He looked mildly offended and then leaned in again. “Both. We deserve it.”
And he kissed her again, longer this time. Okay, somaybeshe’d held him in place a little too. But if he was handing out rewards, he needed to commit to the full prize package.
Gracious! Cooking with her boyfriend really was one of the hottest things she’d ever done. Or dreamed of. Or even dared to wish for—and she wasn’t even halfway through her streusel bars yet.
They were working out of his kitchen this afternoon, since Margaret was coming by soon to whisk Lucy off to the children’s museum. The rain hadn’t let up, but Lucy was still all smiles, building a throne for Winston out of soup cans and napkin rings.
Surprisingly, Finn’s kitchen was in good order. Not label-perfect like hers, but intuitive. Thoughtful. Clean in the way a space is when someone actually cares about what they’re creating.
“You know my cheddar chive scones?” she asked as she sprinkled brown sugar over the apple streusel topping.
He nodded instantly. “That would make a perfect pairing. Do you think you could make a batch this morning for us to try out?”
“Sure.” She reached for a clean bowl. “Just let me finish this first.”
He scribbled the addition onto their nearly finalized menu. “I’ve got a few folks lined up to help prep and serve, so we should be covered on numbers.”
“Great.” She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She’d forgotten about needing extra hands for something like this.
Her eyes caught Finn sneaking another forkful of her lavender and lemon chess pie—his fourth... no, fifth bite?
“What are you doing?”
He froze mid-bite. “Quality control,” he said solemnly, licking a bit of cream from his thumb. “It’s called professionalism, Daphne.”
“It’s called sugar rush, Finn.” She lunged for the dish, but he caught her and kissed her cheek.
She sighed into him, resting her palms against his arms. “You think we can really do this?”
His brow creased and he searched her face. “Iknowwe can.”
The certainty of his voice steadied her.
She nodded. “Right. We can.”
A gust of wind rattled the windowpane, the kind that made trees sway and made you second-guess your outdoor plans. They both turned toward it.
“Still coming down out there?” She looked over at him. “I heard about a few flash flood warnings south of here overnight. The Ashbourne River and Penner’s Creek are rising fast.”
Finn raised a brow. “Is that unusual?”
Oh, right. He didn’t know Wisteria weather patterns yet. “That creek barely trickles most of the year. But the ground’s already soaked. If the wind keeps picking up...”
He winced. “Wet ground and high winds. That’s... not ideal.”
“But we’ve still got three days,” she said brightly, injecting as much optimism into her tone as she could. “The storm could pass. Things might clear up by Friday. Maybe soggy—but doable. If the roads don’t close.”
He nudged her hip with his. “Let’s not cast worry for future problems.” His arm slipped around her. “Right now, our job is to make this the best wedding menu anyone’s ever tasted. The kind of thing that goes viral, makes us famous, and lands us interviews with food bloggers who wear bow ties and know obscure cheeses.”
“Famous, huh?”
“All right, maybe notfamousfamous.” He dipped his fork back into the chess pie. “But a steady stream of customers wouldn’t hurt.”
He popped another bite into his mouth just as a wall of rain slammed against the window. His arm tightened around her instinctively.
“So...” She tried for casual. “If the roadsdowash out—what’s plan B?”
“We improvise.” He leaned back against the counter again, drawing her toward him. “We’re smart and capable people. Between the two of us, we could probably cater a wedding from a canoe.”
