Finn’s personal radar at the moment. He leaned forward. The neon sign wasn’t the only thing buzzing right now.
“I have a proposition,” he told her.
“Oh?” She appeared aloof, sitting there with her elbows on the table, both hands holding the coffee cup, which obscured his view of her mouth. But she leaned forward, too, bringing with her the appealing scent of vanilla and sweetness that he wasn’t sure could be attributed to the hard Italian cookie. “What kind of a proposition?”
“The kind that involves physical contact,” he replied. One of her elbows slipped off the tabletop, causing coffee to slosh over the rim of her mug. His ego fully stroked, he added, “I’m challenging you to another game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Are you up for it?”
She sat back on a laugh. “Maybe. Depends.”
“On?”
“What exactly does the winner get this time?”
Finn knew what he wanted, and it had nothing to do with spilling secrets or speaking at all. It did, however, involve her mouth. He swallowed.
“The long version.” He coughed for effect. “I’m referring to answers.”
“Gee, glad you clarified that.” She grinned and looked away. “But I’m not sure what’s in it for me, other than I get to keep a little of my mystique.”
“You get to ask me a question of your choosing.”
“Any question?”
Her eyes narrowed in a way he found worrisome. But Finn nodded. Being an enigma wasn’t all that important to him. His name already had been dragged through the mud publicly. If she hadn’t put it together yet, she would. Eventually.
“Sure. Any question. Well?”
“Deal.” She clinked her coffee mug against his before setting it aside. Then she put out her hands. “On the count of three?”
This time when they finished, her fingers were curled in a fist for a rock. He’d gone with paper. Again. This time, he’d won.
“Paper covers rock.” He cupped his palm over her fist, kept it there. The contact was warm, inviting.
“What do you want to know?” she asked quietly.
Finn thought about the questions he would like to have answered, including the one that she’d already evaded.
But what he asked was, “Are you seeing anyone?”
* * *
Are you seeing anyone?
That was what he wanted to know?
Was she flattered by Finn’s interest? Check.
Turned on by it? Ditto.
Worried? Ding! Ding! Ding!
Concern topped the list, which was why she replied with a mood-killing “This...isn’t a good time.”
“For what?” he persisted. “I’m just trying to get the lay of the land. If you’re seeing someone...” He put up his hands as he slouched back in his chair.
It was more for her own benefit than his that she told him, “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“How so?” He looked genuinely confused, genuinely contrite. “Have I done or said anything to offend you?”
“No. Nothing.”
In the very short time they’d known one another, Finn had done everything right, coming as close to perfect as any man ever had when measured against Lara’s exacting post-divorce standards. And that made him dangerous. Especially right now.
“Here’s the thing, Finn. I know where I stand with Ryder and Angel and the rest of the chefs in the competition. They’d poach my liver if they thought it would help their cause. But you...”
“My motives are suspect.”
“No! Yes. I don’t know.” And she couldn’t afford to find out.
“Well, at least you’re sure.” His accompanying grin took the sting out of his otherwise sarcastic reply.
She sighed. “I’m not making sense.”
“It’s okay. I think I know what you mean, Lara. The timing is wrong.”
The timing was definitely wrong. How could she start a relationship with a man when she couldn’t even be truthful with him about her last name?
She tried a second time to put into words what she herself barely understood.
“I really need to win.”
“I know. I need it myself.” He swallowed. “Nothing can...nothing will stand in the way.”
They were on the same page, quoting practically the same verse. Leave it at that. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.
“I’m not seeing anyone, Finn. I haven’t been seriously involved with anyone since... Well, in a long time. And I’d be lying if I claimed I don’t find you attractive. But...let’s just skip ahead to the bottom line.”
Lara’s fingers squeezed the ceramic mug until she wondered that it didn’t shatter into tiny pieces. “I think it would be best if we stopped whatever is going on between us before it starts.”
With her gaze glued to her half-eaten biscotto, she waited for him to argue with her. In fact, she found herself hoping he would.
But what Finn said was “You’re right. Too much is at stake.”
“Yes. For both of us.”
After reaching that conclusion, they spent the next fifteen minutes awkwardly tripping over the elephant in the room as they attempted polite conversation and finished their coffees.
Finn picked up the tab. Lara plunked down a tip. Outside the shop, they stood in the muggy late-afternoon heat while she waited for a cab. When one finally sidled to the curb, they both reached for the handle. It was déjà vu, except for Finn’s expression. His smile held no humor or bemusement. Only regret as oppressive as the humidity.
“Let me get the door for you,” he said.
After she slid onto the seat, he didn’t kiss her, but he did lean inside. “Rain check?”
“What?”
“If...when one of us is eliminated... What do you say? Rain check?”
“I... Okay.” Holding back her grin, she added, “I’ll take you out for drinks to commiserate when you’ve been voted off the show.”
FIVE
Let marinate
“How
