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 said 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.

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.

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.