Chapter 6
@TeaThymeNC: Out of sugar, running low on patience, but still steeping. If it’s too hot for tea, cool off with our newest treat: The Lizzy
Bennet—a dark chocolate milkshake with a twist. Sweet, bold, and impossible to resist. #TeaLife #CaffeineAndHope #PrideAndDeliciousness
Comments:
@WisteriaGeneralStore: New merch drop: “Sweet, Bold & Impossible to Resist” T-shirts available in four pastel shades. Now taking preorders for matching
mugs. #WisteriaStyle #LizzyBennetEnergy #GrannyApproved
@TGDPub: Naming a milkshake after a literary heroine and giving a neighbor chocolate? Flirtation or foreshadowing, Miss Austen? Asking
for . . . literary purposes. ?? #DarkChocolateAndDenial #TeamLizzy #BeanWaterStillWins #IllTakeOneOfThoseTshirts
@TeaThymeNC: There was no flirting. There is no flirting. Just a responsible milkshake and an alarming number of unsolicited opinions.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have spoons to polish. #Chocolate4All #NoRomanticSubtextWhatsoever
@GrannyDOfficial: Had one. May marry it. If Mr. Darcy doesn’t show up soon, I’ll settle for that milkshake. #GrannyKnowsBest #DarkChocolateIsMyLoveLanguage
#FlirtingPairsWithChocolate
@PastorNateNHC: Some of you are dangerously close to idol worship. That said . . . I might have baptized mine with espresso. #CaffeinateAndRepent
#GraceTastesLikeChocolate
@TheRidgesFineDining: Bold of you to create emotional dependency in one menu item. We approve. And fear you. #CulinarySassQueen #TeaRoomDominance
Finn half expected Daphne to appear later that evening with some form of retaliation—a glitter bomb perhaps or her attempt
at a “strong” tea. Which, coming from her, likely meant something floral and vaguely offensive. But no sign of her. Not so
much as a glare from the shop window.
She was staying well behind her wall.
While setting up The Green Dragon’s online accounts, he’d stumbled across a handful from Wisteria, including Daphne’s. Clearly,
she hadn’t been at it long—her follower count barely cleared triple digits—but her humor peeked through, nonetheless.
And she’d actually taken his suggestion about The Lizzy Bennet? Finn tried—really tried—not to grin, but it clawed its way
out anyway. No doubt her reference to being “low on patience” had everything to do with him. He wouldn’t deny he enjoyed lingering
in a woman’s mind long after he’d left, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.
Still, he hated to admit he was mildly disappointed she hadn’t turned up at the pub before he and Lucy left for dinner at
the Wisteria Manor. Surely a woman who’d dared a chalkboard duel wasn’t above escalating hostilities.
Then again, maybe his implying their “fake amor” in front of her tearoom had been a bit much.
But honestly, she’d started it. He’d been perfectly content in his antisocial Britishness until she’d shown up with her sunshine
and scones far too early in the morning for civilized conversation.
And then left him a note on his own chalkboard.
Her fault. Plain and simple. He was merely finishing what she started.
If flirting and milkshakes followed, then all the better.
Still grinning to himself, Finn crested the hill and spotted the large stone sign that read: Wisteria Manor.
And the sprawling stone house poised on a hill overlooking the town of Wisteria certainly lived up to its reputation with
its grand Victorian architecture softened by cascading wisteria vines. As lovely a combination of quaint and elegant as anything
Finn had seen back in England.
Lanterns flickered along the drive, drawing them through a tangle of wildflowers and towering trees. Against the evening blush,
the gray stone glowed, the mountains rising like silent sentinels behind it. The whole thing looked like the kind of place
you’d find in a painting.
Which, annoyingly, made him think of Daphne again.
He frowned and guided the car around back, where Harry and Maggie’s portion of the manor branched off like an annex. The rest
of the house held guests eager for that blend of small-town charm and old-world grandeur—a tagline Harry had leaned into with
unrelenting glee.
In the rearview mirror, Lucy’s wide-eyed awe reflected back at him.
“It looks like a castle, Daddy.”
Right on cue.
“Fits this town, doesn’t it?” he said. The place was nothing like the old manors back home, but it belonged here somehow,
nestled into the wild tangle of mountains.
Margaret Coleman met them at the door, her golden hair touched with silver, her smile so warm it erased any hesitation Finn thought Lucy might have had in being apart from them for a year.
“There’s my sweet girl!”
Lucy darted into Maggie’s arms before Finn could so much as blink.
“Look how big you’ve grown,” Maggie said, casting a grin up at Finn. “Whatever you’re feeding her, it’s working.”
Finn grinned and followed Maggie and Lucy through the door into a cozy sitting room complete with rock fireplace to match
the exterior of the home.
