I smiled. “I love potato soup.”
He slid his eyes briefly in my direction. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.
“Do you always pack a lunch for two?” I asked, with hope plucking at my chest.
He wobbled his head a little as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I try to eat with Grace a couple of times a week, but she made other plans today.”
“Lucky me.” Grace was either my favorite person or a thorn in my side. I couldn’t decide which. I sank my teeth into the flaky croissant to redirect my thoughts and moaned in satisfaction.
“Good, right?”
“Amazing. Where’d you get all this?” I asked. The packaging gave nothing away.
“I bought the soup and croissants from a café in my neighborhood. The chicken salad is mine.”
I paused midchew. “What do you mean it’s yours? You already had it at home?”
Davis frowned. “No. I made it.”
“No. You didn’t.”
His grumpy face returned, and I fought the urge to laugh. “Are you suggesting men can’t cook, or are you only doubting my abilities?”
“I’m suggesting this sandwich came straight from heaven.”
His irritation eased, and a glint of pride shone in his eyes. “It’s one of my mom’s recipes, so you aren’t completely wrong.”
I reached for his hand, prepared to offer an understanding squeeze, then thought better of it and pulled away.
His gaze tracked my retreating hand, then moved to his thermos. He dunked a spoon into his soup without comment.
“I heard about your fight to save some historic properties near downtown,” I said, still dying to get the details. “Farmhouses and their barns.”
He nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I won, and I’ve already gotten interest fromArchitectural Digestabout this project.” He nodded toward Hearthstone Manor.
“You’re kidding!”
Davis shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I sent some in-progress photos with details about the home’s history and future. An editor called to ask about including this project with a few others in an issue leading up to the big winner’s announcement.”
I let my mouth and eyes open wide.
“I planned to woo you with a bottle of wine later. The magazine’s team wants to tour the place and take some professional shots. I told them I’d get back to them because I needed to check with the home’s tenant.”
“You name the time,” I said. “I’ll make myself scarce.”
He opened his lips, as if to say something, then went for the soup instead. A moment later, he caught my eye. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Tell me about the new plans for your store,” he said, turning the spotlight onto me.
For a moment, I considered dodging the question. My idea was still so new, it felt fragile. But this was Davis, and he’d grown up in a bookstore, just like me. He was the perfect person to brainstorm with. And I could use the input. So I let myself dive in.
“I think I need to pull everything out and start over,” I said, taking a little inspiration from his renovation of the manor.
His brows rose. “A total remodel.”
“Total,” I agreed. “I want to make the shop pet friendly. A place where people can bring their pets and hang out with a good book. And I’m going to get a dog. It can be the store’s mascot. Preferably an older dog who needs a home. Something docile and loving, like a retired greyhound. We have a rescue in town where I can volunteer when I get home. And there’s a dog park about a block away from the shop, so we’re in the perfect location. We already get lots of pet traffic on the street.”
