By 12:32 the next day, Parker was disgusted to find himself watching the front door for Ava.

By 12:44, Parker was frustrated to find that he was disappointed she hadn’t come over yet. The last two days, he’d been disappointed to find out she wasn’t even at the pie shop. But he knew she was next door today. He’d heard the crashing and swearing. It had been too damned quiet over there for two days.

By 12:55, the diner was cleared of customers and tubs of dirty dishes were stacked next to the dishwasher.

For the last two days, he’d had people out the door by one. Thanks to the help of Hank and Roger. Ava had hired them to come help clear tables, roll silverware and refill salt and pepper shakers. And it had actually been helpful. A little distracting, of course, but nothing like when Ava was waltzing around the diner in her apron, looking cute.

Of course, with their help, he was free from one to four. With nothing to do.

That wasn’t entirely true. He had all the same stuff to do as always. He just hadn’t wanted to do it. He’d wanted to make Ava lunch. And flirt with her. And kiss her some more.

But today the last customer paid their bill at five to one without a word from Parker. Whether it was that the new habit was catching on and people were believing the posted business hours—for the first time in fifteen years—or because they also knew Ava was next door today, and they were all in on some scheme to be sure he had time alone with her, he didn’t know. Or care. They were gone.

By twelve fifty-six he was out his back door and stalking into the pie shop’s kitchen.

“Well, son of a bitch!”

Parker found himself ducking as an egg went sailing past his ear and smashed into the wall to his left. He watched the shell drop to the floor and the yolk and egg white slide down the wall and hit the tile next to two other egg shells and three apples that were busted open.

His own irritation seemed to evaporate as he felt a smile stretch his mouth. He turned to face Ava. She was just watching him.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s almost one.”

She glanced at the clock. “Yes, it is.”

“You didn’t come over today.” That was a stupid thing to say. It almost sounded like he’d wanted her to come over. And, clearly, he could get rid of his customers by one o’clock on his own. So what else would he want her to come over for?

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You work here,” she said. “You’re the employee here. So I think it just makes sense that you should come over here at one.”

She might have a point there. But it only served to inch his frustration up another notch. She didn’t want to come over to his kitchen? She didn’t want to see what he’d concocted today? She wasn’t curious or interested at all? She didn’t want to talk to him while they cleaned up? She didn’t want to maybe, possibly, kiss him again? She’d left the other day with the firm assertion that they were going to bake pie the next time they were together. As if the stuff they’d done together up to that point had been a waste. And now she was avoiding his kitchen completely?

“Fine,” he finally said.

He wasn’t going to tell her that he had a butternut squash soup ready to go. It had been between that and a split pea with rosemary, but she seemed to like the creamier soups better. Not that he would ever admit to her that he’d thought of all of that.

Though he supposed he could kiss her in this kitchen too.

He scowled. He did not like this. He was distracted. He was watching the clock. He was thinking about her and wondering why she hadn’t been at the pie shop for two days and resisting asking about her because there was no reason to ask about her. She had Cori and Brynn and Evan and Noah to help with whatever she needed. She didn’t need him.

And yet, he’d let the pasta for the macaroni salad boil over this morning and he’d undercooked the bacon. And he’d had to take the Philly cheesesteaks off the menu today because he’d forgotten to order hoagie buns. He was never distracted. Not when it came to food and cooking and his diner. These recipes and routines were so engrained he should have been able to do them half-asleep and one-handed. It was how he was able to manage the restaurant all on his own.

But Ava Carmichael was messing with him, and his menu, even if it was indirect, and he didn’t like it.

Which meant today they were baking pie. They had to. It had been a week since she’d proposed her plan to have him helping out in the pie shop kitchen, and they hadn’t made a single pie yet. They were going to focus today. They were going to talk about apples and cherries and nothing else. And they were going to fucking make pie.

Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “What the hell are you doing over here?”

