Page 89 of Downforce

“I think your grandmother would be proud,” she says as if she means it.

Words aren’t enough to express the way my heart sings from what I think she assumes is an innocent compliment. Which is why I find her lips with mine.

I tease, keeping the kiss light but allow myself enough closeness to taste her lips with my tongue. The tanginess from the caipirinha offers a delightful edge to her natural sweetness, followed by the savory flavor of the shrimp and coconut broth.

“I thought dessert was for after dinner,” she says breathlessly when I pull away.

My lips quirk up. “A small taste before dinner never hurt anyone.”

She nods, her gaze on my lips.

Before either of us allow things to go too far, I begin preparing the brigadeiros and Annalise pours the sprinkles out onto a plate to roll the balls in, once they’ve cooled off.

I watch as she cleans up easily, waving me off when I told her that I would clean up after myself. She’s meticulous at it, which isn’t surprising to me in the least.

“What about you?” I ask while plating the rice. “Are you a cook? I would imagine a kitchen like this.”

She chuckles. “It’s mostly for show.”

“What? You don’t know how to cook?”

Her eyes bulge then narrow from across the dining table that we’ve made our way over to.

“I know how to cook,” she says rather defensively. “I just don’t do it much.”

“You don’t like to cook,” I say.

“Not for myself,” she corrects. “Seems like a waste cooking for just me. I’d rather cook for others, but sometimes that can get … tricky.”

“Tricky how?”

She waves me off before gesturing with her hands for me to sit.

“I’ll get the spoons and forks. I should’ve set the table while you were cooking.” She dashes out of the dining space back into the kitchen. A beat later, she returns with cutlery tucked into neatly folded cloth napkins, handing me a set before sitting.

“Thank you for making dinner,” she says before we begin eating.

I watch her from across the table, noting whether she enjoys the food. I don’t have to wait to watch her reaction.

“This is delicious, Max.”

Another compliment that goes straight to my heart. I know that’s where I’m collecting all of the words that probably seem innocuous to her but are like air to me.

Annalise isn’t shy about eating, which I adore watching. She enjoys her food and doesn’t bother hiding it. This hasn’t always been my experience while on a date.

My eyes drift toward the end of the table where a couple of motorsport and sports magazines lie. At the top of the stack a magazine is opened to an article about Bree Walters.

“What’s that about?” Annalise asks when I chuckle.

I dip my head in the direction of the magazine. “Still think she has a chance in Formula 1?”

She glances at the magazine and back at me, looking me directly in the eye. “I don’t think, I know. Her F2 stats are on par with at least ten other Formula 1 drivers on the grid right now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You haven’t memorized everyone’s stats.” There’s a challenge in my voice.

One Annalise promptly rises to. She straightens her back, her eyes never wavering from mine.

“Sabrina ‘Bree’ Walters in her three years in Formula 2, has a total of ten career wins, two of the fastest recorded lap times, and twelve pole positions.” She leans in. “She has almost as many poles in her F2 career as you.”