I blinked at him, momentarily stunned he remembered what I’d said during our initial meeting. “Falling in love in a small town, maybe with someone you’ve known all your life and just never noticed that way, is so much more organic than dating in the city. In a small town, there’s no getting-to-know-you phase, because you’ve always known each other in some capacity. No bait and switch after three months. When it doesn’t work out, I’ll bet there’s a mature conversation, as opposed to seeing the person you thought was your boyfriend kissing another woman on Instagram.” I shook my head in disgust. “Wouldn’t it be nice to settle down without all the trials and tribulations that come with it in Manhattan? No more weeding through thousands of dating profiles, wasting time with nonstarters. The men in small towns are more straightforward and honest.” I took a sip of my cocktail. “I just want…” I stopped talking, thankful the waitress took that moment to bring over our food.

“What do you want?”

My eyes met Finn’s across the table. Why would he, of all people, ask me that? “Never mind.” I took a bite of my salmon, both to keep my mouth occupied and to successfully steer the conversation away from my sappy romantic aspirations. “It’s delicious!” It was, although anything other than a prepackaged pastry or artery-clogging breakfast might taste like Michelin-star quality by now.

“Pleasant Hollow could use an upscale restaurant,” Kate said, reading my thoughts.

“Maybe they had one,” Finn said, “but it closed because after the owners retired, their daughter refused to give up her big-city job as assistant to a designer chef in order to carry on the family tradition. It’s temporary, though. She’ll be back. They always come back.” He took a sip of his old-fashioned.

Kate and I exchanged a silent glance.

She squealed. “O. M. G.”

He looked at us, all innocent-like. “What?”

“I think you know more about Hallmark movies than you let on, Mr. Adams,” I said accusingly.

He made the “little bit” gesture with his thumb and index finger before taking a bite of his steak.

I watched him for a beat, having second thoughts about my earlier hesitation to share what I really wanted. After all, there was no shame in dreaming big. I drained my cocktail, motioned for the waitress to bring me another, and placed my fork on the edge of the plate. “You know what I want?”

All chewing and clanking of utensils ceased.

Since it was a rhetorical question, I plowed straight ahead. “I want someone who wants to be with me and only me. Who thinks I’m enough—more than enough.”

Finn’s fork froze halfway to his mouth.

Kate raised her glass. “Preach!”