“Come on, Daphne.” He reached for her hand and gently rubbed her fingers. “Sometimes you have to breathe a little before you bake a lot.”
Her eyes shuttered and she gave her head a slight shake. But the small tilt of her lips betrayed her. “Did you get that from a fortune cookie?”
“A Southern cooking magazine.” He winked.
And she—thank heavens—laughed.
“Of course,” she muttered, finally waving toward the door. “Fine. One drive. A short one.”
“Of course,” he echoed, and pulled his keys from his pocket. “But once you start drivingLadybird, you may change your mind.”
She caught sight of the keys and froze. “Wait... you named your carLadybird? Isn’t that like a ladybug in England?”
“And,” he said, handing her the keys, “a term of endearment. Like darling. Or sweetheart.”
“Oh.” Her gaze tangled with his—softer now, sweeter.
He pressed the keys into her palm.
Her fingers curled around his—and didn’t let go.
The kitchen, the food, the clock—they all faded.
It was just him, her, and the simple, stunning truth of her hand in his.
Almost as if she were answering a question he hadn’t even dared to ask yet.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Finn Dashwood cooked like he was auditioning for a Food Network disaster special.
And somehow he still looked infuriatingly good doing it—leaning against her counter with a dusting of flour on his T-shirt, a few wild hairs sticking up like he’d wrestled a mixer, and still managing to look like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine.
He was everything she wasn’t.
And yet, Daphne was starting to wonder if maybe—maybe—he was exactly what she’d been looking for all along.
Cooking with him had been like a dream... at first. They’d worked together easily, trading advice here, swapping stories there.
And then she’d overcooked the popovers. Right in front of him.
And her brain had spiraled into a full-on anxiety tornado of all the other ways she could fail this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Naturally, her entire body had joined the revolt.
To such a degree that Finn—not exactly the poster child for subtlety—had noticed.
Which had only humiliated her further... until she realized he wasn’t laughing at her.
He wasn’t patronizing her.
He wasworriedabout her. Showing he cared.
Not so much for the wedding.
Forher.
And then he’d offered his car.
