“Oh, for God’s sake.” He glanced at the ceiling. “My mother’s ring is in the bread, Alice.”

A . . . ring? Was he serious? One peek at his somber and—dare she say it?—terrified eyes gave her the answer. Kit was indeed serious.

Taking the cloth to protect his hands, he lifted the entire loaf into his palms and dropped to one knee. “Alice, I love you madly. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

It was even better than she’d dreamed. Kit loved her and wanted to marry her. He’d baked for her. Fresh tears welled and panic crossed Kit’s face as he watched them fall. He asked, “Are those happy tears . . . or rejection tears?”

“Happy. Definitely happy.” She leaned down and kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Yes, I will marry you.”

Standing, he crushed her to him with one arm and took her mouth in a deep kiss. She kissed him back eagerly, her fingers digging into his coat to pull him closer while her mind spun. She would never tire of this, their undeniable connection. They had an effect on the other that defied logic, that would confuse most anyone else. But not her. She understood him and the same could be said in reverse. He had helped her to discover so much about herself . . . and they weren’t done yet, apparently.

She felt as if he deserved a warning, though. There was every chance her parents would not approve. She broke off and tried to catch her breath. “We may need to elope.”

“No, we won’t. Your father gave me his blessing this morning.”

“He did? What did you tell him?”

Kit stroked his knuckles across her cheek. “I told him the truth. That I fell in love with you and would find a way to marry you, whether he approved or not. I think it was baking you bread that sealed the deal, though.”

“What about your supper club?”

“I was able to postpone the story until tomorrow morning. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

She liked the sound of that. She wiped a smudge of flour off his cheek. “The club will be successful. You’ll find a way, Kit.”

“Would you like to be our head chef?”

Was he drunk again? “What about the scandal? People won’t take the club seriously with a female chef.”

“First, I like scandal. And second, the only person who takes me seriously is you. So let them underestimate us, my love. It’ll be that much sweeter when we become wildly popular. You deserve this, Alice. With your talent, you could work in any kitchen in the country, but I’d be honored if you chose mine.”

It was everything she’d ever wanted. Her own kitchen, a loving husband. She felt like the luckiest woman in America. “Then yes, I would love to be the head chef.”