Chapter 8
@TeaThymeNC: Pro tip: When life hands you salt instead of sugar, remember that though some people say revenge is a dish best served cold,
I’m thinking warm, with clotted cream, and just the tiniest hint (or a great deal) of cayenne. ?? #BakerBeware #PlottingInThePantry
Comments:
@TGDPub: I hear salt is underrated in baked goods. Some might even say . . . essential. Just trying to elevate your flavors, cupcake.
@JackAustenPhotography: Bold of you to show your face here, mate. I suggest witness protection.
@MaggiesFlowerCottage: I knew those scones tasted like the ocean. Bless your heart, Daphne. ??
@TeaThymeNC: @TGDPub Oh, you’ve elevated something, all right.
@TeaThymeNC: @JackAustenPhotography Would you mind drafting the obituary? Something tasteful.
PM from @TGDPub to @TeaThymeNC: In all sincerity, I’d only meant to exchange salt in your personal sugar bowl so it would only affect you. NOT your customers.
@TeaThymeNC: And that’s supposed to make me feel better?
@TGDPub: It was only meant to be a windup, luv. I’m not a villain.
@TeaThymeNC: You know, most villains would say something like that.
@TGDPub: Now you’re just trying to make me smile, aren’t you?
@TeaThymeNC: Ending the conversation now.
@TGDPub: Were Ms. Maggie and her friend all right after the salty exchange?
@TeaThymeNC: (insert extra-large sigh): Yes. Thank goodness your little “windup” debacle only impacted two of the sweetest people in Wisteria.
@TGDPub: Besides you, of course.
@TeaThymeNC: Nice try, but the competition is still on.
Of all the things to go wrong, it had to be this.
Finn shoved his mobile back into his pocket and scowled at the barren apartment, as if staring it down might magically summon
the missing moving truck. After a week in a hotel, waiting for their personal belongings to arrive from the UK, the moving
company had promised delivery today.
But with one delay after another, they’d finally moved delivery to first thing the following morning.
So here they were in their apartment above the pub.
No furniture. No extra clothes. No towels.
A small disaster in the grand scheme of things, but still . . . frustrating.
He could’ve booked another night at the hotel, but the moving company had promised—promised—they’d be here at seven a.m., and Lucy had been so excited to sleep in her new home. He could endure one night of discomfort
if it meant letting her settle in.
And it was only for one night.
A sweet humming drifted through the empty space, pulling his attention away from the movers’ latest apologetic text. Lucy
patted her plush unicorn and green dragon into the pink folds of the sleeping bag he’d procured from the local hardware store,
as if sleeping in the middle of their empty living room wasn’t unexpected at all.
A delayed moving truck failed to tip her happy disposition.
The tension in his face relaxed, and he sighed. Oh, she gave him perspective. She’d spent her whole life doing that without
even trying.
A childhood full of surgeries, an absent mother, and a scar that had rewritten her smile—Lucy had faced it all with more grace
than most adults. And though another operation loomed in the future, she never let it dim her joy. She’d become one of the
best teachers on optimism, gratitude, and perseverance in his life.
Clearing his throat, he stepped toward her. “Are your animals ready for bed, lamb?”
Lucy beamed up at him, loose dark hair tumbling in soft waves from a day wearing plaits. “Dey like to camp on de floor, Daddy.
It’s an adventure.”
An adventure? He scanned the empty room and shrugged a shoulder in acceptance. The past week had certainly been an adventure.
“It is.” He crouched to her side, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I wonder what will be next? A rescue? A battle?”
And his thoughts immediately shifted to Daphne Austen.
Battle seemed an appropriate word when in reference to her.
A fun sort of sparring, because she not only was easy to irritate but rose to each occasion with a quick wit he couldn’t help admire.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed such easy and fun conversations with a woman.
And despite her glares, he had a sneaky suspicion she enjoyed the banter too.
Or, at least, as she’d confessed, found some inspiration in it.
His lips twitched. Then the memory of replacing her sugar bowl with salt, only to have the prank misfire on a customer, nearly
wiped off his grin.
As a small business owner himself, he’d never want to damage her reputation or business, so her private messaging with him
helped allay a little of his concern. But he’d take a chance to apologize again, in person.
His shoulders almost sank. That’s all he seemed to do with Daphne.
Apologize.
And verbally spar.
His grin almost resurrected. Sounded like a fitting relationship.
Well, and flirt a little. Because she was long overdue for some solid flirting.
