“But”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“surprises sometimes make the very best dishes.”
“Not for a celebrity wedding we’re catering in a week.” She pointed her pen at him like a weapon. “Surprises are not good for that.”
“You’re confusing surprises with accidents.” He waggled his brows just to see that pretty flush race up her neck again. “Surprises should be nice. Pleasant things. Like...” He waved a hand lazily in her direction. “Like you’ve been for me.”
Her gaze caught in his, searching like they did on Wednesday night at the festival. As if she were trying so very hard to place him in a category she wanted him to be.
And, from the look in those searching eyes, he wanted to be that man too.
She pulled her attention from his and tapped the little notebook on the kitchen island. Perhaps he was slowly breaking through whatever assumptions she’d held about him and, admittedly, he’d encouraged in the beginning. And winning such a beautiful heart?
He could only hope.
“From what Lindsay said, Harry and Margaret are covering the welcome grazing board at the inn, so we won’t have to worry about that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her ponytail clearly losing its grip.
It was her preferred hairstyle, he was beginning to notice. And, at this point, beautifully distracting.
“But we’re covering lunches, right?” he asked, nudging the conversation—and the warmth between them—forward.
Some of the tension in her shoulders eased.
She nodded and tapped her elegant script in the notebook. “A bridal luncheon and a groom’s lunch.”
“Which should be pretty straightforward on who covers which,” he teased, angling for another smile.
Sure enough, one corner of those pink lips crooked ever so slightly. “Unless you need help with theclassyside of things, of course.”
Ah, there it was.
The jab he’d been waiting for.
“Men don’t need pretty. Just tasty.” He added a wink for good measure. “But ifyouneed advice on how to feed the ladies more than toast, jam, and cucumbers, I’m available for consultations.”
“Funny.” She narrowed her eyes in a mock glare, but the soft laugh behind it made his heart kick against his ribs. She tapped her pen against her lips, and—he wasn’t proud of this, or perhaps he was—he promptly forgot every coherent thought he had for a solid three seconds.
“But that leads us to the rehearsal dinner.” She pulled a clipboard from beneath the notebook, the page so covered in notes that Finn wasn’t sure there was any white left.
He leaned closer, pretending to read it, mostly just enjoying being near enough to catch the scent of apples and something softer, sweeter—her.
“I know you’re excellent at savory dishes and I’ve reviewed your current menu at The Green Dragon, but I think we need at least one refined dish.” She looked up at him. “And something vegan. For both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding meal.”
“With apples.” He gestured toward the crate.
“Yes.” The way her whole face brightened in response nearly knocked him flat. “With apples.”
He paused, running through the options he’d been tossing around most of the night. “If you want something more... refined”—he tilted his head, catching the way she gave an exaggerated sigh, as if already bracing herself—“I make an excellent apple walnut stuffed pork loin. It’s seasonal but still elevated enough for a wedding. You could pretty it up however you like.”
She blinked a few times, and then her nod grew more vigorous. “That’s—” She flipped to a fresh page and scribbled something down. “That’s a great option.” She paused her scribbles. “And what about a popover as a side?” she added, twirling the pen between her fingers like a magic wand. “Maybe a rosemary-parmesan one. The rosemary’s earthy flavor would match the autumn vibe.”
“And the pastry would soak up the pork juices.” He caught on to her excitement.
“Exactly.” She leaned in, eyes alive with creativity. “And there’s this risotto recipe I’ve been dying to make. Apple Cider Risotto. Not too apple-y—just the right hint of flavor. It would offer a creamy side option, and the Parmesan would complement the pork really well.” Her pen did another spin. “Tie it all together.”
Like the knot growing in his chest. He had no idea how he was supposed to concentrate when she looked at him like that, like they were creating something extraordinary together.
Honestly, if she kept talking in this manner, he was going to end up proposing by lunchtime or, at the very least, kissing her after every delectable sentence. But then they really wouldn’t get much cooking done. Well, or they’d get the wrong kind of cooking done, so to speak. But he certainly wouldn’t complain.
“You should definitely make it.” His voice came out lower than intended, rough with the effort of keeping himself in check. “And for a side vegetable—what about simple sautéed green beans with lemon and almonds?”
