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

by Erin Nicholas

  Ava frowned. The food was good. And having Parker’s full attention had been really nice. He was an intense guy, and she liked that about him. He tried to come off as laid-back, but it didn’t work. At least not with her. She didn’t like being distracted, but she kind of liked that he seemed entirely focused on her when they were in that kitchen together. Well, her and food.

  “Whatever,” she said, trying to seem more put out than interested in all of that. “The guy is obsessed with food and is showing off.”

  “Yeah, but he never lets anyone in his kitchen,” Cori said. “Evan made that really clear. If his mom’s there helping out, she goes in and out with dishes, but no one helps him with the food.”

  “It’s not as if I asked permission,” Ava said with a shrug.

  Brynn laughed. “I’ve seen him take a grilled cheese away from someone who was dipping it in ranch. Pretty sure if he didn’t want you in his kitchen, he’d get you out.”

  Ava didn’t like how her pulse raced with all of these bits of news. It didn’t mean what her sisters seemed to think it meant. She and Parker had a common goal—making the pie shop successful.

  Of course, they still hadn’t baked a freaking pie.

  “And no one eats back there. And Evan had never heard of chicken avocado salad. Also, I’ve had Parker’s tomato soup. It does not have basil in it. So it’s not like he cooks this way for other people all the time. Just you.”

  Those last two words caused Ava’s heart to thump hard, and she grimaced. She didn’t want heart-thumping. She wanted to complete her to-do list from Rudy. Period. She wanted to get back to New York. She wanted Cori stable. She wanted to get back to her regular life where she ate…well, whatever she’d been eating for twenty-nine years. She wanted to go back to dating guys who did absolutely nothing surprising. She wanted lawyers and CEOs and investment bankers. Not guys who came off as grumpy and nonchalant, but deep down had passion and creativity and gave up what they wanted to do in order to keep their diners a haven for people in the midst of a world that wouldn’t stop changing and challenging them.

  Ava rubbed two fingers against the center of her forehead. This was supposed to be a pretty basic recipe. Make pie + date a nice guy for six months = inherit Carmichael Enterprises. But, like every other recipe she’d tried in this town, it wasn’t turning out the way she’d expected.

  “The basil doesn’t mean anything,” she finally told Cori. “He puts a little more flare into the food he makes for me because he doesn’t want me criticizing or complaining.”

  Sure, that made sense.

  “I might think that was true for someone else,” Cori said. “But Parker Blake doesn’t really care about criticizing or complaining.”

  That was true. He didn’t care about her complaining. A lot of the time it had seemed that Parker liked annoying her.

  So why was he putting basil in her tomato soup?

  I wanted to keep cooking for you even before this. Her body flushed as she remembered Parker’s words from the other day. Just before he’d kissed her.

  “What is that about?” Cori asked, her eyes narrowing as she took in Ava’s blush.

  Which deepened the heat in Ava’s cheeks. “Nothing.”

  “Kissing Parker was nothing?” Cori asked.

  Ava sat up quickly. “What?”

  Cori smiled smugly. “You kissed Parker.”

  “Parker told Evan?”

  “No. You just told me.” She held her hand out toward Brynn, who laid a five-dollar bill in it with a sigh.

  “You guessed?” Ava asked, watching her sisters.

  “You’ve been acting strangely for the past four days. And you didn’t even come into the shop yesterday or today,” Brynn told her. “I thought you and Parker had gotten into a fight. Cori thought you’d kissed. I lost the bet.”

  Ava looked back and forth between them. “So me acting weird has to have something to do with Parker?” she asked. “Why didn’t you guess it had something to do with Carmichael Enterprises or that I wasn’t feeling well?” She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to this.

  “Because you never act weird. Even if you’re stressed with work or sick, you’re still…you. Calm, cool, under control,” Brynn said. “You know what to do in every situation. You never hide out.”

  “I wasn’t hiding out!” Ava protested.

  But it was clear from their expressions that neither of her sisters were buying that.

  Because she had definitely been hiding out.

  She didn’t know what to do with Parker Blake. He was not just surprising her, but he was distracting her. And making her like it. She definitely didn’t feel like she had any control in this whole situation with him. He was her employee and she should be able to insist that he come to the pie shop and make pies. That seemed clear and straightforward. But she was afraid he was going to make her come to him, and if she went over to see him, she’d end up even more infatuated—with his food, of course—and possibly begging him to kiss her again.

  That was not okay.

  She was also afraid that if he did decide to come over to the pie shop before she went to get him from the diner, that she’d end up even more infatuated—with something—and begging him to kiss her again.

  Also not okay.

  So she couldn’t win. And she didn’t like not winning. So she’d stayed home for the past two days. The intent had been to use the time to focus on business other than the freaking pies that were turning her life upside down. To get back in the saddle of being a kick-ass CEO. To remind herself that she did actually know what she was doing and was in control. At least when there weren’t aprons and whisks involved.

  Of course, that wasn’t a long-term strategy. Especially since she’d found her mind wandering even in the midst of being a kick-ass CEO who knew what she was doing and was in control.

  She had to go back to the pie shop tomorrow. She had to see Parker and insist that they actually make a damned pie. Which was why she was drinking now.

  She drained her glass and handed it to Cori. “Can you make me one of those chocolate martinis with cherry?” she asked.

  “Or I was going to try a new one,” Cori said. “What about lime and pineapple?”

  Go completely away from her chocolate martini? But the idea of combining lime and pineapple with her vodka was intriguing. “Sure.” She couldn’t wait to taste it.

  Damn Parker Blake for making her think differently and even have feelings about things she’d never paid attention to before. He wasn’t letting her stay in her comfort zone like he was doing for everyone else in Bliss. Did he know that?

  But she had a suspicion that he did.

  9

  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 fiftee
n 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.”