Chapter 6 #2
plainly baiting him. And—dash it—he was falling headlong into it. “It’s merely a . . . professional disagreement about beverage
preferences.”
“Of course it is.” Harry nodded, his entire expression comprised of mock seriousness.
Margaret, watching with keen observation, took a sip of her wine and casually joined the fray. “I’ve known Daphne since she
was about Lucy’s age,” she mused. “Watched her grow up in that tea shop with her dear grandmother. Despite all those lace
doilies and tasty sweets, she’s borne her share of difficulties. There’s steel under all that pink. I wouldn’t discredit her
ability to challenge you, Finn.”
Finn scoffed internally. His definition of difficulties and Daphne’s were likely worlds apart. Life was hard. Messy. It required sacrifice. Princesses rarely came prepared for the
cost of a ready-made family.
“Which is exactly why Lucy doesn’t need to meet her.” Finn pointed his fork at Harry. “The last thing I need is my daughter
conspiring with the enemy.”
“The enemy?” Margaret’s eyebrows rose. “Such strong words for someone who declared there was no war.”
Lucy giggled. “Daddy’s ears are getting red.”
“They are not,” Finn muttered, though he could feel the telltale burn. “And this conversation is over.”
“Of course,” Harry agreed too easily. “Though I should mention that Daphne does host a weekly children’s story time. In full
princess costume, I believe. Complete with tiaras for all the little guests . . .”
Lucy’s gasp of delight was matched only by Finn’s groan of despair.
“Harry Coleman, you are an evil man.”
“Just doing my part to support local businesses.” Harry raised his wineglass in a mock toast. “And perhaps encourage some . . . community bonding.”
“Don’t you even—” Finn started.
“Daddy, can we go to story time? Please?” Lucy clasped her hands together. “I promise I won’t become a tea princess. I’ll
still be your dragon girl!”
Finn looked at his daughter’s pleading face, then at Harry’s smug expression, and finally at Margaret’s knowing smile. He
was fighting a losing battle on all fronts.
“We’ll see,” he conceded.
Lucy squealed with delight. Harry chuckled into his wineglass.
Finn groaned and reached for his own drink. He was going to need it.
To survive this dinner. To survive this town.
And definitely to survive whatever inevitable disaster would come when his impressionable daughter joined forces with Daphne
Austen.
Heaven help him.
@TeaThymeNC: Public Service Announcement: If your morning tea tastes slightly more dramatic than usual, don’t worry—it’s just been infused
with the stress of waking up to “Under Pressure” blaring through the walls. Some neighbors prefer coffee-fueled chaos. Others
appreciate the finer things in life . . . like peace, quiet, and a properly brewed Earl Grey. #PrayForMySanity #TeaOverTurmoil
#SoundproofingFund #SomePeopleHaveNoTaste
Comments:
@TGDPub: Strange. My morning coffee had just the right hint of smug satisfaction. Might be why “Don’t Stop Me Now” has been stuck in my head all day. #PurelyCoincidental #CaffeineAndClassics #SomePeopleAreTooDramatic
@WisteriaWeekly: Breaking: Local café war escalates as Daphne Austen and Finn Dashwood go steep-to-brew over hot beverages. Sources say tension
is “positively cozy.” #SipsAndSpats #WisteriaWatch #WillTheyWontThey
@JackAustenPhotography: I’m just here for the inevitable slo-mo montage of Daphne angrily steeping tea to “Bohemian Rhapsody.” #ComingToCinemas #AustenUnhinged
#SteepItReal
@WisteriaBookClub: Pretty sure the neighbors are communicating exclusively in Queen lyrics now. Next up: “Somebody To Love.” #LiteraryShenanigans
#MusicalMatchmaking #YouHeardItHereFirst
@PastorNateNHC: We are not starting a battle of the brews before morning prayer. Although, hypothetically speaking, if one were to choose
a side . . . #TeaByGrace #EspressoForgiveness #HolyGrounds
@WisteriaInn: Just a gentle reminder that all emotional breakdowns (tea or coffee induced) are welcome at the inn. We have robes and lemon
shortbread. #FromBeverageWars2Dating #TheresMoreThanMochaInTheAir
@TeaThymeNC: I’ll respond when my hearing returns. And once I’ve finished brewing tranquili-tea. Which, by the way, pairs beautifully
with noise-canceling headphones. Btw, the scones are fresh, so we carry on. #BlessedAndSoundproofed #OneOfUsWillBreak #ItWontBeMe
#SurvivalByScone
@SheriffGrady: Wisteria’s version of gang warfare: Tea drinkers with embroidered aprons vs. coffee folks in vintage band tees. Y’all need to calm down and eat a muffin. #SconePeaceAccords #SmallTownSheriffChronicles
Despite the bridal shower in the books and the possibility of another next month, Daphne’s savings account remained much too
low to afford Mr. Lawson’s repairs yet, which meant her lovely shop was a ticking time bomb. At any moment, those pipes could
go.
