Chapter 4 #2
Finn exhaled sharply through his nose, wondering if there was a polite way to end this conversation without somehow finding
himself engaged by the weekend.
“I’m certain it does you credit, Mrs. Clark, to have raised such a lady.”
The woman’s palm fluttered to her chest. “Oh, how very good of you to say . . . in that particular way.”
“And how’s your precious little girl settling in?” Mrs. Wallace asked, attention still fastened on Lucy. “Six is such a wonderful
age. You know, Beverly’s daughter runs the most darling dance studio—”
“And my Sunday school class always welcomes new faces,” Mrs. Jenkins interjected.
“Speaking of new faces . . .” Mrs. Jenkins smiled with disturbing sweetness. “Have you met our dear Daphne next door? Such
a lovely young lady . . .”
Finn felt his collar tightening. “Yes, actually—”
“Single,” Mrs. Wallace stage-whispered to her friends. “And so good with children.”
Good heavens, they were shameless.
Before they could launch into another wave of not-so-subtle matchmaking, Lucy tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, can I have a biscuit?”
Mrs. Jenkins beamed. “See? Girl knows what’s good! Here you go, sugar.” She removed the cling film from the food and passed
Lucy one of the . . . American biscuits.
To Lucy’s credit, she took the item, examined it, and then looked up at Finn with an incredulous expression. His daughter
knew a counterfeit biscuit when she saw one.
How did one gracefully relieve themselves of Southern women?
Finn opened his mouth—probably to say something he’d regret—when the door swung open again and a familiar deep voice cut through
the air like a lifeline.
“Now, ladies, you best not be overwhelming the poor man. He’s not even gotten settled yet.”
Harry Coleman strolled inside, an amused glint in his dark eyes. An imposing figure with skin nearly the color of his dark
brown hair, the man easily stood two inches above Finn and at least a half foot above all three ladies. The gray at his temples
only made him look more refined.
And he always appeared to look as if he’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine, regardless of day, time, or place—or so
that was Finn’s memory.
This day didn’t prove otherwise.
Finn had never been so grateful for an interruption in his life.
“Harry!” the women chorused, but the older man was already moving purposefully toward Finn. His assessing gaze must have seen
Finn’s . . . discomfort.
“I’m sorry to interrupt this welcome party, but Finn and I have a meeting to discuss his business, and I’m certain none of
you ladies would find it the least bit entertaining.” Harry’s disarming smile worked its magic.
The little gaggle donned their apologies, and with a few lingering glances, comments, and extractions from Finn to “stop by
anytime” and “bring that sweet little Lucy around,” they slipped from the room, leaving a delightful silence behind.
Finn slumped against the bar. “I owe you a pint.”
“Make it two.” Harry chuckled. “Welcome to small-town Southern living, son. I thought you might need some cultural translation
services.”
“Oh, I believe my translation abilities were quite accurate for this meeting. What I needed most was rescue.” He waved toward
the older man. “Thank you for providing it.”
Finn drew Lucy back toward him as she took a tentative bite of the so-called biscuit. “Is it always like that?”
“Worse, usually. They’re just warming up.” Harry shot Finn a grin before he bent his head toward Lucy. “Nice to see you, Lucy.
You’ve grown much taller since last we met in person.”
Which was a fact. His darling girl had added at least an inch or two to her height in the past year. Finn’s stomach pinched
a little at the thought.
But Lucy only grinned at Harry’s compliment. “Where is Mrs. Margaret?”
“You shall see her soon enough.” Harry winked. “The two of you are invited to the manor for supper tonight, and Ms. Margaret
has already purchased a few little gifts to welcome you to your new home, Lucy.”
“Harry . . .” Finn offered a powerless warning.
“Allow her the joy of it, Finn.” He waved Finn’s comment away. “She’s aching to lather someone with all this motherly affection
that has no outlet at the moment.”
Finn relaxed at Harry’s words. This was one of the reasons he’d come to Wisteria.
When Father had been alive, Harry had become almost like an uncle to Finn, providing encouragement and support like family.
Three years ago, when he’d finally met Margaret, who was attending culinary school in England, she’d only added to the sense of family.
Even over a year ago, when the pair had moved to the States to take over Margaret’s parents’ inn and wedding venue, they’d kept in touch.
Video and phone calls. A few visits from the Colemans, especially during Finn’s toughest times.
And with Finn’s mother having died well before he could witness his parents’ relationship, the Colemans’ happy marriage encouraged Finn that some relationships worked.
Better than worked. Thrived.
So when Finn’s business partner swindled him and took part of Finn’s savings with him, Harry had offered an unexpected option.
This. An English pub in the middle of the small town of Wisteria.
Harry surveyed the room and gestured with his head toward a wood carving Finn had hung over the bar. “Ah, you finally decided
on a name?”
