Drat that man and his disturbingly nice lips.
“Well,” she managed, smoothing the napkins even though they didn’t need smoothing, “you’ll have plenty to compare notes on later. Just make sure you pick the right person for your big day.”
“I plan to.” Lindsay snapped another photo, then plucked another tart off the plate. “Travis may fight me on it, but if this is the competition? Finn’s in trouble.”
Daphne’s gaze slid toward the wall separating her shop from Finn’s.
He should be in trouble...
And preferably avoidable.
After leaving her off-kilter from that kiss, the very least he should do is forfeit this competition, because that kiss probably didn’t knock him for as much of a loop as it did her.
“Um... so is this kind of a competition between the two of you?”
Lindsay’s question pulled Daphne’s attention back to the woman’s face. “Um... well, he is sort of my competition, isn’t he?”
One of Lindsay’s dark manicured brows rose northward. “I suppose he is.” Her gaze moved to the adjoining wall, and then her smile spreadwide as she raised a piece of shortbread to her lips. “Mr. Dashwood may very well be in trouble.”
Daphne sipped her tea, trying to cool the heat in her cheeks.
Her gaze traveled back to the wall. No, he shouldn’t forfeit.
He needed to lose fair and square. Get a good dose of healthy humbling.
Because she was determined to win.
Finn had laid out a spread that could’ve made a lumberjack weep with gratitude—whiskey-glazed pork belly, mini Yorkshire puddings puffed to golden perfection, and a take on bangers and mash that might’ve brought tears to a stoic Brit’s eye. Roasted root vegetables and a display of his favorite desserts rounded everything out.
This was food that stuck to you. Food that made people groan in satisfaction.
Which was exactly what Travis Langford did the moment he took his first bite of the pork. His eyes fluttered shut like he was catching a glimpse of the afterlife. “This. This is a wedding meal.”
Finn leaned back against the counter, cool and casual, pulling the towel from his shoulder to wipe his hands. “So I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”
“If you don’t cater our wedding, I might have to cancel it outright.”
Finn barked a laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment, mate—though I feel like your fiancée should weigh in before you make any dramatic life decisions.”
“I’m just chuffed we found another option in time. Lindsay was in full-on meltdown mode when the caterer bailed, so Harry’s suggestion about you and Daphne came at the perfect time.”
“Harry and Maggie are dangerously well connected.” Finn gave a mock bow. “And Wisteria hasn’t even tasted my best work yet.”
“Harry mentioned you’re opening this weekend with a limited menu?” Travis speared a roasted carrot. “But if this is your ‘limited’ menu, I’m almost afraid to see what happens when you offer the full one.”
“I hope it brings in a large number of patrons.” Finn stood a little taller. Travis’s praise was a nice boost to the ego, especially when a bloke was just starting over in a new town with more baggage than a honeymoon suite. Which inspired an idea. “As a matter of fact, Travis, if you are still in town, I’d like to formally invite you and your lovely fiancée to The Green Dragon on Saturday night. Special tasting menu. Drink pairings. I might even shave.”
“I’ll make certain we are here.” Travis nodded. “Because it’s going to take all the charm you can muster to win over Lindsay. She’s been on this ‘curated elegance’ kick since January, and of course it fits her entire brand, so why should I be surprised that she’s carried it over into the wedding? Says the whole day has to be anexperience.”
“And I’m guessing your version of an experience includes more gravy than glitter?”
“Exactly.” Travis scooped up another bite of mash and groaned like the spirit of Yorkshire had descended upon him. “She wants food that looks like it belongs in a bridal magazine. I want food... like this.”
“And maybe like this too?” He pushed a tray of sweets forward. “Molten chocolate cake, pecan fudge bombs, and”—because he wasn’t completely devoid of romantic sensibilities—“a raspberry fool. Light, sweet, deceptively charming.”
The words stuck in his throat.
Deceptively charming.
