“Well,” she said lightly, tapping her finger against the rim of her plate. “I suppose if you believe in soulmates, it’s only fair they find each other... even if one of them is bread.”
His smile deepened, just a hint of his dimple now, and warmth rose into her face that had nothing to do with the spices on the meat.
“I do believe in soulmates,” he said, tone low and playful. “Especially when they’re handmade and seasoned just right.”
She rolled her eyes, but it was more to keep herself from grinninglike an idiot. “Careful, Dashwood. That sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”
He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes still locked on hers. “I wouldn’t dare compliment a woman who uses words like ‘umami’ with a straight face.”
Her laugh slipped out—quick, surprised, and far more honest than she meant it to be.
He looked so pleased by the sound that something inside her uncoiled.
She caught Lindsay looking at her with some sort of glint in her eyes, and Daphne quickly looked away.
“Um... well, if you’d like to test the theory.” Daphne sat back, shrugging a shoulder to try to displace whatever grins lit Lindsay’s, Granny D’s, and even Travis’s face. “I could bring you a loaf. Of the focaccia.”
No big deal. Just two people sharing... food together.
“Perfect,” he said slowly. “We’ll let them meet properly. No pressure. Just two chefs. One table. Some objectively brilliant food.”
“Exactly.” She slid a glance to Lindsay and back to Finn. “Just because we’re competitors doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate each other’s... unique tastes.”
“Not at all,” he added, never looking away.
She swallowed down another drink of tea, drew in a deep breath, and refused to make eye contact with anyone else at the table.
Because just like that, the line between competition and something else entirely had gotten perilously blurry.
Finn wiped down the bar counter as the last stragglers ambled toward the door. The evening had gone far better than he’d imagined. Not just in money earned but in the response of the community.
Only a few weeks in Wisteria, and he already felt... embraced. It didn’t make sense.
And he didn’t need it to.
After losing his wife, his dad, then his business, followed by half a year of trying to claw his life back together, he’d landed in the most unlikely of places. And somehow, it fit.
Game night yesterday. A packed house tonight. Maybe it didn’t take years to find home.
Maybe it only took the right people.
Daphne’s face flashed to mind... a particular scene.
Her sitting across the table in a dress that highlighted her petite frame. One elegant hand lifting a rib. Just one bite.
And Finn felt it in his chest like a meteor strike all over again.
Daphne, who usually had the poise of a royal portrait, made a sound that definitely did not fit Miss Tea Shop. Her eyes fluttered closed. Her head tilted back just slightly. And then she muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like,“Heaven help me.”
And he forgot how to breathe.
She moaned. Overhisribs.
And then her appreciation turned into another conversation between them that he wanted on repeat forever. The flirting gave way to something deeper. Her caution melted into this connection he’d never known before.
She wasn’t trying to impress him or compete with him. She was just beingher—smart, creative, passionate. Animated in that way that made him want to lean in and never miss a single word.
As she talked—caramelized onions, cracked pepper crust, earthy flavor balance—he found himself nodding, absorbing, resisting the very real urge to clear the table and kiss her senseless.
