He chuckled. “You look nice too—for someone pretending she doesn’t want to be right here.”
Touché.
The table had a view of the dog park, where a golden retriever was gleefully rolling in mud, and a woman in a pink scarf was swearing under her breath. Nate passed me a to-go box from the Pennywhistle. “I got us the special instead of burgers, if that’s okay. Pulled pork grilled cheese with apple slaw. And sweet potato fries, just like you wanted. Comfort food. Figured we could both use it.”
“You trying to woo me with melty cheese?”
“Is it working?”
I didn’t answer. I took a bite and tried not to moan. “This should be illegal,” I muttered.
“Wait till you try the sweet potato fries.”
“So,” I said, unwrapping my sandwich, “how’s Tilly today?”
Nate smiled immediately, the kind that showed up fast and stayed. “Good. Very good. She announced this morning that she’s officially brave now.”
“Based on what criteria?” I asked.
“Snack access and knowing where the bathroom is,” he said. “She said those are the cornerstones of confidence.”
I laughed. “She’s not wrong.”
“She also informed her teacher that our dog sleeps in her bed sometimes and that this was apparently relevant to class introductions.”
I grinned. “I love her honesty.”
“Less so when it’s about me,” he said, still smiling. “But she waved goodbye like she had a schedule to keep, so I think we’re doing okay.”
The warmth in his voice settled something in my chest, and for a moment, lunch felt easy again.
I almost let myself relax then—until Nate set down his Coke and looked at me carefully.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Something that doesn’t involve dating. Just spending time together. Doing something fun.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Define fun.”
“The Honeybrook Hollow Taste-Off. My grandma is not up to entering this year, and the Pennywhistle has always been at least a finalist. I need a partner. Someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“And by someone you mean?—?”
“You. A little birdy told me you went to culinary school.”
I wiped my hands with a napkin. “Yeah, I did. But I haven’t cooked seriously in a long time.”
“You make muffins every morning.”
“Basic muffins.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” He leaned forward. “Help me win. The Pennywhistle is my legacy. I don’t want to let my grandparents down. Or the town. I’m feeling some pressure, I admit it.”
That got my attention. “Go on,” I said slowly.
“I know you’re incredible in a kitchen.”
My cheeks flushed. “You don’t have to butter me up. And how would you know that?”
“Because you’re incredible at everything else.”
