“Maybe I do.”
He watched me, that little half-smile daring me to admit how much I wanted this partnership, not just for the win, but for the chance to reclaim a piece of myself.
“This isn’t just about cooking,” I said, quieter now.
Nate’s brow furrowed, like he could tell I’d shifted gears. “I know,” he whispered.
“I want to win. I want to prove something.”
Nate didn’t speak at first, he reached across the table and touched my hand. “Then we’ll win.”
Simple. Steady. Certain.
God, he made it so easy to believe I could actually do it. And the way he said it made my stomach flip.
I was in trouble.
Because this wasn’t just about cooking, it was about proximity. Chemistry. Trust.
And right now, sitting in his booth, planning our team-up for a public competition, I wanted so badly to forget every reason I’d told myself to stay away from him.
Nate must’ve sensed it too, because his voice dropped a little. “I’m glad you didn’t cancel our lunch.”
“So am I,” I whispered.
He reached across the table and tapped the form. “Let’s do this.”
And just like that, I was all in.
But as I scribbled my name on the dotted line, a quiet voice in my head reminded me: I couldn't let myself fall for Nate. No matter how easy he made it, or how much I wanted to forget my own rules, I had to keep my guard up. I had to protect him.
Chapter 15
Nate
Iunlocked the side door of the Pennywhistle and held it open for her, trying not to look as relieved as I felt. We were going to do a chicken pot pie trial run. It had been a few days since she agreed to enter the Taste-Off with me, and part of me worried she was going to show up and call the whole thing off.
Tilly and Lois were with my grandparents for the evening. A few uninterrupted hours with Eliza sounded like heaven and trouble in equal measure. The diner was dark except for the low glow over the counter, chrome catching the warm light. It felt strangely still—like the Pennywhistle itself was holding its breath.
Then the side door opened, and she stepped inside, a small gust of cold trailing her like a scarf. She closed the door behind her, cheeks pink from the chill, eyes lifting to mine with something soft and searching.
“Hey,” she said, letting the warmth sink into her. “How is Tilly?”
I smiled—God, I loved that she asked first thing. “She’s perfect,” I said. “I just got a text. She already had cookies, started a movie, and convinced my grandma to braid her hair like Anna fromFrozen.”
Eliza laughed, relaxing a degree. “I love that. Cute.”
Her gaze flicked up to mine again—warm, thoughtful, something deeper hidden just under the surface. “And you’re sure it’s okay I dragged you out for this?” she asked quietly. “After… everything?”
“Hey.” I shook my head. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Color bloomed on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold.
She glanced around the empty diner—quiet booths, polished counter, the sound of the fridge in back. “It feels different in here after hours,” she murmured. “Like the place has secrets.”
“It does,” I said. “One of them is that it cooks better pot pies when it’s just the two of us.”
That startled a smile out of her—soft and reluctant, like she was letting herself fall inch by inch.
