Finn was going to win.
Three weeks in Wisteria and he was already stealing this opportunity with that charming grin and culinary wizardry.
She took a long sip of her tea to keep from pouting. Her gaze drifted back to the bar.
Finn stood behind the bar again, regaling a pair sitting on the stools near him. The way his hands gestured as he talked. The quick flash of his grin. The attentive way he listened to every customer as if they were the most interesting person he’d ever met.
After everything she’d lived through—after all the heartbreak and caution she’d built like armor—she should be smart. She should fit him into a neat category and be done with it.
But Finn Dashwood didn’t fit into boxes.
At least not the ones she expected him to.
“But ribs?” Lindsay sighed. “How do I justify ribs when I’ll be wearing white?” She looked at Daphne. “That’s one reason I love your options. Neat. Classy. Tasty but... delicate.”
“With less need for twenty napkins,” Daphne added, noddingtoward Granny D, who’d built a pile of used napkins that rivaled her tea glass in height.
“That just means I’m enjoying myself,” Granny D declared, brandishing another rib. “Gracious sakes, honey, I ain’t never tasted meat this good in all my days.”
“Is that so?” Daphne chuckled out her question, curbing the tiny twinge of concern. She should be happy for Finn’s successful opening. Any new restaurant deserved a strong launch. And if he hadn’t been competing with her for a job she really needed, she’d have been even happier for him.
“I’m tellin’ you true, girl.” Granny D nodded, taking up another rib. “If I were forty years younger, I’d marry the man who made these.”
“Granny!” Daphne groaned. No ribs were good enough to usher up a proposal.
“I’d be jealous,” Rosemary said slyly, “but I think he’s already found his main dish.”
Daphne shot Rosemary a look.
Cue Finn, arriving like a perfectly timed line in a rom-com, platter in hand, setting down a dish of ribs, mac and Gouda, and gently steamed veggies in front of Daphne—and offering Granny D a wink. “Guess I owe you a proposal then.”
“Shucks, boy.” Granny D grinned, sending Daphne the world’s least subtle side-eye. “I’ve got excellent taste in men. But you’re a might bit young for me. I’ll leave you to Daphne.”
A thoroughly unladylike laugh barked from Daphne’s lips. “Oh goodness. I’m way too straitlaced, fancy food, and boring for the likes of Mr. Dashwood,” she said quickly, trying to steer the conversation far from Finn and Daphne sitting in a tree k-i-s... er... Well, they’d already done that part.
No reminders needed.
“Straitlaced is growing on me.” Finn’s eyes locked with hers. “Andyou’re anything but boring.” His grin deepened. “Not too sure about the food, though.”
“Speaking of food...” Daphne looked down at the plate, the smell of those ribs causing her mouth to water in a rabid way. “Are you going to keep distracting me or let me see if you’ve earned your bragging rights?”
“By all means.” He stepped back, one hand over his heart. “But I warn you: These have been known to inspire spontaneous declarations of love.”
She shot him a challenging look, nonverbally assuring him she would do no such thing. Granny D may think they’re the first step to matrimony, but not Daphne.
No way.
Then she picked up a rib—and took one bite.
Her eyes widened.
Heaven. Help. Her.
The sauce was smoky-sweet perfection. The meat practically melted. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft, traitorous sound escaped her lips—a cross between a sigh and a moan. What on earth had he done to this cow?
When she opened her eyes, Finn was staring at her.
Not the casual kind of stare. Not playful or teasing.