“It’s a kitchen in a pie shop,” she said. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Showing me why you’re always in my kitchen borrowing eggs.”

“I’m baking,” she said, gesturing toward the countertop beside her.

“And how’s it going?” he asked dryly.

“The way it always goes, Parker,” she said with a sigh.

Her tone wasn’t pissy or frustrated. She sounded resigned.

He took in the details of her countertop. She’d clearly been working on pie filling. Apple, obviously. “You’re not even making crust.”

She glowered at him. “I’m not quite there yet.”

“But you don’t need eggs for apple pie filling.”

“I know.”

“So what did you take my eggs for?” He was down a dozen and had known immediately who had pilfered the carton when he’d seen it. And he’d smiled. She now had him smiling about stealing food from his kitchen.

She reached and plucked an egg from its cardboard cup and threw it at him. Not at the wall beside him. Directly at him. The egg hit him in the chest, the shell falling to the floor, the innards sliding over his black T-shirt before slipping to land at his feet.

“You’re just throwing the eggs and breaking them?” he asked. He reached for a towel and wiped away some of the egg slime from his shirt.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Turns out I like breaking things.”

He tossed the towel back onto the counter. “You just discovered this?” he asked. He’d never admit that he was fighting a smile.

“Well, since moving to Bliss. Which is probably good. The lamp on my desk in New York cost six hundred dollars.”

Parker rolled his eyes. Of course it did. “I think my egg budget is getting there.”

She actually laughed and he let one corner of his mouth curl.

“So dramatic,” she said.

“Where’s this destructive streak come from?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s pretty obvious. I’ve spent my whole life trying to put, and hold, things together. In business, with my sisters and dad, in my life. Being the one breaking things, doing it on purpose, knowing the reason things are coming apart and splattering all over, feels strangely great.”

Parker felt the breath whoosh out of his chest. He’d been prepared for something sarcastic and sassy. He hadn’t expected her to say something meaningful.

Ava Carmichael embodied sarcastic and sassy. He liked that about her. She was tough and competent and confident. Until it came to pie. Or at least that was what he’d thought. He’d even thought that the whole pie thing was good for her. Taking her down a bit, giving her some humility. But apparently there were other things that made her feel less than on-top-of-everything. And—son of a bitch—that made him want to build her up. She didn’t have to be a champion pie baker or even a good cook. But she had to be okay with not being those things. She had to be able to walk into a kitchen and not feel inferior or hate everything from the ladles to the—he glanced at the mess on the floor—the eggs and apples.

There was also something strangely hot about her breaking things. That sounded crazy even in his head, but Ava was so put together. It seemed that she couldn’t get messy. She was throwing eggs, and apples, at the wall, even at other people, and yet she stood before him in a skirt and blouse—and high heels, for fuck’s sake—looking like she was ready to have tea with the queen.

“You even wear those damned heels to bake over here?” he asked, unable to ignore that.

She looked down. “Yes.”

“That seems like overkill.”

She met his eyes again. “I like overkill.”

Ah. The other day on the sidewalk in front of the diner, he’d given her some insight into him and his reasons for not changing things up at the diner. Now she was giving him some peeks inside her. And he really fucking liked it.

He took a deep breath, already deciding he was going through with the very crazy, change-everything idea that had just occurred to him. He strode toward her and got into her personal space. Close enough that he could smell her. And she smelled like apples and cinnamon. She might not like sweets, but he definitely did.

She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. But she did it.

“Those heels make you feel in charge and kick-ass, Boss?” he asked, looking down at her.

She was clearly surprised, but she didn’t back up, and there wasn’t a flicker of anything in her eyes but desire. “Yeah, they do.”

He nodded. Then put his hands at her waist and lifted her onto the counter behind her. She gasped.

“Parker.”

He didn’t answer. His coasted one hand down the back of her bare calf to the heel of her shoe and then tugged. The pump slid from her foot, and he let it drop to the tile with a thunk.

“What are you doing?”

