by Lizzie Shane
She’d seen him go through girlfriends at a rate that would have made some of his celebrity clients blink. She knew he wasn’t Mister Forever. But that didn’t stop a weak part inside her from wishing that he could have been.
He looked up as he set the dishes on the drying rack, finding her watching him. His eyes crinkled as he gave her a little half-smile of welcome and Parv’s ovaries lurched. He’d always been her fantasy—
And she’d had to go and tell him that.
Brilliant.
She couldn’t even blame the vodka because she hadn’t had that much. Just a tiny splash. Her only excuse was that the pressure of the day had built up on her and she’d needed the release valve of spilling all her deepest darkest secrets to Max Dewitt.
Including the fact that she’d been secretly in love with him for over a decade.
At least he hadn’t run screaming into the night. Though neither had he jumped her bones—so there was one fantasy crushed.
She’d known he wouldn’t gasp, “But I’ve always loved you too!” and make mad passionate love to her right there on the floor of Common Grounds, but it had been a nice little daydream while it lasted.
No, there was no passionate obsession in his eyes. Only friendship. Concern. And if she was honest with herself, she needed that more than she needed a mad, passionate embrace from a man who’d never been able to take a relationship past the three week mark.
He collected his coat. “Shall we?”
She nodded and he held the door for her while she flipped off the lights, leaving the kitchen in that lovely, peaceful quiet of the middle of the night that she’d always loved.
Sadly, lovely peaceful quiet didn’t pay the bills.
He shrugged into his coat on the sidewalk while she locked up. “I didn’t see your car.”
“I walked.”
He nodded and moved to the passenger door of his Tesla, opening it for her. She wondered if the move was bodyguard training or gentlemanly courtesy as she slid into the plush grey leather interior. He closed the door and she watched him round the hood—he would be so many women’s fantasy. Right up until they realized that he wouldn’t stay. Parv was lucky that she already knew that little fact. Lucky that they were just friends—or at least that’s what she told herself as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.
“When did you buy this one?” she asked, petting the leather, making conversation so she wouldn’t have to think about how amazing he smelled. “Last I saw you were driving…a Corvette?” He’d gone through a series of muscle cars in the last few years—clearly a man who enjoyed power—and she’d always had trouble keeping up.
“Eco-friendly is in,” he commented, taking the turn up the hill. “My clients like this. The image it projects. And Candy was looking to sell, so I took it off her hands.”
“Your tech wizard?” A little flare of jealousy kicked up at the name. She’d met all of Max’s employees over the years at Christmas parties and Labor Day picnics and she’d never seen any sort of sparks flying between Max and Candy, but she knew firsthand that the woman was brilliant. And beautiful.
“Yeah.”
She listened carefully, but couldn’t hear any trace of unrequited love in the one syllable answer. “It’s nice,” she commented in a gross understatement. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew this one screamed wealth and luxury.
“Thanks,” Max said, already pulling into her driveway since the two mile walk took less than five minutes to drive. He parked his shiny new car behind her dilapidated Jetta and cut the engine.
“Do you want to come in?” She unfastened her seat belt. “The owners are out of town so we won’t disturb anyone.”
The house was a typical Eden estate—a gorgeous, sprawling Mediterranean style mansion with exquisite views. Parvati had an apartment over the three car garage—a converted in-law suite with private access—and could only afford the rent because the Marquez family gave her a break on the rent in exchange for her keeping an eye on the main house and watering their plants whenever they were on their yacht in the Mediterranean, which tended to be more than half the year.
“I should get home,” Max said in reply to her invitation, but neither of them moved to get out of the car.
There was something different about tonight—all the usual barriers of cheerful, distant friendliness were down. She could be honest with him in this moment, but she knew as soon as she went inside it would be over. They would revert back to who they’d been to one another before—Sidney’s brother and Sidney’s friend. And she wasn’t ready for that yet. She liked the unexpected closeness too much.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked softly. “That we’re going under.”
“I had a hunch.”
She twisted to face him. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
She just needed to keep this secret a little while longer. Until she could feel like she knew what she was doing. Until she had a plan and could brace herself for the fallout.
“Hey.” He put his hand over hers where she’d placed it on the center console when she turned. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s just business.”
“No,” she whispered, feeling those awful tears building again. “It isn’t.”
It was easy for him to say that, but it wasn’t just business. It was every corner of her life. It was Katie and her family. Their expectations. All of it.
Maybe she lacked perspective. Maybe it was a case of first-world problems and she needed to be grateful for the amazing family she had. The roof over her head—even if she was going to have to go live with her parents when she couldn’t pay her rent anymore. Maybe none of her problems mattered in the long run, but they were her problems and right now, in the middle of the night, closed in the front seat of Max’s car with him and her honesty, they didn’t feel like nothing.
She looked up at the house again—someone else’s beautiful house. It had been supposed to be a temporary measure. She’d thought, when she moved in after grad school, that it would be a short-term situation. She’d intentionally picked something that wasn’t designed to be permanent because she’d thought she would meet her Mister Right any day and she wouldn’t want a long-term lease keeping her from starting a life with him.
