Something flickered in Finn’s eyes. Different from the usual smug amusement. A hint of surprise? And something... else?
“I did.”
“And... is that a hint of cinnamon?”
One side of his mouth curved. “Indeed.”
The air thickened, her attention unable to shift from his eyes. “It’s very good.”
Silence hitched the moment between them. Slowing it. Squeezing Daphne’s breath a little tighter. And—for only a second—Daphne thought she could name his expression.
Admiration?
Respect?
And the very idea threatened to derail the bad-boy images about him from her mind.
“You know what my granny always said?” Granny D piped up, dipping her fork into the pudding. “When a person makes you somethin’ sweet after a quarrel, it means they been thinkin’ about you.”
Daphne stiffened. She cleared her throat and stepped away from the pull in Finn’s eyes. “Probably only thinking of ways to insult my shop.”
“Only part of the time,” Finn admitted, the dimple making an appearance.
Was he just an entire collection of distracting clichés meant to develop her self-control? She glanced heavenward for clarification.
“And if it tastes this good,” Granny D declared, eyes closing in appreciation as she took a generous bite, “then he’s been thinkin’ mighty hard.”
Daphne nearly wrestled the fork away from the woman. Clearly, good food only encouraged her to say embarrassing things. “Or, he needed it to be really good to make up for being insufferable.”
Finn lifted the milkshake to his lips with an infuriating lack of concern. Hero-quality lips, Daphne’s treacherous brain noted. Pity about the words that came out of them.
She shook away the thoughts of English accents and biceps and tea-colored eyes and that dimple. Even if she were the only person in the entire town, she would not be charmed by Finn Dashwood.
His golden eyes met hers. Heat flared across her face, but she refused to look away.
Daphne needed to make one thing very clear.
Despite the near-hyperventilation his cologne, accent, and presence caused, she was notan idiot.
And she would be certain to reassure him of that fact... once he tasted her milkshake.
Daphne Austen’s eyes had taken on the most mesmerizing glow, deepening those azure hues to cobalt. Had he held such an expression when he watched her taste his pudding? The anticipation? The unmitigated desire to please another food connoisseur?
Finn placed the straw to his lips.
Daphne leaned forward slightly. “The... the second sip is when you get the full effect.” Her voice carried a soft, measured quality that somehow made him nearly forget everything else. Not in a seductive way but in true curiosity, kinship. This shared bond of creation and cooking like-minded inventors understood... with an added something else he couldn’t quite define. A sweetness? Genuineness?
And, God help him, something inside him wanted to keep that glint alive, stoke the teasing, the fire, the challenge.
And that was not a common occurrence in his world among single women.
He held her gaze. “Like a second chance?”
Her smile faltered, and something in his chest squeezed tight. Too much. He’d gone too far, let something slip he hadn’t meant to. He drew in another sip of the milkshake. Delicious. Surprising.
Like her?
Clearing his throat, he forced a shrug and raised the glass toward her. “This certainly bests any of your teas, no question.”
