the financial world of Chicago had caught up with him anyway. The doctors had told them that aneurysms sometimes happened for no apparent reason. But in Bill’s case, there were definitely contributing factors.
Parker was determined to enjoy the life his father had given him here in Bliss. He was going to breathe deeply of the fresh air, take time to appreciate the people in his life, do the things that made him happy. And resist the urge to knock down walls to expand the size of the diner or add to the menu or open another location. Just because those things occurred to him, didn’t mean he had to act on them. His restlessness simply meant that he needed a hobby or something. And yes, he kept binders that had color-coded tabs in them. And yes, he was a stickler about the food. Otherwise, he was laid-back and fucking relaxed about things. He let customers linger past closing time, didn’t he?
“Yeah, well, I don’t want her all over me. Or my business,” he told Evan quietly. “I don’t want anyone organizing me.”
“Or bossing you.”
“That too.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I’d better get in there,” Parker said, a little louder. “If she’s working this hard to get me alone, can’t make her wait too long.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing exactly,” Evan said, clearly confused by Parker’s fuck no a minute ago and now saying that he’d better get in to Ava. “But this is going to be entertaining.”
Parker started for the kitchen. At least he knew what he was doing in there. Mostly.
As his hand hit the swinging door, he heard a clatter, a clicking, and then another clatter.
The first sound was the clatter of metal on metal. The click was high heels on tile. And the second clatter was plate on plate. He’d know those sounds anywhere.
When the door swung open, Ava was putting plates into the dishwasher rack. But he glanced at the stove where he had soup simmering. In a metal pot. There was a spoon resting on the stovetop next to the pot. A spoon that would definitely make a clattering noise against that pot.
“I’ve got that.” He moved in next to her, setting the report he still carried up on the shelf above the dishwasher and reaching for a plate.
She faced him. “I’ll finish these. Have you read that?” She gestured toward the report.
He lifted a brow. “You want me to read it now?” He’d known better than to think she’d been joking with the report. Someone else might have put blank pages inside the report cover just to mess with him. But Ava would enjoy doing the report. He was sure the report was thorough and perfect too. Not a single typo to be found. And he could only imagine what references she’d used. He was a little curious about the photos though, now that she mentioned it. What the hell had she taken pictures of? “Do you want me to grade it too?”
Her cheeks got a little pink. That intrigued him. Ava didn’t blush easily. The only time he’d seen her cheeks red were when they were flushed because she was irritated with him. Maybe she didn’t blush because no one teased her. It would take someone with big cojones to tease this woman.
But Parker would like to think that he had big ones.
“No, of course not,” she said primly.
Yes, prim fit her much better than cute.
“Because I’ll warn you,” he told her. “I’m
a tough guy to impress.”
There was a flicker in her eyes and Parker realized that being graded by someone who would be tough got her going. She liked to be challenged. Or, at least, she was used to it. And to rising to the occasion.
Had Rudy been the one who had been hard to impress? The thought flashed through Parker’s mind. Had Ava grown up trying to win her dad’s praise? That made some sense. Rudy had been one of the most laid-back, accepting guys Parker had known, but he also knew, directly from Rudy’s mouth, that he was a very different guy in Bliss than he’d been in New York. And he’d had regrets about his daughters.
Parker moved in closer and found his eyes dropped to the front of her apron. There was a dab of what looked like some of the cheesy chicken tortilla soup he had on the stove.
So maybe Ava wasn’t completely immune to spills and messes.
He felt that surge of anticipation again and quickly tamped it down. Sure, getting a little messy would be good for her, but it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure she let her hair down.
Rudy’s will says she’s supposed to have fun. That’s the main intention behind the dating stipulation.
Parker really wished he didn’t know as much about Rudy’s will as he did. Or about Rudy’s daughters, come to think of it. Rudy had talked about his girls a lot. And he’d been concerned about how serious Ava was and how hard she worked. He’d hoped a nice guy from Bliss could help her relax a little.
Dammit.
If he was stepping in to help with that requirement, then he had to make sure she was having some fun. For Rudy.
This was getting complicated. Of course it was. Relationships were like that. Especially with women like Ava. He needed to take out some sweet, small-town girl.
“Did you at least try the tortilla strips and stuff with it?” he asked, not pretending not to see where she’d spilled. Probably when she’d jumped guiltily when he’d been on his way into the kitchen.
She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, clearly trying to decide how to answer. “What stuff?” she finally asked.
He shook his head and turned. He crossed to the fridge and pulled out the garnishes for the soup. Though, he was stupidly not upset about feeding her again. He dished up a bowl of soup, tossed crispy tortilla strips on top—which he’d made from corn tortillas dusted with a special blend of spices—added a dollop of sour cream, sprinkled cheddar cheese and green onions over it and then handed her the bowl. With a napkin.
She rolled her eyes at the napkin but took it anyway before taking a big spoonful of the soup, getting a little bit of all the extras in the spoon as well. Parker approved. But he didn’t let it show.
He also didn’t let it show how awareness and heat slid through him as she closed her eyes and gave a happy sigh as she swallowed.
Damn, he liked feeding this woman.
“That’s my lunch,” he said. “Again.”
She opened her eyes and took another big bite before saying, “That’s why I was sneaking bites of it.”
He snorted before he could stop it. “You don’t have to sneak around.” He wouldn’t go so far as to admit that he’d made extra soup today with the thought that she might like some before they started baking. He had no idea what she typically ate for lunch unless she was eating from the diner. She’d had salads and sandwiches and soup from him in the past three months. She usually stopped in and got it to go though. And he was definitely not going to tell her that he added things to her orders that he didn’t to everyone else’s. Simply because they didn’t care. They wouldn’t appreciate it. But he’d thought from the beginning that Ava might be someone who would appreciate chipotle mayonnaise and cilantro-lime dressing and basil in her tomato soup.