Plus, Daphne desperately needed to replace her refrigerator. One of her ovens edged near extinction too.
But she needed more income. Bigger or more catering options.
Branching out to add a few more items to the menu had shifted her usual morning routine a half hour, so even the sun wasn’t
awake when she entered the tea shop’s kitchen to prep. Winston, her loyal retriever, hadn’t approved.
She drew in a breath.
But sometimes change was good.
Or, in this case, necessary.
At least her social media presence was slowly growing. Jack had assured her that online engagement took time and consistency,
and she was starting to see some results—strangers commenting on photos of her pastries, reposts of her aesthetic tea setups.
But likes and shares weren’t going to pay for her much-needed renovations, a truth she’d only mentioned to Rosemary and Jack.
The former said she’d keep an ear out for more opportunities.
The latter offered her money.
Which he really couldn’t spare since he was renovating his own place.
The dimly lit tea shop ushered her forward, and she flipped on the light switch.
They flickered before brightening the room.
With a little hum to mark her morning routine, Daphne was filling the quiet with welcome percolation of boiling water and working her morning magic on some breakfast pastries when the back door screeched with someone’s entry.
“Raspberries!” Rosemary’s voice came before she rounded the doorway into the restaurant. “You know how to make my morning
spectacular.”
“I’m self-medicating.” Daphne set the tray of scones on the counter, drizzling a thick swirl of vanilla icing over each one.
“Oooh.” Her friend rounded the counter and slid her purse into its usual hiding spot. “Still brooding about yesterday’s Finn
dilemma?”
Daphne sighed dramatically, pushing the raspberries just out of Rosemary’s reach in protest. She’d already endured two unsolicited
lectures on dating a “foreigner,” one glare from a jealous nineteen-year-old, and a collection of knowing looks from half
the town. If she had a dollar for every suggestive smirk she’d encountered while walking downtown, she could upgrade the plumbing
tomorrow.
All of which confirmed what she already knew: She absolutely, positively would never date Finn Dashwood.
He wasn’t her type. At all.
And apart from being female, she wasn’t his.
Men like Finn didn’t settle down. They charmed and dazzled and flitted off like very attractive mayflies, leaving a trail
of broken hearts and questionable playlists. The whole flirty, devil-may-care attitude reminded her too much of her dad. Finn
Dashwood was the poster child for temporary.
And Daphne? She’d had her fill of temporary.
“There is no dilemma. Just an annoyance.” She rolled some of her tension off her shoulders. “An annoying distraction.” Though,
to his credit, he had turned down his music yesterday afternoon, making him a little less annoying.
“You’re not kidding.” Rosemary whistled low. “That much-too-short glimpse I got of him yesterday? Let’s just say, if he’s
the standard for British masculinity, I’m relocating.”
Daphne snorted and busied herself by adding diced peaches to a new scone recipe that had popped into her head this morning. “Maybe focus on helping me drum up some business before you apply for citizenship.”
“Oh, right!” Rosemary slid into her apron, tying it in the back as she moved toward the counter. “I’ve passed the word around
a little.”
“Thanks.” Daphne nodded. “And I’m thinking of running an ad in the Journal to promote the tearoom for bridal showers and maybe even small wedding receptions. What do you think?”
“Well, that’s daring of you.” Rosemary’s head came up. “Wait. You’ve never advertised?”
“Not really. I just hoped for word of mouth, which has worked well with birthday parties and family reunions, but weddings
are where the real money is and—”
“Listen, if anyone was created to make a wedding or bridal shower or whatever else beautiful, it’s you, Daph.” Rosemary dropped
on the stool and slid the raspberries close enough to snatch a few. “You make people feel special. It’s just what you do!
You just need to let more people know.”
“Thanks for that.” She sent Rosemary a smile and cast the room a glance. “I love this place.” Daphne stepped around Rosemary
and walked toward the front door, working up the courage to voice an idea. For some reason, ideas kept coming in spurts over
the past few days. “And there’s something else. You know the large patio I share out back with the building next door?” Her
thought immediately escalated in to Mr. Hotface Next Door territory. Her throat burned.
Rosemary perked up. “Sure. Cute spot.”
“Well, it’s got a great view of the river and the manor’s pastureland. I was thinking . . . it might work as a venue for small
bridal showers or rehearsal dinners.”
“With the gazebo? And the mountains?” Rosemary practically sprinted to the French doors leading to the terrace. “Daphne, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t you think of this a year ago?”