He could tell that she’d meant to sound demanding, but she was too breathless to pull that off.

“You don’t have to be the boss in this kitchen anymore,” he said, sliding her other shoe off as well. “I’m here now."

She wet her lips. “Oh, really.”

“Yep.” He straightened. “And I’ve decided that what you need is a really good kitchen experience.”

Her pupils dilated, and he felt a surge of hell yeah.

“You think that if you seduce me in here, it will make me like cooking?”

He looked down at her and decided to be fully honest. “No. But it will make you feel other things besides angry and frustrated the second you walk into this room.”

The look in her eyes softened. She was still, clearly, turned on, but she seemed touched by that too. “Why does that matter?”

He blew out a little breath. “I don’t even know. But you not liking food and hating this kitchen bugs the hell out of me.”

She bit her bottom lip, but it was in no way coy. She seemed almost conflicted. “I would really like to not hate this kitchen,” she finally said softly. Almost sadly.

A protectiveness ripped through Parker. He couldn’t have explained it for anything, but the idea that she wanted some good feelings from this place, a place that had meant so much to her father, a place that her father had given her in hopes that it would help her somehow, made Parker want to wrap her in his arms and tell her it was all going to be okay.

“Yeah?” he asked gruffly.

“This was my dad’s,” she said. “I don’t want to feel my stomach knot when I walk in here because I’m falling short and don’t get it.” She dropped her eyes to his chin. “I’ve always gotten it. We were always on the same page with the business. And I was always good at everything he gave me to do and asked of me. Until now.”

Dammit. Parker wanted to kiss her. He wanted to strip her naked. He wanted to cover her in cinnamon and sugar. But could he do that now? Now that she’d revealed some vulnerability? A soft side? Now that he knew that she needed something beyond learning to bake?

Hell yeah, he could. He cupped her face, bringing her eyes up to his. “Then this is perfect. What I want you to do in this kitchen right now is something I’m guessing you’re really good at.”

He wanted a smile. He wanted sass. He wanted confidence. Instead he got a blush.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re not so sure that you’re really good at twisting me up and making me want you more than I’ve ever wanted someone?” he asked. “Let me assure you that you are. You really are.”

She gave him a small smile that, if he didn’t know better, was almost shy. “Even when I’m having sex, I’m thinking about a million other things,” she confessed. “I don’t even focus on that.”

Oh, was that all? He took her mouth in a deep, soft, hot kiss, tasting her thoroughly, not letting her move her head, making her hold still to feel and taste him. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes long moments later. She had that faintly dazed look again, and he gave her a cocky smile. “You’re going to focus on this,” he told her firmly. “You’re going to be all-in here, Ava, I promise you.”

“Well, you’ve already got me smelling nutmeg and reading about apples,” she said.

He realized if he’d been expecting something like “oh, Parker, you’re amazing,” he was stupid. He grinned and dropped his hands from her face. But he braced them on either side of her hips, caging her in. “You were smelling nutmeg?”

“I got all the spices out and was smelling them, trying to figure out if I could tell the difference between nutmeg and cinnamon.”

“And?”

She shrugged. “Kind of.”

He couldn’t resist lifting a hand and tucking her hair behind her ear. It didn’t matter if she could tell the difference between nutmeg and cinnamon. She’d tried. “And you were reading about apples?”

“There are so many,” she groaned. “I read about apples for an hour last night. When I should have been doing other work.”

She’d been thinking about him—or at least about baking and the cooking they’d done and the idea of tuning in and really tasting. She’d been focused on that. He felt victorious, he couldn’t lie.

“Sorry.” But he wasn’t. At all. And he knew she knew that.

“And are you aware of the number of uses for that puff pastry stuff?” she asked. “It’s crazy. I need to buy stock.”

He laughed and cupped her cheek again, unable to help it. He ran his thumb over her jaw. “You’re distracting the hell out of me too,” he told her.