Now…
“I’m so tired of dating.” Max didn’t even blink at the sudden change of topic. “I think that’s part of why I loved the idea of going on Marrying Mister Perfect so much. Sidney didn’t even want to audition. I talked her into it—and then watched her get picked to fall in love on national television while I stayed home.”
It would have been crazy—she knew that—but it could also have been it for her. The love story that made her years of singleness and struggle worth it. And the exposure of the show could only have been good for the shop. It had certainly catapulted Sidney’s career into the stratosphere.
She’d had to fight her jealousy the entire time Sidney was on the show. Had to fight to be happy for her friend and not let anyone see how badly she’d wanted it for herself.
Devi would doubtless have told her that she didn’t get it because they’d already picked out a token ethnic girl in Elena Suarez—if Devi had known about the audition. Parv had never admitted to her family that she’d tried out.
Sidney hadn’t liked the idea of being on camera. Parv and Tori had to talk her into doing it, convincing her it would be good for the wedding planning business she and Tori ran together.
Then, of course, she’d gone on the show and fallen in love not with the man she was supposed to love, but with the host—whom Parv had always shamelessly crushed on when they watched MMP on their Girls’ Nights.
So Sidney got her happily ever after and Parv was happy for her. Really really really happy. So happy her friend was happy…even as she tried to squash the little voice inside her screaming that she was supposed to get a happily ever after too.
She’d wanted it, when Sidney wasn’t sure. She’d dated enough men to populate
the casts of a dozen dating shows. She’d tried to find love, damn it. She wasn’t supposed to be the charity case that everyone else was trying to fix up with the single guys who were left over.
Maybe she was too picky—her sisters certainly thought so. Maybe she’d been comparing everyone to Max, hoping to feel that awed, swept away feeling she’d felt when he’d slow danced with her at Sidney’s sweet sixteen. A pity dance.
The only relationship she would ever have with Max Dewitt would be a pity one and she knew that, knew she needed to put aside the fantasy of him and look at real men, but she wanted that magic. She wanted it so badly.
“You would have hated being on Marrying Mister Perfect,” he said, interrupting her longing.
She frowned at him. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I watched a few seasons when Sidney was picked to go on it. They pick party girls.”
“I can be a party girl.”
His eyebrows lifted skeptically. “Day drinking and cat fights? That’s your new thing?”
“Not everyone they pick is a party girl. Sidney isn’t like that.”
“Sidney’s an exception.”
Because she was so gorgeous the producers hadn’t cared. The California blond with legs for days and a cute little wedding planning business.
“You’re an introvert,” Max reminded her. “Tell me you aren’t happiest when you’re hiding in the kitchen by yourself.”
“I’m not hiding. I just like to bake. And plenty of introverts go on the show. Look at Caitlyn. She won.”
“Yeah, but they can only have so many sane girls on a show like that or it falls apart. They need big drama. Big personalities. Crazies.”
“I am dramatic!”
“Tonight you are. But how many years have you repressed this? And tomorrow you’ll be back to keeping it together.”
He thought she was repressed. Brilliant. This day just kept getting better.
She reached for the door handle. “Good night, Max.”
“Parv.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm, the touch so light she barely felt it. “You’re too good for that show.”
“Yeah.” She opened the door. “That must be why they rejected me.”
Chapter Six
Max was right about one thing. The next day she was back to keeping things together.
Parv flipped on the lights in Common Grounds’ kitchen at five-thirty the next morning. She turned on the ovens, letting her fingers linger over the controls. Sunday was one of her usual baking days. Madison would be in later to open the front of house and Parv would jump on the register to help her if they had a rush, but most of the morning she’d be left alone with her batters and doughs. And her thoughts.
Baking days were usually her favorite days of the week, when she could commune with the stainless steel perfection of her kitchen and think through solutions to the shop’s problems, but she was out of ideas now. And starting to feel like she was dragging out the inevitable.
The shop was usually quiet in the afternoons, after Madison left, with just a few of their regulars lingering over their coffee refills, and Parv would restock the front of house, getting ready for the Monday morning rush as she chatted with the regulars and filled the occasional order.
It was a good day, Sunday. But even getting out the ingredients for a batch of cinnamon pecan rolls didn’t brighten her spirits.
She wanted to go into every day bright and cheerful and believing that things would turn around—she’d done that for years—but she couldn’t seem to get there anymore. Her optimism was busted. It kept her going through the motions, but she no longer believed everything would be great. And she missed believing. She felt like she’d been trying to force a square peg into a round hole for the last five years and she didn’t know how long she could go on trying now that she could see it would never fit.
Sweet scents filled the kitchen and she was elbow deep in a batch of savory bacon-gruyere muffins when Madison came in two hours later.
They exchanged good mornings and Madison disappeared through the door to the front of house to open the shop—and Parv had a guilty moment of acute relief that Anna wasn’t working today.
