“Unless you burn it or make it creole-style,” she riposted, head turned to watch the trees flash by. She shifted to look out the other side, eyes drifting to skim along the arc of his hands and the line of his profile. God, he was glorious. “I’m not starving yet,” she murmured, “so you don’t have to start cooking right away.”
“Nope, I promise I won’t burn them.” Feeling her eyes on him he glanced at her so as to still keep the road in sight. “Oh? What did you want to do then? Like I said I bought a whole new bottle of wine, or I dunno, it’s up to you.” He flashed her a smile and took her hand in one of his while he drove.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Summer said airily. “I suppose we’ll have to see when we get there. I shouldn’t think you’ll have to wonder long.” The warmth of his hand about hers was as good as the warmth of him at her back.