Lark’s attention flew back to his. “A songbird.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, and the pet name settled into the fleshy parts of her heart. “I don’t hate that.”
“Me either.” Cash flashed her another smile, and when she finished her salad, he whisked their plates away and brought over new ones. He removed the salad bar tray and brought over a trivet, then finally, the chicken pot pie.
Lark pulled in a breath at the perfectly golden, flaky texture of the top crust. “Cash.” He’d cut out bird shapes from extra pie dough and placed them next to the leaf-shaped cutouts. It glistened, and Lark only saw a couple of places where the filling had bubbled up around the edges.
“This is beautiful.”
“I made larks.”
Everything that had been fighting against Cash softened and disappeared. “I see that.” She smiled softly at him and reached over to cover his hand with hers. “They’re so cute, and this looks amazing.”
Her mouth watered, but Lark couldn’t help adding, “I mean, it’ll be hard to beat my grammy’s chicken pot pie, but this is right up there just based on the look of it.”
“Let’s get the tasting out of the way then.” Cash picked up a serrated knife and cut directly across the pie, then hesitated. “Do you want a big piece or a small piece?”
“Cash-honey, I want thebiggestpiece.”
He laughed and cut her a big piece of chicken pot pie. As he served it to her, he said, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you leaving out the money part of my name, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” Lark rolled her eyes and focused on her chicken pot pie. It seriously looked like it had been made in a professional kitchen, and she watched as the filling oozed out of the side where Cash had cut it oh—so—slowly.
She barely wanted to use her fork to cut off a piece, but she did—the very tip of her piece of the pie—and raised it to her mouth. The chickeny scent of the filling met her nose, and shegot salt with the hint of pastry just as she slid the bite against her tongue.
She chewed, very aware of Cash’s eyes on her, and somehow, the frozen veggies weren’t mushy, and the chicken was tender and perfectly done. The sauce had the exact right viscosity, and he hadn’t over-salted or under-salted anything.
The pie crust on the bottom flaked in her mouth, and the puff pastry on top added that extra texture the pot pie needed.
“Well?” Cash asked as she forked off another bite.
“It’s a ten,” she said, immediately putting more food in her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Cash said, a chuckle following. “I thought you said it was a ten.”
Lark nodded. “I did,” she said around her mouthful of food.
“Is the top number a ten?”
She nodded again.
“So it beats your grammy’s?” Cash shook his head. “I don’t believe you’d give me that.”
Lark’s chest constricted, and she realized how much she’d affected Cash by withholding her approval, though they barely knew one another.
She swallowed and reached out to him again. With her fingers wrapped around his wrist, and their eyes hooked together by some unseen power, she nodded. “Really, Cash. This is incredible. It’s the best chicken pot pie I’ve ever had. Yes, it’s better than Grammy’s.”
She smiled and pulled her hand back. “Thank you for making it for me. No wonder Jet and Wade make food requests when it comes to you.”
He grinned, pure happiness settling in those dark eyes. “Thank you, Songbird.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He nodded once, then twice, and looked at his own food.
“So tell me,” he said. He shifted in his seat, which Lark found so endearing. “I mean, I know about your family, and now a little bit about your school, and maybe a little bit about what you like.”
“Mm-hm.”
“So tell me something I don’t know,” he said.
Lark reached up to brush her hair off her face, something she did to buy herself a few seconds of time. Unfortunately, she’d braided her hair back, and her hand fell back to the table lamely. “I, uh, I don’t know.”
“I don’t know hardly anything about you,” he said. “This shouldn’t be too hard.”
