Chapter 7 #2
“But look at you now, sugar,” Granny D chimed in, waving her fork toward him like a wand. “Sweetly handsome, as my mama used
to say. And that clean-cut look does you all sorts of good.”
“Sweetly handsome?” Nate asked, visibly offended.
“Mm-hmm . . .” Granny D nodded her thanks for a spoonful of potatoes. “If you’d just put some fuzz on that chin of yours,
you’d look like a full-growed man.”
Jack’s laugh burst out again, nearly tipping his glass. Rosemary snorted so hard she startled the cat off the windowsill.
Trying to salvage Nate’s dignity—because apparently, she was that kind of friend—Daphne redirected. “I’d die to be a fly on the wall for that wedding, Jack. Can you imagine the food? The
decor? That cake is probably going to need its own security detail.”
“Actually”—Jack slid his empty plate toward Granny D, who rewarded him with a healthy scoop of corn bread pudding—“that’s
the problem.”
Utensils paused midair. All eyes turned toward him.
“The catering plans fell through.”
Daphne blinked. “Wait—what?”
“They’d hired some fancy celebrity chef—friend of Travis’s—and last week he ghosted them. No calls, no emails. Gone.”
Daphne coughed on her potatoes. “That’s a nightmare. For a wedding that high profile? The internet will eat them alive.”
“And it’s awful for Lindsay,” Rosemary added, more serious than usual. “I mean, I’m no expert on wedding stuff—”
“She says, while curating an entire Pinterest board titled ‘My Accidental Wedding,’” Daphne muttered.
Rosemary grinned but continued, “Still, the girl’s from here. This whole town is watching. She doesn’t need public humiliation
on top of wedding stress.”
“And it’s not a great look for Wisteria either,” Jack added, his tone shifting just enough to catch Daphne’s attention. “Especially
heading into autumn tourist season.” He gave her a look that should’ve come with a siren. Daphne slowly lowered her fork.
“Which is why Harry and I thought someone local could step in. You know . . . bring a more homespun feel to the big day.”
Who would be crazy enough . . . Daphne froze, mashed potatoes midair. “No,” she said. “No, no, no. Me? You want me to cater a celebrity wedding?”
“Why not?” Jack shrugged like it was just another Tuesday. “They want it small. Local. Detailed. Thoughtful. Travis is pulling
every string he can to fix this for Lindsay, and she specifically asked if someone local could step in.”
He gestured toward her with his glass. “And you’re good at detail. At class. And muffins.”
“That much flattery means they’re really desperate.” Daphne pinched her eyes closed. She’d never done anything as classy or
visible as a celebrity wedding! A birthday party for the mayor’s daughter, but that wasn’t even close.
“Seriously, though,” Nate chimed in, tilting his tea, “this could do wonders for Tea Thyme. And Wisteria in general. People
are gonna eat this up—literally and figuratively.”
“And”—Jack held her gaze—“it might be exactly what you need for the shop.”
“Think of how we can spin it for social media,” Rosemary said.
Daphne opened her mouth to—well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say—but at that exact moment, a knock echoed
from the front door.
Then came the deep, unmistakable purr of a very British voice.
Daphne swung her attention to Granny D, who was pushing back from her seat. “Oh good, they got here in time.”
Granny D rose from her place and rushed to the entry hall.
“Oh no,” Daphne whispered and pinched her eyes shut before opening them just in time to see Nate and Jack exchange twin grins.
Oh, she hated them.
“I do apologize for being late,” came the voice—his voice—floating down the hallway like it was being piped in from a cologne commercial. “We got a bit turned around leaving
the church.”
We? What sort of magnified torture was this?
“Don’t you worry one bit, sugar,” Granny D responded. “We just got started.”
“Thank you again for the invitation,” the voice continued, drawing closer. “I’ve heard about your legendary corn bread pudding.”
Daphne resisted the urge to launch herself out the window.
She could already see him in her mind’s eye—white button-down, top button undone, dark jeans, and that ridiculous ability
to make a room tilt slightly in his direction. Her retinas should be ashamed for how quickly they betrayed her carefully cultivated
disinterest.
He’d practically caused a silent revolt in church that morning, sauntering down the aisle to take his seat on the fourth row
next to a nearly hyperventilating Mrs. Gloria Ross and her two teenage daughters. Not one single female in church heard a
word of Mrs. Rogers’s lengthy recitation of what types of food items to bring to the next fellowship dinner.
And now he was here. In Granny D’s kitchen.
“Look who’s stopped by for lunch today.” Granny D ushered Finn into the room with—what was this?—the cutest little girl at
his side.
“Good afternoon.” Finn’s eyes landed on Daphne, and his mouth curled into that insufferably charming, just-on-the-edge-of-smug
smile. “Miss Austen. Fancy meeting you here.”
