It was also nearly midnight and she needed sleep. Which could have had something to do with her bleary-minded thoughts about him.
“Rescuer?” she tossed over her shoulder as she returned to her little kitchen. Well, he’d called her beautiful, but probably hadn’t really meant it. Likely just flirt talk. “You’d have done the same for me, right?”
She raised her own brow in challenge, and his grin grew as he searched her face. “I hope so, but I don’t sing, so I’d fail miserably at the princess song game.”
A soft laugh slipped from her as she offered him a little plate with the cookie she’d specifically kept just for him. “That is a disadvantage when rescuing princesses, I’m afraid.”
He suddenly sobered and shifted a step closer to take the plate. “Daphne, thank you.” His gaze searched hers in a way far removed from Mr. Flirty Face. “For your help and ready kindness. It truly was a rescue.”
Her gaze dropped to his plate, suddenly tempted to take back the cookie. “Um... well, it’s what neighbors do.” She cleared her throat and waved toward him. “Though this is the first time I’ve had a man in my apartment past 11:00 p.m. in a very long time.”
She squeezed her eyes closed as her own words echoed back to her. And that would probably be why it had been so long. Oh, where were her granny’s genes when she desperately needed class?
“I’m happy to break your record, for my and Lucy’s sakes.”
The timer beeped behind her, and she turned to the oven, slipping out another pan of cookies. She placed the pan on the stovetop and turned toward him, mitt still in place. “Well, she’s a complete sweetheart.”
“Indeed, she is.” His smolder turned lethal. “She gets it from her father.”
Her pulse responded with an enthusiastic mamba, but she buried it beneath an exaggerated eye roll. “I’m sure she does.”
Oh yeah. He could definitely keep the cookie.
He lingered near her, that fresh, appealing scent of vanilla and something clean mixing entirely too well with the lingering aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies. Her brain short-circuited for a second.Oh mercy. Vanilla and chocolate.A combination so potent it really ought to be illegal. At least to her.
“Did you say you only had sleeping bags at your apartment?” she asked, grasping onto anything to shift the conversation.
Finn nodded, lifting the cookie to his lips.
And Daphne waited, watching as he took a large bite.
His grin dissolved into something horrified as he chewed. He struggled—valiantly—to maintain composure but failed.
“Oh, sorry.” She offered him a sweet smile. “I must have gotten my salt and sugar confused for that one.”
His gaze flashed up to her before he coughed—or maybe it was a strangled laugh—and she passed him a bottled water.
“Touché,” he rasped, still having a wrestling match between a cough and a smile.
“I would’ve made you tea to go with it.” Daphne plucked the cookie from his fingers and tossed it in the trash. “But since you’re a plebeian, I figured you’d refuse.”
“I deserved that.” His grin made a triumphant return as he took a sip of water, and for some reason, his good-natured reaction only made her like him more.
Drat.
“You sure did.” She offered him a fresh cookie from the tray she’d just pulled from the oven. “Try this one. Won’t assault your taste buds. Scout’s honor.”
He took it with exaggerated caution, his gaze never leaving hers as he bit in—and honestly? Why did he have to make eating a cookie look... indecent?
That just seemed wrong.
And yet, here she was, rethinking Santa, cookies, and every hallmark of childhood innocence.
Heaven help her if he ever started baking in front of her.
She swallowed as the temperature in the room tipped right back up into feverish. Granny’s upbringing had not prepared her for this level of temptation. Like a dark chocolate milkshake with a pump of vanilla and a dash of reckless charm.
At least she had enough country girl stubbornness to keep her cool. Probably.
