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Before long, they reached a little layby, a bench propped up on cement that had been vacated only recently by another couple.

She followed Finn toward it, and he sat down beside her, a mere inch between them. If she shifted even slightly, her legs would press against his. Dare she make contact? Or should she focus more on the fact that she was willfully ignoring that the two of them kissing would one-billion-percent be against the rules of the tour if dating was, too?

Before she could decide what to dwell on more, Finn spoke.

“Have you added the stew to your book, then?”

“No, I haven’t had the chance. But it’s gonna be a full five stars, I can tell you that much.”

“As it should be. You’ve got the book with you now, don’t you?”

Her hand unconsciously went to her large jacket pocket where her pink pig notebook resided. “Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you make an entry now? We’ve got a minute.”

He’d offered so casually—too casually—that Maisie looked up at him with suspicion.

“And,” he continued, refusing to meet her gaze, “if you just so happen to allow me a peek inside the journal, I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

The very idea of Finn seeing what was inside her food journal—specifically an entry that wasn’t even food related at all—was so horrifying, that Maisie couldn’t even laugh at his trickery.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers protectively over the binding. “Why do you want to see it anyway? There’s nothing exciting about what I write.”

“I’m only curious, like,” he responded. “I fancy knowin’ more ’bout what foods you like and what foods you don’t.” He paused, tipping his head toward her as his leg pressed against hers. “Case I ever take you somewhere finer than me ma’s kitchen.”

His words and touch caused a pleasant, hazy fog to roll out across her mind. She could no longer form full thoughts. At least she didn’t think she could. That was the only explanation as to why her fingers began to loosen around her journal.

Maybe she could show him just a peek of it. After all, if it helped him take her out on a date, how could she deny him that?

“You promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“I’d never do that.”

She already knew that was the truth. Slowly, she pulled out the small notebook and stared down at the cover.

“You and pigs,” he mumbled.

She laughed. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

“That wasn’t makin’ fun. I was simply observin’ somethin’ adorable about you.”

That was the final key to unlock her hesitation—his calling her adorable.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll add your mom’s stew, show you a few pages, then we’ll be done, okay?”

He nodded in silence, clearly pleased that his coercion had worked.

With careful fingers—knowing exactly where Finn’s page was due to the number of times she’d nearly ripped it out before convincing herself each time to leave it in—she opened to an empty page and filled in the entry for his mother’s stew.

“I love how you lay out the information,” Finn commented as he watched her write.

“Thank you,” she said, still in a haze, her thigh nearly numb from where his leg still pressed against her.

As she finished, Finn convinced her to see more of the book, so she started at the beginning, all the while remaining keenly aware of exactly what page his own entry was on.

The sun slowly faded, but the streetlamp positioned behind the bench clicked on, shining above them with a warm, orange glow. Finn asked her questions about what country she had the most fun in and which food she’d make herself at home, and as she answered, he casually raised his arm to rest behind her on the bench.

Her heart pounded against her chest. His proximity, the smell of his cologne, and the delightfully magic haze rolled all the heavier around her.