No, this one was locked, loaded, and full of heat. Like his thoughts had gone right back to the kiss in her kitchen.
Her breath lodged in her throat.
“Um...” She lowered the rib, grasping for dignity. “Nice. It’s... nice.”
“Nice?” He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. Then he promptly slid down in the seat across from her. “Your response would suggest a little better than nice.”
She looked away, only to find all four other people at the table staring at her with varying degrees of amusement. She returned herattention to the half-eaten rib and decided to focus on taking another bite. The flavors exploded again—rich, bold, decadent, teasing every one of her tastebuds.
Something about the flavor sparked a memory... or idea... or... “You know, this would be a perfect pairing for my rosemary sea salt focaccia.”
When she opened her eyes, Finn had leaned closer. “Say that again?”
“Your short ribs. They need something earthy. That sauce wants to soak into something hearty and crusty. I have a bread that—” She caught herself and sat back, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t stop.” His voice was low. Earnest. Inviting. “Keep going.”
“Law, girl,” Granny D added. “If there’s something that makes these ribs even better, you’d better spill it.”
She hesitated for a beat, searching Finn’s face. But really, if she had the rare opportunity to food nerd with someone who actuallygotit, why hold back?
“Okay. So. The sauce is sweet, rich, has depth—molasses?” she guessed, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Brown sugar and sorghum,” he answered, grinning.
“Aha.” She pointed her rib at him. “That’s the bass note. You need something with bite and body to hold that kind of richness. A thick crumb. Crusty enough to scrape your palate clean between bites but not so dense it kills the balance.”
“And that’s your rosemary focaccia bread?”
The rest of the table faded away. The clatter, the conversations, even the competition—all of it blurred beneath the strange, electric thread running between them.
Two food nerds. One language.
And for once, it wasn’t about being on the defensive or guarding her heart.
It was just... connection.
And she wasn’t sure she’d ever tasted anything quite like it.
“Yes, but with a cracked pepper crust and caramelized onion folded in. The salt brings out the herbs, the onion gives it umami, and the rosemary plays off the brown sugar and sorghum.” She glanced down at the ribs, then back up at him, heart picking up speed. “It’d be rude not to let them meet, don’t you think?”
His mouth curved in that slow, appreciative way that made her stomach do backflips.
“I think I’m in love.”
Her whole face froze.
Someone—Lindsay?—snorted.
“Um... with the bread or the ribs?” Daphne asked, trying to sound dry and unaffected.
“Obviously the pairing,” he deadpanned. “I’d never want to separate a perfect match.”
She wrestled with her smile, forcing it down but failing completely. She wasn’t a natural flirt. In fact, half the time she wasn’t even sure if she was flirting. But the way Finn was watching her now—amused, intrigued, maybe even a little captivated—gave her the kind of boldness she usually lacked.
And he was listening. Not just politely. Fully present. Like she mattered.
That? That was more disarming than any flirty line.