Finn followed his gaze and nodded. “Lucy and I agreed.”
“The Green Dragon, then?” Harry’s eyes sparkled as he sent Lucy a wink. “Prancing Pony was taken, was it?”
“We’re more inclined toward dragons,” Finn answered with a nod down to Lucy. “Besides, Gandalf never got thrown out of The
Green Dragon.”
“Fair point.” Harry chuckled, giving the space another assessing look. “Though I suspect even the Grey Wizard himself might’ve
met his match in our local welcoming committee.” Harry brought his attention back to Finn. “Jack said the last bit of the
restaurant furniture comes in this afternoon and your apartment furniture tomorrow evening?”
“Aye. The kitchen’s in good shape, the prep work’s all sorted. No reason to wait.” Finn nodded. “With what you’ve done to
prepare the place before our arrival and the final touches I’m making this week, we’re in good shape to open as planned.”
“The end of next week then?” Harry’s lips twitched. “Ambitious.”
“Assuming the permits come through without any trouble, but you’ve helped me navigate all of that fairly successfully.”
“I’m happy to have you and Lucy here, Finn.” Harry shrugged a shoulder. “And you should have an easier adjustment than I did moving to Wisteria.”
Finn raised a brow in question.
“A Black man with an English accent who married one of their darling white lily Southern women?” His eyes squinted a bit as
his grin crooked. “They weren’t certain what to make of me.” His smile softened. “It’s been a good fit, though. I like the
pace and the people, but it will take some getting used to. Emotions are usually . . . enthusiastic.”
That was an understatement. And as far as getting used to? Finn had no doubt, especially after the recent invasion of Southern
food, curious neighbors, and potent perfume.
“So you’re saying it’s always like this?” Finn waved toward the door the ladies had exited.
“If you mean nosy, then yes. But they mean well. They’re a good lot once you find your place among them.” He nodded toward
the casserole. “And I’d eat that if I were you. Trudy’s chicken and dumplings are extraordinary.”
Finn grunted, glancing at the dish. Why did everyone bring food? He was a chef, for heaven’s sake! “I’ll take your word for
it.”
“Had any visits from the tea shop owner next door?” Harry tilted his head in the direction of the shop.
Finn’s smirk vanished. “Why?”
“It would be like her to try and make you feel welcome.” Harry’s grin brimmed. “One of the most generous neighbors to have,
I’d say. Much like her grandmother, even though I only knew the latter for a short while before she passed.”
Finn exhaled, heat climbing up the back of his neck. “She did pop in this morning with scones.”
“Sounds like her.”
Finn ran a hand through his hair. “And I was a bit of a prat about it.”
Harry hummed. “Also sounds like you.”
Finn shot him a look.
“Well, you’ve not been yourself since the divorce, and then to have Chase betray you?” Harry sighed. “It’s a lot to bear. And good to start over, I think.” Harry cupped Finn’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze Finn felt to his heart.
He’d missed Harry’s camaraderie. In fact, Finn hadn’t realized how much he’d been isolating himself from others until Harry
made that simple gesture. When everything came out about Chase’s betrayal, Finn forced his smile, as usual, and cocooned into
his father role. He’d spent a year in a legal battle and tending his own wounds.
Charm had always been his defense. It distracted people from peering too close and from caring too much. A skill he’d honed
during his father’s illness to hide his own pain at watching cancer eat away at the best man he’d ever known. A talent he’d
flashed to his customers even as his wife left him to tend to a baby girl on his own. Play the game. Keep the customers happy.
Protect your heart.
Finn pushed up a grin, despite the emotion lodging in his throat. “The start has certainly been . . . interesting.”
“You’ll get used to Wisteria, lad.” Harry laughed, slapping a hand on the bar. “But a bit of advice?”
Finn sighed. “Go on.”
“Kindness is a very important commodity around here.” Harry tipped his head and backed toward the door. “And being neighborly
will get you far.”
Another hit to Finn’s interaction with Daphne.
“So I’ll see you two tonight?” Harry took a few more steps back. “Six?”
Finn nodded.
Harry stopped at the threshold, a strange look on his face. “Oh, and you might want to check your chalkboard out front. Seems
someone’s added their own review.”
Finn followed him with Lucy trailing behind.
Instead of seeing his own handwriting, a new note, in a delicate hand, showed the following message:
English Pub Coming Soon.
What can you expect?
Ambience: ★★★★, Tea Selection: ★, Scowling Proprietor: ★★★★★
Despite himself, his lips twitched. Five stars for scowling indeed. He ought to be irritated, but somehow the clever jab only
inspired a broader grin.
He definitely wasn’t interested. But he did find himself wondering what other surprises Daphne Austen might have in store.
And . . . Finn Dashwood was always up for a playful battle of wits.