“I haven’t taught you anything new about cooking or food,” she said.

“But you’ve taught me some new things about you.” He realized it was true even as he admitted it to her. She fascinated him.

Her lips parted and his gaze dropped to her mouth. Her breathing was coming a little faster now.

“Where are Brynn and Cori?” he asked.

“With Noah and Evan. Somewhere else. Not here. The front door is locked.”

Anticipation tightened his body. “Ava,” he said, his voice low.

“Yeah?”

“We’re not going to bake a pie today either.”

She nodded. “I know.”

So he kissed her. Or she kissed him. It was hard to really tell who started it this time. But they were both fully participating once their lips touched.

Ava’s hands ran from his shoulders to the back of his head. His hands slid to her ass, pulling her closer. But not close enough. With a little groan of frustration, Ava grasped her skirt and she began bunching it up. Which caused her to wiggle against him, eliciting a groan of his own.

But a moment later, she pulled back. “Dammit.”

She pushed him away, and Parker took a step back but opened his mouth to protest. Or beg.

But his words died on his tongue as she reached behind her and he heard the rasp of a zipper. She wiggled on the countertop again, this time pushing the skirt down rather than bunching it up.

A moment later, she sat on the counter in a white silk blouse and peach panties.

Parker blew out a quick breath. “Damn.”

She was gorgeous. The pale peach panties matched her skin almost exactly. But it wasn’t her delicious curves or her long silky hair that he wanted to wrap around his fist or the hard nipples pressing against her blouse as if begging him to touch. It was the way she was looking at him. Like this—this kitchen, him—was all there was in her world right now. And having Ava Carmichael’s full focus was huge. He wasn’t going to waste one second of it.

Her skirt dropped to the floor and Parker had to grin. That was one way to finally get flour on one of her skirts.

“What?” she asked.

Her smile was almost playful, and he absorbed that as he stepped forward. “I’m determined to get you messy, Boss,” he told her. He was smiling, but he was dead serious.

She pulled in a shaky breath. “I think I can be okay with that.”

“Oh, yes you will be.”

He reached for the apple pie filling she’d made. He dipped two fingers into the glass bowl and lifted them to his mouth. He licked the tip of one finger, watching Ava’s cheeks flush.

“It’s not bad actually,” he said.

“It’s too runny.” Yeah, her voice was definitely breathless.

“Ah, yes, well there’s that.” He held his fingers up, letting the too-runny filling drip. And land on the V of skin revealed by her blouse.

Her breath caught, and Parker watched the filling slide slowly toward her cleavage.

“It also needs a little more sweetness,” he told her. He met her eyes. “Unbutton.”

She did. He’d really thought she might resist. Or sass him a little, at least. But all she did was lift her hands and open the buttons down the front of her shirt.

Maybe she could read his surprise, because she smiled as she shrugged out of it. “Don’t want to get it dirty,” she said.

He gave a little growl and swiped the shirt from the counter where it pooled behind her. He dropped it on top of her skirt. “You’re not leaving this kitchen without being a little rumpled…and a lot sticky.”

He lowered his head and licked up the trail of pie filling on her chest.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she arched closer.

He wanted to rip the peach bra and panties from her body and take her just like this, spread out on the countertop of the kitchen she hated. He wanted her to walk into this room and smile. And if fucking her on the counter was the way to that, well, he was a giver like that.

But there was something about her not liking food, not appreciating the tastes and textures and aromas, that drove him crazy for some stupid reason. He hadn’t fully analyzed it. He was vaguely aware that it had to do with how much he loved food and how he felt a connection with Ava he didn’t feel with anyone else and how he wanted those things combined. But he didn’t want to go into it any further than that. He did, however, have an idea about how to increase her appreciation for being in the kitchen and some of the food he loved.

He ran his tongue over her bottom lip and then pulled back. It took an extra couple of seconds for her eyes to open. He liked that. Probably too much.

“Close your eyes again,” he told her.