The squeeze of her pink lips and tension in her brow proved an almost overwhelming temptation to soften her features, if nothing
else, to see if he could.
And then he gave his head a shake.
No, Finn! No romance. Especially not with someone who . . . well, with her.
She was the type of woman who slid beneath a man’s skin.
Who promised something wholesome and as fairy-tale-ish as one of Lucy’s children’s books.
Lucy’s eyes widened, sparkling in the glow from the lamp he’d purchased from the hardware store as well. “A sleeping princess,”
she whispered back.
“But we already have a princess in this house, lamb.” He kissed her head and gestured toward her plush toys, to keep the conversation safely redirected from any talk of other princesses in their lives. “Posie and Dragon seem at home in these royal quarters, don’t they?”
Lucy leaned her ear down to the toys, as if listening for their responses, and then turned her dimpled smile on him. “Dey’re
very happy wif camping, Daddy, but dey miss my princess bed too.”
Finn ruffled her hair. “No doubt.” He helped her into the bag.
“Will you tell me a story tonight, Daddy?”
“Not tonight.” He knelt and smoothed back her hair from her face. “All of your books are packed away and it’s far past your
bedtime.”
“You can make one up from your brain.” Her eyes shone. “I like de ones you make from your brain.”
He tapped her nose. “Tomorrow night when you are snug in your princess bed at a reasonable hour, but tonight our brains need
to rest.”
Lucy sighed back into the pillow, a pout pulling at her crooked mouth. “Do you need your brain for a good night prayer?”
His inner laugh almost slipped through his smile. There were times when he needed prayers to find his brain, but never the
reverse. “Sometimes a prayer is all I’ve got left, lamb.”
His words grounded him with their deeper truth. Between Sarah walking out, navigating fatherhood solo, and facing Lucy’s surgeries
alone—at times, prayer had been his only lifeline. And then, with Father’s death? And his business falling apart . . . ?
He sighed.
Thank heavens, God understood the pleas of a brainless dad.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “But I believe I have just enough brain left for one.”
Lucy grinned, pulled her unicorn and dragon up close to her chin, and closed her eyes in preparation.
He took Lucy’s free hand. “Thank you for our new home and the kind people we’ve met this week.”
“And for our new sleeping bags.”
Finn’s lips crooked. “And for our new sleeping bags and for Harry and Margaret’s welcome.”
“And for cheeseburgers.”
Of course.
“And thank you,” he added, “for cheeseburgers.” And running water. At least they had running water. “Please help us to have
sweet dreams tonight.”
Lucy wiggled her fingers. “And bring our furniture tomorrow so Daddy can have his special chair.”
Finn chuckled, shaking his head. “Amen.”
He stood and turned off the lamp, then walked to the barren kitchen, its clean, black-and-white appearance leading into a
small breakfast room with a window overlooking the main street of the small town with its distant mountains as a dark silhouette.
The apartment fit the two of them well. Renovated but retaining the older woodwork to increase its charm. A set of French
doors led from the spacious living room into a smaller room Finn would use as his home office, a central location for access
to the door and for keeping his eyes on Lucy.
Harry and Margaret’s handiwork was displayed in the subtle wall color after several layers of hideous wallpaper had been removed.
And Margaret’s careful attention to the updated kitchen made everything easier for Finn’s move-in. Yes, this would be a good
little home for him and Lucy.
He snatched the new mug and poured himself a cup of warm, welcoming java he’d brought up from the pub’s kitchen—his evening
comfort along with a few hours of quiet to piece together his thoughts for the next day. He looked over his to-do list in
preparation for the upcoming weekend and jotted a few notes on his iPad regarding some final items.
Outside, the town hummed softly—low conversation, the occasional car, the distant glow of streetlights reflecting against the mountains. It was a good place. A safe place.
Lucy started school in a few days, and after a few conversations with the forces that be, Finn felt rather good about the
small school.
And who wouldn’t love Lucy?
He paused in his notes and glanced out the window. He’d described Lucy’s situation to the teacher, but predicting kids’ reactions
to her scars left a knot in his stomach. Even in this small, Southern town of seemingly kind people, he couldn’t protect her
in a new environment when she was out of sight. And her scar wasn’t horrible. Noticeable but better than he’d expected from
the severity of her cleft. The teacher had assured him that she’d keep an eye on the situation.
And Lucy was tougher than the pink fluff and dimpled grin might suggest. A lot tougher.
Finn exhaled and turned back to his coffee. He’d barely lifted the cup when—
“Daddy!”