She smiled. She had really great taste in friends. “It is what it is.”

“It is,” Max agreed. “But I might have something for you that’s even better than Schitt’s Creek and a Squealer.”

Of course Max would know what pizza she planned to order.

“Hart of Dixie and strawberry pie?” she guessed. Because Zoe’s strawberry pie was harder to get than a Squealer. Even though the baker was one of her besties. She sold out of that pie every day, so if Jane didn’t get a piece in the morning, she was out of luck until the next day. Pie took longer than pizza. It was science. Or something.

“There is no policy against sleeping with the boss,” Max said.

Jane sat up straighter on her couch before she even realized what she was doing. “Excuse me?”

“Looked it up. And also talked to Monica in HR just to be sure. There are no fraternization policies at Hot Cakes. Employees can date whoever they want. Banging for everyone!” he announced. Again, far louder than necessary into the phone.

She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear.

Clearly Max had had a couple of beers already. Or four.

“And you looked this up and talked to Monica in HR about this for what reason exactly?” Oh my God, he’d talked to Monica in HR.

“About you and Dax!” Max laughed. “Of course!”

Well, now she probably had to stop by Granny’s. Because she had to kill her best friend and really, tonight, when she could bury the body in darkness, was probably better than waiting until daylight. Though she was really tired tonight. Digging a hole and dragging Max’s body to it seemed like a lot of work.

“Max,” she said through gritted teeth. “Did you tell Monica in HR you were asking about me and Dax in particular?”

“Of course not,” Max said, sounding perfectly sober suddenly. “But I did clarify that ‘no fraternization policy’ applied to bosses too.” He laughed. “I’m sure she thinks I have the hots for one of them.”

Okay, well, that wasn’t so bad.

“She did say that there could be power dynamic issues, blah, blah,” Max went on. “But I just wiggled my eyebrows and said, ‘I hope so’ and then walked out. And,” he said, totally serious now, “I do mean that. If anyone ever needed someone to just boss her into letting go and having an orgasm, it’s you.”

Jane felt her mouth drop open. This was Max. She should be used to him being very unfiltered. But this was… beyond. She felt her cheeks heat, and, well, the rest of her heat. Dax Marshall didn’t really seem like the bossy type, honestly. But putting him and “orgasm” in the same thought definitely had an effect.

“Max,” she said, trying to sound pissed off. “You stepped over the line.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, obviously not the least bit sorry. “But you needed to be yanked over that line, and if I had to go first and pull you with me, I’d be willing. That’s how good a friend I am.”

“I don’t want to go over this line.”

“Yes you do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You totally do.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Well, hey, thanks for checking into that,” she said, changing tactics. “I will file that under ‘things I’ll never need to know.’ Right beside the info you dumped on me about sea urchins and about the best places for biscotti in Rome.”

“I already have my ‘told you so’ GIF ready for when you send me a selfie from Rome, eating biscotti,” he told her. “Oh my God!” His voice went up an octave. “Dax would totally take you to Rome! Holy shit, Jane! This could happen! He’d take you diving where you could see sea urchins too, I’m sure of it!”

She pressed a finger against the middle of her forehead. “Max,” she said calmly and coolly.

“Yes, baby?”

“I’m not going to Rome with Dax.”

“We’ll see about that.” He sounded way too smug.

And then, suddenly, a bunch of things clicked into place, like Legos snapping together. “Is Dax there with you tonight?” she asked.

Her stomach flipped and twisted at the same time.

“He sure is. And lookin’ good too,” Max confirmed.

Well… fuck.

“See you in ten minutes,” Max said.

“I really shouldn’t—”

But Max had already disconnected.

Jane sighed and squeezed her phone. Max knew better than to think this conversation was really over.

She tipped her head back and looked at her ceiling.

So there was no fraternization policy at Hot Cakes, huh? She supposed that shouldn’t surprise her. Employees had been dating each other as long as she’d been there. There were three married couples—they worked in different departments—that she could think of, and at least one of them had met at work. It was the major employer in a small town. It stood to reason that people would meet there, and occasionally anyway, get involved. And maybe fifty-some years ago it hadn’t occurred to anyone, but maybe now there should be a policy.

She should discuss that with someone. Like one of the new bosses.

And she might as well go down to the bar where he was hanging out with a bunch of people she knew and do it now.

That wasn’t “going out” with him. That was meeting coworkers for a drink. And talking about how employees shouldn’t date the boss.

Big difference.

5

Five minutes later, she slid behind the wheel of her car. She took a deep breath. And hit Josie’s number to FaceTime.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked when her friend answered.

“Just taking cookies out of the oven.” Josie’s phone was resting on her phone stand on the countertop, and she bent and pulled a cookie sheet from the oven as she spoke.

Jane smiled. Josie was always baking. At the bakery all day long and then at home. She was the emergency cookie and bar and brownie lady in town. She always had some in her freezer for the moms who had a kid tell them, at eight o’clock at night, that they needed treats for their classroom… tomorrow.

It was a tiny side gig for Josie, and the parents in town with elementary-aged kids kept it a very strict secret. Zoe didn’t know and it killed Josie to keep it from her, but it was extra cash and it really helped the parents out.

It had started innocently. A recently divorced dad who had never navigated treat day at school had called her one night, desperate, and she’d happily baked for him.

Then a couple of moms had called two weeks later, begging for help with a last-minute bake sale to raise money for a little boy at school who had been suddenly hospitalized. Josie had, of course, been happy to pitch in.

Then a couple of moms had asked if they could pay her to do their baking for a church potluck because they just did not have time. Another had asked if Josie would do the brownies she needed for the football team’s tailgate because she was going to be out of town for work.

Every time, Josie made the treats and the moms put them in pans from home and passed them off as their own. Though every woman with kids between the ages of three and eighteen knew the truth.