“You don’t get off that easy, Miss Austen.” His grin hooked sideways in that maddeningly confident way. “A harmless substitution of salt for sugar does not warrant being hunted by wolves.”
Oh, right. She’d almost forgotten her little revenge prank.
“Where’s your adorable sidekick?” she asked, hoping to derail him. She’d seen the aftermath earlier—stepping outside after Lindsay left and catching a glimpse of Finn being ambushed by a steady parade of Wisteria’s single (and not-so-single) women. Some arrived with casseroles. Others came with mothers. One brought a crocheted scarf.
“She’s helping Gavin clean tables because shelovescleaning.” Finn groaned as he dropped onto the stool beside Jack, then pinned Daphne with a look.
“Gavin?” She gave her head a shake. “You have Gavin York working for you too?”
Of course Finn would convince one of the most well-known grillers in Wisteria to work for him!
Finn shrugged a shoulder like he accepted the power of his own charm. “And don’t attempt to divert the conversation from your part of my torture. Because of you, I’ve been introduced to every eligible woman within a twenty-mile radius. Including two who may have followed me from the farmers market.”
Jack turned slowly to his sister. “What did you do?”
Daphne lifted her hands in feigned innocence. “Just tried to help his business. Increased visibility. Good for marketing.”
“Help business, my eye,” Finn echoed with a glare far too dramatic to be genuine. “I’ve been drowning in gardenia body spray and casserole-induced trauma. And all becausesomeonecouldn’t keep her foam art off my windows.”
She nearly snickered at his turn of phrase. He shouldn’t be so fun to irritate. He really shouldn’t.
But it was easy. And addicting. And—she blinked—surprisingly safe.
She didn’t worry about Finn overreacting. Or becoming angry. Or lashing out. How did she automatically know he could handle it?
“Wait...” Jack shifted his attention between them. “Why do I get the feeling my sister has thrown you to the lionesses of Wisteria?”
“She unleashed them.” And Finn, complete with a twinkle in his eyes, told Jack about the message she’d left on his restaurant window and the ensuing result.
Jack groaned. “Daph, come on.”
But Daphne couldn’t quite summon a sincere apology. Not whenFinn was trying so hard not to smile. Why did he have to be such a puzzle? Flirty but sincere? Easygoing but infuriating?
She just couldn’t seem to fully make him fit into a box.
“I did, however,” Finn said, with a smug little wink, “secure promises from all of them to stop by the pub Saturday night. So... business will be booming.”
And that, my friend, is how a plan backfires.
Daphne resisted the urge to throw a tart athishead and then averted her attention. “So if all you wanted was attention and dinner dates, mission accomplished. No troublesome hearts involved.”
The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Finn’s gaze snapped to hers—too steady. Too... aware.
She shifted a step back from the counter, scrambling for a joke or jab, anything to shove the moment back into safe territory. But her brain short-circuited under his expression.
Then, with a casual lean on the counter, Finn glanced at Jack.
And like there was some kind of invisible bro code, Jack stood and stepped over to the nearby shelf, suddenly finding her turn-of-the-century Dutch Delft Dore teapot very, very interesting.
What was happening?
“About that...” Finn cleared his throat, cast another glance at Jack’s back, and leaned in just enough to lower his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “That thing. The, um... thing that happened. Recently.”
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily for thething that happened.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said, tilting her head and studying him. “What sort of... thing?”
