Ambrosia couldn’t stop her lips from stretching into a grin at his audacity. She’d never known anyone who spoke in such a forthright manner, except perhaps the eccentric neighbor she’d left behind in Rockford Beach, Mrs. Tuttle.
“Is that a smile? Good heavens, it is!” He spoke as though he was catching sight of a rare bird.
“You’re outrageous, do you know that?” Ambrosia couldn’t allow his behavior to go without comment, although her smile stretched wider, and she couldn’t stop the small giggle that followed.
Instead of following up on her declaration, or commenting at all even, he reached down to the floor and then handed her a small package.
“What is this?” She stared at it suspiciously.
“Open it and see.”
Tamping down a surge of guilt for accepting anything from a strange gentleman, she steadied herself on the seat and slowly began unwrapping the paper.
“Pastries.” The box was filled with the very same flaky confections Mrs. Neskers had served her earlier.
“Madame Neskers mentioned you didn’t finish yours.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if brushing away any suggestion that the gesture had been thoughtful.
But it had been.
How was it that she was so unaccustomed to simple kindness?
“Thank you, Mr. Beckman,” she murmured. “It was… very considerate. You didn’t have to.”
“Not that considerate, princesse.” There he went again. “I’m hungry too.”
She gave a breath of laughter, then retrieved a handkerchief from her reticule and carefully wrapped it around one of the pastries before holding it out.
He didn’t take it.
Instead, without so much as a warning, he leaned in and took a bite straight from her hand. If not for her gloves, his lips would have grazed her skin.
“Safer this way, Madame Bloomington,” he said around a mouthful, his tone maddeningly smug.
Ambrosia blinked.
Had he just?—?
How had she come to be here, feeding a man pastry while driving, alone…?
In the dark.
She jerked her hand back and wiped her gloved fingers on the napkin.
“You, sir,” she said stiffly, “are incorrigible.”
“Entirely true,” he agreed with a shrug. “Your turn, then I’ll have another, if you please.”
“I—no. I most certainly will not—this is… It’s indecent!”
“Very well,” he said with an infuriating calm. “But I shall not take another bite. Not unless you do. Two bites, princesse. I insist.”
She stared at him, aghast. “But?—"
“It’s only fair,” he said. “You cannot expect me to eat alone. I’m not a barbarian.”
Some might argue with that…
Nonetheless, with great hesitation, she lifted a pastry to her own lips and took a modest bite. And then blinked again.