She did, without question.

“Now open your mouth.” He picked up the bottle of ground cinnamon and shook a little of it on her thigh. It was so light, she didn’t even feel it, but when he wet the end of his finger and touched it to her leg, she wiggled. He lifted his finger to her mouth. “What is this?” he asked.

She frowned. “Cinnamon.”

“Good.”

Then he picked up a pinch of white sugar and sprinkled it over her bottom lip. Some of it fell against her chin and chest, sparkling against her skin. “How about this?”

She licked her lip, her eyes opening. “I’m practically naked here and we are going to cook?”

“We’re going to taste,” he corrected. “And yes, Ava, having you practically naked is going to be a huge part of that. Open your mouth.”

Her eyes widened slightly at that. “You’re going to make me like this food by seducing me with it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty arrogant of you.”

“Yes.” He dragged an apple slice over the cinnamon on her leg.

And she opened her mouth. Her eyes stayed open though. Her lips parted and he slid the apple inside. With her eyes locked on his, she licked the apple first. Parker watched her, not reacting. He was going to make this sexy, hot, and something she would think of every time she smelled cinnamon from now on. But he was not going to rush it. Or let her rush it.

She bit into the apple and chewed, watching him.

“I want you to have a really positive association with ingredients that you’re going to be spending a lot of time with,” he said huskily, popping the rest of the apple into his mouth.

“Well, that’s a lofty goal,” she said. There was a haughty note in her voice, but there was definitely heat in her eyes.

“Well, Ava,” he said, mimicking her tone. “I can promise you that having me suck cinnamon sugar off your nipples and lick melted butter and brown sugar from your belly button will make you feel differently about them.”

He licked his finger and dragged it over her collarbone where some of the sugar clung. Then he lifted it to her mouth. Her hot, soft lips closed around the tip, and her tongue ran over the pad of his finger, sending bolts of heat through him.

Slow, he reminded himself. Slow and thorough.

“What about the apples?” she asked.

“Oh, you’re going to love the apples.”

She studied him with her bottom lip between her teeth as visions of apples and Ava danced through Parker’s mind.

Finally, she said, “Can we use ginger too? Right now, I’m not a big fan.”

His body tightened. He cleared his throat. “We are going to make you love ginger.”

“Then let’s get on with it.” She reached behind her and unhooked her bra.

The most gorgeous breasts he’d ever seen were suddenly on display. Within touching distance. Within tasting distance.

“Ava—” He didn’t know how to finish that statement. It wasn’t even a statement. It was a…feeling. An out-loud feeling.

Ava reached for the cinnamon and as Parker watched, his body temperature climbing, she sprinkled the spice over her breasts.

He made a sound—part groan, part growl—and started to reach for her.

She put up a hand to stop him. “Hold on.”

She then tried to kill him by licking a finger, wetting one nipple, then sprinkling sugar that clung to the hard tip.

“Okay, now you can—”

He didn’t let her finish that thought. He leaned in, put one hand on the back of her neck, and one on her hip. She gave a little squeal as he pivoted her onto her back on the countertop. “Okay, Boss, how about you let me do some work for you now?” He lowered his head and kissed her.

Her foot kicked an apple to the floor and upset the bowl of melted butter. He smiled against her lips and used one hand to bend her knee so she wouldn’t knock anything else over. This was no time for breaking things. “The only thing coming apart right now is going to be you.”

She gave a little moan, and he nipped her bottom lip before moving down to her neck.

“Kissing you is as delicious as I thought it would be,” he told her gruffly.

“The sugar helps,” she said, breathlessly as he spread his palm over her stomach. The muscles quivered under his hand, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“You’re way sweeter than sugar.” He kissed along her collarbone. “I could eat you all day.”

She gasped, and he kissed down her sternum. Her skin was silky and sweet with a hint of spice, but none of it had anything to do with the cinnamon or sugar.

She laughed breathlessly. “Sweet is definitely not an adjective many people use for me.”

