Page 87 of Downforce

She shakes her head. “This one doesn’t work.”

I look at the square she’s pointing at and at the rest of the grid. She’s correct. I misplaced a nine, probably where a three should be. “I wasn’t finished and that’s why I work on them in pencil, not pen.”

Annalise frowns, a wrinkle appears between her eyebrows. “You’re more than welcome to complete it while I make dinner.”

Turning toward the counter, I begin looking through cabinets and the cupboards, searching out the pots, cutlery, and cutting board I’ll need to get our meal started.

“Are you going to share with me what we’re having for dinner?” Annalise asks after placing the sudoku back into the bag. Now she’s eyeing the cocoa powder, condensed milk, and rainbow sprinkles I’ve moved to the side to make room for the cutting board.

“Chocolate is after dinner,” I say sternly.

I look back down at the task before me to hide my grin after noticing the way she pokes her lips out at my words.

Annalise sighs as I go to wash my hands right before properly cleaning all of the fresh vegetables.

Once everything, including my hands, have been sterilized I look over at her. “Since dinner will take a little while to prepare, I thought we’d start with a drink.”

“I’m not a heavy drinker,” she says. Her gaze darts toward the bottle of cachaça I’ve placed on the counter.

I know that as well. I stop the words from exiting the racetrack of my mouth.

“I’ve also brought sparkling water if you don’t want to use the cachaça,” I tell her.

“You’re cooking Brazilian food?”

It does something to my insides when her expression lights up in an easy, effusive smile. I’ll cook Brazilian food for her whenever she wants if it will keep that look on her face.

“You’re familiar with it.”

“You’re joking, right? I wait all year for Sao Paulo just so I can go to my favorite restaurants and indulge.” Reverie fills her voice. “It’s the only reason I’m Travis’ assistant to be honest.”

The husky laugh she lets out stirs a rumbling in my chest.

I don’t realize I’m just staring at her, enraptured until she abruptly stops.

“Well, no. It’s not the only reason I work for my brother. That was a joke.”

“Noted,” I say before gesturing toward the spread of food. “We’ll begin with red currant caipirinhas, followed by shrimp in coconut sauce over rice, and for dessert⁠—”

“Brigadeiros,” she gushes, cutting me off as I point to the cocoa powder.

“How’d you guess?” I tease, already knowing that she loves chocolate.

“Do you need help?” she asks hesitantly, sidling up to me.

“Stand right here, beside me,” I tell her before I can pull the words back.

To my surprise, she doesn’t object. Instead, she silently watches as I prepare Brazil’s national drink.

Annalise points to the bottle of cachaça when I hold it up along with sparkling water to give her the choice.

“You brought the good stuff,” she comments.

“I buy a few bottles when I’m in Brazil. You’re not the only one who waits for that race all year.” I give her a sideways glance, spying on how she likes the drink.

When her eyes fall closed for a second, the corners of her mouth tipping upward, I know it’s perfect.

“You look like you’re enjoying this,” she comments after watching me chop the vegetables before rinsing the shrimp. “I never would’ve pegged you for a cook.”