And he’d been right.
She was in the midst of another bite, but she lifted her eyebrows. “I have to sneak the butter.”
“You never sneak the butter,” he countered. “I hear you every time. You bang the doors and you stomp around here in those heels. There’s no way to miss you.”
She didn’t respond to that. But she did run her finger around the edge of the bowl and lift it to her mouth, sucking the rest of the soup away. Parker swallowed hard. Yeah, there was no way to miss this woman. She wasn’t as bubbly as her sister, Cori, but you didn’t ignore Ava Carmichael when she walked into a room.
She sighed. “This is amazing.”
The jolt of satisfaction was ridiculously strong. “Thanks.”
“I have no idea why you don’t put this stuff on the menu.”
“They like chili and chicken noodle.”
“And tomato basil,” she said.
Well, tomato anyway. He just gave a single nod. She didn’t need to know that he’d added the basil only to hers.
“You really don’t think they want to try anything new?”
He lifted a shoulder, feeling the tension creep up his neck. “I’ve tried new things. It doesn’t usually do well.”
“They complain?”
“They don’t even really try it.”
She frowned and opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “I’ll finish in here and you can make sure no one’s heading out without paying, okay?”
He needed her out of his kitchen. He would prefer to get her out of the diner altogether, but he shared the front of the diner with people all the time. The kitchen was another matter. And he didn’t need her in here, changing the energy, talking to him about his frustrations, and getting his wheels turning about new ideas and what-ifs. He could feel it in her—the absolute inability to not be creative and driven and to look at everything with a how-could-it-be-more in her mind.
The diner was exactly the way his dad had wanted it to be, and it was giving Parker a very nice life. He had an income, he got to do something he loved every day, he got to help take care of the town that meant the world to him, carry on his father’s legacy, and not keel over from a heart attack before he was forty. And he had plenty of time to hunt and fish and play poker and watch ball games and all kinds of other relaxing, fun stuff with his friends. It was all good. Fine. Perfect. He didn’t need Ava Carmichael in here making him think about other things. About more.
7
Evan was the last person to leave the diner.
“Be gentle with him,” he told Ava with a grin as he slid off of his stool and laid a twenty-dollar bill in her outstretched hand.
“Oh, I’ll be very good to him, I promise,” Ava said, with a straight face and no hint of sarcasm.
Of all the people in town who needed to at least suspect that she and Parker were doing more than baking, Evan Stone was the most important. He was the lawyer in charge of her father’s trust. He had to agree that her time with Parker could count toward her dating stipulation at the end of the next three months.
“It will be just him and me,” she added. “For the next few hours. Alone. It will be…interesting.”
Did that sound mysterious? Or like she was worried? She had no idea. And Evan’s grin looked more amused than curious.
“It certainly will.”
Did he suspect something? And if so, was it something good?
Of course, Evan was spending a lot of time with her sister—though they couldn’t call it dating—and he could come right out and ask Cori if something was going on with Ava and Parker. He knew she and her sisters told each other everything.
So the plan was to go home tonight after spending the next few hours with Parker, and tell her sisters about how funny and sexy he was and what a good time they’d had. Cori and Brynn could start suspecting something first. Then Cori could relate her idea to Evan. And all of their imaginations could take it from there. But she had to be subtle about it for now. Even with Parker. Mostly because…she didn’t want him to say no. Sure, he had reasons to go along with it. If she failed to meet the will’s stipulations, he’d have to be the Carmichael CFO. But he could easily suggest she date someone else. And, well, she didn’t want to. And she didn’t really want Parker to
suggest it because that would mean he did not want to date her, no matter how many good reasons there were to go along with it.
Ava took a deep breath. Okay. For now, she’d be subtle. Not exactly her strong suit.
But saying Parker was funny and sexy was hardly a fabrication. It was more like…an admission.
She locked the front door behind Evan and turned the sign to CLOSED. Glancing around the diner, she untied her apron as she headed for the kitchen. The front was clean and ready to go for the dinner crowd. A huge improvement over the day before.
And she’d worn her heels the whole time. Because she’d taken small loads and watched what she was doing. But her feet hurt. Not that she would ever admit that to Parker, but even at eight hundred dollars and with a wider heel than her shoes yesterday, these pumps were not made for waitressing.
Or maybe it was her that wasn’t made for waitressing.
She tucked her apron behind the counter—she was going to need it tomorrow after all—and pushed through the door into the kitchen. She really wanted more of that soup, but now that Parker was camped out back here, she was going to have to resist. Or maybe she really could just have another bowl. She wasn’t sure why she felt this need to keep from saying things like “I’d like to take a bath in that soup, just so you know”.
Why was it hard to compliment Parker or let him know that she had nice thoughts about him? Or at least about his soup?
Because you have no idea what to do with a guy like him.
And that was absolutely it. Parker was unlike any guy she’d ever spent time with before. She hadn’t dated a lot in high school. When she had, it had been the sons of men her father knew or guys she met at her elite private school. They had worn suits and ties to school every day. They’d been planning for careers in finance, law, and medicine. They’d been looking for a life partner, even at age sixteen, who had goals and ambitions in line with theirs, who would be able to navigate the social scene of the wealthy in New York, who would always look perfect and say the right thing in every situation.
High Heels and Haystacks: Billionaires in Blue Jeans, book two Page 9