“I brought the dragon you gave me for my birfday.” Lucy brandished her green stuffed toy for Maggie’s inspection.
“It rarely leaves her side,” Finn added, leaning in for his own hug from Maggie. “Even inspired the pub’s name. Bit of Tolkien
thrown in.”
Maggie’s smile softened. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing? I thought after not visiting for a year, she’d have forgotten about
us.”
“Not with the weekly video chats.” Finn slipped farther into the entry. The chats had helped ease some of the ache after his
father’s death. Harry and Margaret had taken on the role of surrogate grandparents for Lucy as if they’d been made for it.
“Well, I’m glad they bridged the span of time until I got to hug her again.” Margaret pressed a kiss to Lucy’s head, then
looked back up at him. “And I have a good notion Wisteria is going to love The Green Dragon as much as the folks who run it.”
“Well, maybe not the local tea shop owner next door.” Harry’s rich laugh preceded him into the room.
Maggie’s chuckle blended in with her husband’s as Harry came up beside her, his arm resting at her waist. “News travels fast
around here, Finn.”
“So it seems.” He ground out the phrase.
Harry clapped him on the shoulder and led them through French doors into a small dining room bathed in sunset. The mountains smoldered in the distance, bathed in gold and rose like some painter’s fever dream.
Finn paused by the window, letting the view settle the tightness in his chest.
“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Harry murmured beside him. “People say the mountains grow on you. At first I laughed. But it’s true.
There’s something about them that weaves into your soul.”
Finn studied him, one brow listing.
Harry shrugged, grinning. “I know. I responded the same way too.” He gestured with a nod toward the table. “Let’s join the
ladies at the table.”
They all settled around the table, and the scene grounded Finn. Something about being near Harry and Maggie again offered
a comfort he’d not fully expected. Perhaps it was because Harry reminded Finn so much of Dad in the way they interacted and
teased. Or maybe it was the solidness of Harry and Maggie’s relationship that afforded a sense of certainty about relationships
he’d not felt in a long time.
Their relationship was good for Lucy too.
“Harry says you’re hoping to open the pub next week?” Maggie passed him the mashed potatoes.
“It’s only because of Harry that I can say that.” Finn scooped some onto Lucy’s plate, then his own. “Our apartment furniture
should arrive tomorrow, and I’m waiting for just a few extra supplies, but otherwise we’re ready.”
“He’s already got the menu sorted.” Harry passed his phone to Maggie. “He sent me a snap of it earlier today.”
“‘Shepherd’s pie, fish and chips,’ of course,” Maggie read off. “The Dashwood Burger? You’ve gone full British.”
“Just the start,” Finn said, warming at the thought. “Once I’ve got a better handle on Southern food, I’ll work some of it
in as well.” He moved his palm across the air as if reading a placard. “Where proper pub fare meets Southern charm.”
“Funny,” Harry mused. “Sounds like a perfect pairing with the tea shop next door.” Harry waggled his brows. “Whether you like it or not.”
Finn rolled his eyes and sighed. “Let’s not start that conversation.”
“Oh?” Margaret’s eyes lit up. “Daphne is such a dear. She brings me the most wonderful lavender scones when I’m feeling under
the weather and is one of the most generous souls you’ll ever meet, Finn.”
“Can we go to her tea shop?” Lucy bounced in her seat, practically vibrating with excitement. “She had flowers and teapots
in her window!”
“Absolutely not,” Finn said too quickly, then softened his tone at Lucy’s fallen expression. “We’re too busy getting the pub
ready, lamb. But . . . perhaps later?”
Across the table, Harry leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling with far too much amusement. “Afraid your daughter might
prefer tea parties to pub grub?”
“I’m afraid of nothing of the sort.” Finn stabbed at his roasted salmon with unnecessary force. “I simply don’t need Lucy
getting attached to”—he waved his fork vaguely—“all that frilly business.”
“All that frilly business,” Margaret repeated slowly, “or the lovely young woman running it?”
“Either,” Finn said firmly, but the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. “She’s just so . . . feminine.”
“Feminine?” Harry barked out a laugh. “I was under the impression you tended toward the feminine sort quite regularly.”
Finn glared at Harry as he rubbed at the heat climbing his neck. “I mean all the pink cardigans and vintage teacups and Jane
Austen quotes.”
“And quick wit,” Harry added. “And kindness. And quite capable of giving you a run for your money, I’d say, based on that
chalkboard war you’ve got going.”
“Oh, right.” Margaret’s eyes caught some of Harry’s twinkle. “I heard about this. Are you in a sour mood because Daphne’s winning?”
“No one is winning, because there is no war,” Finn insisted, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile. Harry and Margaret were