“That’s because you don’t let them see it,” he said, moving a hand to cup her breast, running his thumb over the tip. “You think sweet is already taken.”

“What do you mean?” she asked even as she arched into his touch.

“Cori gets to be the fun, free spirit who gets to play, and Brynn gets to be the sweet, bookworm who gets to experiment. You think that leaves perfectionistic, workaholic for you.” He didn’t know if the tension in her body was from what he was doing to her nipple or because of his words, but he circled the tip with the pad of his finger, rubbing the sugar granules against the sensitive skin. She gave a little whimper. “But I’m going to make you let go of that, Boss,” he told her sincerely, watching her face as he played with her body. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils wide, her lips parted with her fast breathing. “I’m going to show you how fun and freeing it can be to let go and get messy and that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be…perfect.”

“You like to have things just right,” she said, her voice soft, her legs moving restlessly against the countertop.

“I do. Strange that you make me want to get a little messy too.” And he didn’t mean with the apple pie ingredients. And it definitely was strange. Very. He’d always thought he should be with someone sweet, who would go along with all of his planning and organizing, who was laid-back and would let him just do his thing. Instead, this woman, who hardly fell into line and was the opposite of easy-going, was making him want to throw out the plans and see what surprises would come up.

Ava pulled him down and kissed him. He didn’t know what she was thinking or feeling exactly. Maybe she just felt like it was too difficult to make eye contact at a moment like this. But he kissed her with feeling. What that feeling was exactly was the question.

“No one else has ever said anything like that to me,” she said softly as she let him up for air.

He knew she meant the other men she’d been with. “That’s because you’ve been hanging out with assholes who hide their loser side in suits and ties,” he told her, that affectionate feeling welling up again.

She gave him a small smile. “They like that I’m tough.”

He bet they did. Because they liked the idea of getting close to someone powerful like Ava. He understood the appeal of thawing the ice queen. He’d had similar thoughts, frankly. But Ava’s icy layer was thin, and there was a lot of warmth underneath. It didn’t take much to break through the frosty outside. Because it was a cover. And he liked the idea that none of the New York jerks had ever found that out. “None of them ever met your sisters, did they?” he asked. He knew Cori was only in New York for a couple of days a month and that Brynn spent most of her time in her lab.

She seemed surprised that he’d figured that out. “No.”

He liked that. He loved it in fact. “Then none of them have really known you,” he said. “Without knowing your sisters, they don’t see all of you. You are, most definitely, kick-ass. But you’re more than that.” Did he know that because of something Rudy had told him? Or had Evan or Noah shared something that made him understand this about Ava?

But he realized that if Rudy hadn’t really seen Ava with her sisters, then he hadn’t really known her either.

He knew as soon as she asked, “Why do you think that?” how he knew what he did about Ava Carmichael.

“Because you still come to this pie shop every day and try to make pies from scratch,” he said. “You hate this place. It makes you feel incompetent. It frustrates you. It confuses you because you thought you knew and understood your dad, and this place makes you question all of that. You found a loophole for making the pies that would meet that stipulation, and you could just leave it at that. But you come in here every day anyway, because the shop makes your sisters happy. And it’s gotten Cori to settle down and Brynn to come out of her bubble. So you’ll sacrifice feeling good, you’ll put up with the frustration and confusion for yourself, because that’s what you’ve always done. You don’t get to have fun and softness and sweetness because you’re making sure they have it. But it’s not because you’re kick-ass, Boss,” he said huskily. “It’s because you are soft and sweet.”

He took a breath, his hand just resting on her breast now. It was an intimate position, but not as lust-filled as before. It still felt amazing in his hand, of course, but this was very different. She was mostly undressed, while he had all of his clothes on. His hands were on her body. And he was revealing the things he’d figured out about her. He would put good money down on the fact that this was something new for Ava.

She blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. Then she said, “For God’s sake, kiss me.”