She adored both of her employees, but they couldn’t have been more different. While Madison would quietly go about her duties and maintain a sweet, smiling attitude, Anna was abrasive, invasive, and never let anything go. Madison was a doe-eyed Kansas country-girl who never had a harsh word for anyone and always kept her corn-silk hair in a low ponytail, while Anna was a bossy Bronx smart-ass with heavy black eyeliner, neon streaks in her jet black hair, and a line of silver earrings marching up the shell of her left ear.
They’d both come to California for college—Madison now a sophomore and Anna just entering her senior year—and they were both popular with her customers, in spite of the drastic differences in their personalities and the fact that their oil-and-water personalities had them at each other’s throats on the rare occasions when Parv scheduled them to work the same shifts. Anna seemed to be the one person who could get a rise out of sweet, pliable Madison. And Madison knew exactly how to get under Anna’s skin.
But Parv didn’t mind having to do the occasional contortions with the schedule to keep them separated. She adored both young women.
She was going to have to tell them soon.
They wouldn’t have trouble finding new jobs, but she needed to give them warning. She owed them that for their loyalty over the last few years. She’d had other baristas. Some had graduated—either from high school or college—and moved on with their lives. Others had left to go to Starbucks when they opened—and Parv couldn’t begrudge them that. She couldn’t compete with their benefits or offer full time.
She hadn’t bothered replacing the last few employees she’d lost when Starbucks opened at the beginning of the summer. She’d made it work with her skeleton crew for the last four months—for once grateful for that stupid city ordinance that restricted their hours of operation.
The timer went off and she moved to the oven, focusing only on the flakiness of her pastries and whether the cream for the fruit tarts was too sweet for the next couple hours, losing herself in the familiar actions.
It wasn’t until Madison poked her head around the door at quarter to eleven that Parv realized they hadn’t had a morning rush today.
“We sold out of the bacon-gruyere muffins and the quiche,” Madison reported. “And that sexy Max is asking for you out front.”
Parv felt her face heat and focused on the less disturbing part of Madison’s news as she dusted flour off her hands. “The bacon muffins are gone already?”
“Mrs. Kenney took half a dozen home for her boys. And she asked if you were going to make any more of the spinach-feta ones. She said her husband loves those.”
Any reply she might have made slipped out of her mind when she stepped into the front of house and saw the man examining the contents of the pastry case. Madison moved to the far end of the counter to tidy up the tea display, giving them the illusion of privacy.
Though they were pretty damn private. The seating areas were almost empty—just law student Corey hunched over her laptop at the window and retired Mr. Nunoz reading his tablet near the fire. This was even quieter than usual.
From the school year starting? The Green Mermaid Effect? Or were her customers subconsciously picking up on the scent of impending failure in the air and staying away?
She forced herself to stop stalling and look at Max, dreading meeting his eyes. She’d told him she had a crush on him last night, but not just that. Things had been almost intimate between them—and if there was one thing she knew about Max it was that he didn’t do intimate. He was king of the three-week relationship, all the fun, none of the deep stuff.
She’d worried this morning—between the quiche Lorraine and the double-fudge brownies—that things were going to be weird between them in the light of day.
But there was nothing uncomfortable or awkward in his gaze as
he smiled at her, dimple flashing, one of her to-go cups in hand. “Hey. Sorry to drag you out of your kitchen. I wanted to know how you were doing this morning and Madison wouldn’t let me sneak back there.”
“You’re not allowed back there. I know you. You’d eat all my stock.”
“Probably,” he admitted, unabashed. He tapped the case. “Can I get a cherry-orange scone for the road?”
Her hands automatically went through the motions of pulling out a bag and a sheet of the pastry tissue to package the scone for him. She eyed his crisp button down shirt and slacks—he’d probably left his suit jacket in the car. “Don’t tell me you’re going into work on a Sunday?”
“People need protection seven days a week.”
“You need to seriously reconsider your work-life balance, Maximus.”
He arched a brow. “And how many hours have you already put in this morning? Do you want to be the pot or the kettle?”
“That’s different,” she argued, the words automatic.
“Really. How?”
She opened her mouth but no words came out. It was different—because she had different rules for herself than for everyone else. Because she’d stopped thinking of having a work-life balance. Because her life was her work. Every morning. Every afternoon.
And she was miserable.
Maybe it would be a good thing to let the shop go. But what would she do? Who would she be then?
Max took his scone from her lax grip, setting a five on the counter. “Don’t work too hard, Parv.”
He started toward the door. “Your change…”
“Keep it.”
She watched him go, the easy, athletic way he moved giving a hint of his martial arts training, but it was his confidence that bled through every movement, drawing her eye. She’d been worried after telling him about her crush, but nothing had changed. He was still just Max with her.
If anything, this had made things easier between them. She used to hold on to the idea that someday he might look at her differently, that he would pick up his coffee one morning, look over at her and wham. Love. Or that she would get brave enough to confess her crush one day and they would just sort of fall into one another’s arms like something out of a bad romantic comedy.
