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.

Now there was no chance of them magically hooking up and that lingering weight of futile hope had lifted. This was better. They could just be friends.

She should have told him years ago.

* * * * *

Why hadn’t she told him years ago?

Max strode down the sidewalk toward the parking spot he’d snagged at the end of Main, but his thoughts were firmly back in Common Grounds. He’d stopped in to make sure she was all right after the night before. He’d never seen Parvati so pessimistic, but this morning everything had been fine. She was the same old Parvati.

He was the one who had changed.

Something had shifted. Some subtle little mechanism inside him that kept her safely inside the Friend Zone.

He hadn’t really looked at Parvati in years. She was a fixture in his life. Sidney’s best friend. Off-limits. But did she have to be? It made sense for him to keep his distance when they were younger, but they were both adults now. Capable of making their own decisions—and when she’d said she had a crush on him it had planted the seed that had taken root in his brain while he slept last night.

She had referred to the crush in the past tense. She might not even be interested. Hell, she might be seeing someone. Though she’d said she couldn’t find anyone she wanted to go on a second date with—which was insane. Were all the men in California blind? How the hell was she still single?

Max wasn’t winning any medals for relationship longevity, and God knew she could do better than his sorry, commitment-averse ass, but he couldn’t seem to get the idea out of his head. Maybe all she wanted was a fling.

A fling with Parvati. The idea was interesting. Very interesting.