“Just get out of the shower?” Bethanne flicks at a drop of water hanging from one of the tips of his messy, blond hair.

I stare at his T-shirt—speechless.

He glances down as if he doesn’t know what it says. “It’s new, Paige. Do you like it?”

My gaze snaps to his. “Avery.”

Bethanne giggles. “Jake owns every obnoxious T-shirt ever made.”

He rubs his hand over his chest like he’s caressing the words.

Eat Pussy Not Meat

“Your boss lets you wear that?”

“Jake’s the boss.” Bethanne sets a glass of water next to my coffee.

He smirks.

“I know. It was mentioned yesterday.” I narrow my eyes. “Hence the mason jars being a precious heirloom from your grandmother.”

His smirk blooms into a full-on grin.

I rub my lips together. Dang, I forgot to gloss them. Retrieving my gloss from my handbag, I bring up my phone’s camera to use as a mirror.

“Taking a picture of my shirt?” Jake asks.

I roll my eyes, holding up my phone. “Not a chance. I just need to gloss my lips. I only had a half hour to throw myself together this morning.”

“I took a shower and dressed in under ten minutes.”

“Good for you.” I pucker my lips, giving them one last inspection before capping the gloss and tossing it back in my bag.

Bethanne clears her throat. “You two are so fun together. I love your flirty banter.”

I stop the coffee mug an inch from my lips. Jake sets the blender on its base, brow drawn tightly as he shoots Bethanne a WTF look.

“So …” She slaps her hands on the counter and drums her fingers a few times. “Jake, Avery and her dog need a ride to L.A. Her car died, and it can’t be brought back to life. Can you think of some way she could get to L.A.?”

I don’t know where this is going, but I have an uneasy feeling slithering across my skin.

He returns his attention to the blender, filling it with fruit, greens, and protein powder. “Buy a new car.”

“She can’t afford one.”

I feel like I’m on trial, and Bethanne is my lawyer.

He purses his lips to the side and hums. “Looks like she better get a job and save up for one.”

“She probably has one. In L.A.”

That’s not an accurate statement, but I keep that to myself.

“Well, sorry. I’m a chef, not a fixer.” He dismisses Bethanne by starting the blender.

She plants her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish blending. I cup my coffee mug with both my good hand and my gimpy one, attempting to hide behind the steam.

“Jake Matthews…” she pipes up the second he shuts off the blender “…you know exactly what I’m suggesting.”