She fully resisted making eye contact with her brother. And the preacher.
“And I’m as pleased as punch to get to meet your little darling daughter, Lucy,” Granny D continued, guiding them to chairs.
“You’re just the prettiest little thing, ain’t cha?”
Daughter?
Flirty Finn was a dad?
And Lucy? One of the best names ever!
Daphne’s brain glitched for a few seconds, trying to process the updated version of this man.
The little girl blinked wide, green eyes at Granny D, seemingly caught between fascination and fear of Granny’s feathered
earrings. Eventually, she edged closer to Finn’s side. Smart girl. Granny D’s hugs were like emotional flypaper—once caught,
you were hers for life.
Her unconventional earrings sure provide ample warning.
Finn rested a casual hand on Lucy’s head, the protective gesture shooting a warm, confusing pang straight to Daphne’s chest.
Handsome. British. And a dad?
Lord, we are going to have a serious conversation later.
She squinted at the little girl. Had she missed her this morning? Maybe Finn had dropped her off at children’s church? Because
Daphne was pretty sure she wasn’t so distracted by Mr. Winks-A-Lot to ignore such a welcome addition to Finn’s personality
as a daughter!
“What did you bring that smells so good?” Granny D leaned in and then motioned toward the table.
“Shepherd’s pie.” Finn placed the dish where directed. “I was told it’s customary to bring a dish to Granny D’s famous Sunday lunch.”
His charm worked a laugh and an arm pat from Granny D before she rounded the table back to her seat. “I’m excited to try some
of your cookin’ before the rest of the town gets a taste.”
“Sounds like a Sunday-worthy dish to me,” Nate added, without waiting for an invitation to dive into the steaming dish. “Shepherd’s
pie? Psalm 23 on a plate.”
Jack groaned at Nate’s appraisal, but it didn’t stop him from being next in line for the food. Such gentlemen.
Daphne avoided eye contact with Finn and focused on Lucy. She had the prettiest green eyes and held a little dragon in her
arms. A green dragon? “Do you like dragons, Lucy?”
Lucy’s eyes flicked up at her, and she gave the tiniest nod.
“Good choice,” Daphne said, sliding the corn bread pudding closer to Finn without acknowledging his existence. “They’re much
more reliable than unicorns and fairies.”
“And stronger,” came her little voice.
“For sure.” Daphne grinned.
“So, Lucy’s not much of a princess girl, Daph,” Jack teased. “Guess you two won’t have much in common.”
“I like princesses too,” Lucy piped up, her tiny brows furrowing in protest.
Daphne beamed. “Of course you do. Only the best girls like both dragons and crowns.”
Lucy giggled, her crooked grin lighting up her whole face. Daphne caught a glimpse of a faint scar above her lip—subtle but
unmistakable. Something in her heart squeezed.
Poor little thing.
“This here is mighty good, Finn.” Granny D raised her forkful of shepherd’s pie. “Can’t wait to tell folks ’bout it. You mean
to open this upcoming weekend?”
“That’s the plan,” Finn answered, dishing out some green bean casserole.
Daphne stiffened just a little. It was one thing for her regular group of people to eat her cooking. It was quite another
to share her food with a . . . chef . . . unless she’d specifically curated it for him like she had those scones.
“Saturday,” he continued, scooping a little for Lucy, whose nose wrinkled. Clearly, her love of green did not extend to beans.
“I’m planning a limited supper menu for folks in the community to try, then rolling out the full offerings in stages.”
“You should try his bangers and mash.” Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “That’s a Monday-through-Sunday
kind of meal.”
Rosemary murmured something appreciative, probably flirt-adjacent, but Daphne barely heard her. Her gaze had locked onto Finn,
who lifted a forkful of her green bean casserole to his lips. He paused, brows drawn in mild concentration, like he was parsing
out ingredients and intention all at once.
Which—ugh—meant he might be a flavor-notes kind of person, just like her.
But . . . he was nothing like her. At all.
He took another bite, slower this time, and the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth gave him away. He liked it.
Heat bloomed in her chest. Pride? Possibly. Satisfaction? Definitely. Gloating? Not outwardly, but it stirred in ridiculous
happy twirls in her stomach. With careful precision, she took a polite bite of his shepherd’s pie. The rich broth and warm
earthiness of rosemary and thyme practically sang on her tongue. Her eyes fluttered closed, tabulating each new flavor.
“Looks like Daphne’s in love,” Jack said.
Her eyes snapped open in horror.
“With the food,” he clarified, twirling his fork toward her. “The dreamy sigh was a dead giveaway.”
She flung a napkin at his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.” Jack winked.