Chapter 9
@TeaThymeNC: When life throws you surprise visitors and an unplanned Disney sing-along . . . you do what any self-respecting tea shop
owner would: bake cookies.
Do you have a favorite Disney movie and tea pairing? Bonus points if you add a favorite cookie in the mix too. I’m pretty
sure my brother’s ideal evening is Earl Grey sugar cookies and The Sword in the Stone (very on brand).
PS: I still know every word to “Once upon a Dream.” #PrincessProtocol #EmergencyCookies #BeOurGuestEnergy #LateNightMagic
Comments:
@JackAustenPhotography: You mean the correct pairing. The Sword in the Stone, sugar cookies, and Earl Grey is canon. Also, explain why a certain
British pub owner was seen running out of your apartment like Cinderella past curfew. ?? Asking for science.
@GrannyDOfficial: Lucy told me you sing like a real Disney princess. I expect a performance next Sunday. Bring cookies.
@MaggiesCottageFlorals: My vote: Jasmine tea + Aladdin + shortbread. Because every girl deserves a magic carpet ride and a warm cookie.
@TGDPub: No contest. Tangled and black coffee + classic chocolate chip. #HandsDown #FryingPanProtection
@PastorNateNHC: Robin Hood & sweet tea with mint AND peanut butter oatmeal. Classic combo. And the Tangled movie tracks for @TGDPub aka “Flynn
Dashwood.” #IfTheBootFits #ItsTheHair
@TGDPub: For the record, the smolder is genetic. And powerful. #ItsTheSmolder
@WisteriaGeneralStore: Just in: Coffee and vanilla–scented candles called The Smolder Blend and a special edition mug that says: “I Got Tangled
in Wisteria.” Thoughts? Too much? Not enough? Asking for the retail economy. #SmallTownSchemes #MerchIdeasWelcome #WisteriaStrong
“Pardon me?”
Daphne turned from the oven, Dalmatian-print mitt on her hand, to see Finn standing before her wearing a clean shirt and a
somewhat subdued smile. Just the thought of him changing shirts in her apartment had her wondering if she’d left the oven
open, because her little kitchen turned sweltering.
Okay, okay, off-limits didn’t mean she couldn’t admire God’s good creation. Her gaze slid down his body and back to his face.
Because it was very good. Maybe not as enticing as the car—she emphatically reminded herself—but certainly stare worthy.
He held a sleeping Lucy in his arms, her hair falling over his arm like a sleeping beauty, her breathing quiet and relaxed.
Equally as stare worthy.
Daphne’s hand went to her chest before she skirted past Finn into the living room. “Why don’t you place her here,” she whispered, gesturing toward the small love seat. “I’m sure it’s way past her bedtime.”
Mr. Hotface complied with a raised brow that appeared to be a tattooed feature for most of their conversational exchanges
so far. Daphne pulled the quilt off the back of the couch and feathered it over the little girl, sighing down at the sleeping
princess.
“I guess she’ll have to wait and try one of the cookies tomorrow.” Daphne brought her gaze back up, barely keeping her smile
in check. “But you’re welcome to one, if you’d like.”
“A midnight cookie with our beautiful rescuer?” That corner of his mouth tipped as he studied her. “How can I refuse?”
There was a strange sort of undercurrent in his expression she couldn’t quite place, a new softness tangled within the resident
flirt, and it shifted the air in the room.
It was also nearly midnight and she needed sleep. Which could have had something to do with her bleary-minded thoughts about
him.
“Rescuer?” she tossed over her shoulder as she returned to her little kitchen. Well, he’d called her beautiful, but probably
hadn’t really meant it. Likely just flirt talk. “You’d have done the same for me, right?”
She raised her own brow in challenge, and his grin grew as he searched her face. “I hope so, but I don’t sing, so I’d fail
miserably at the princess song game.”
A soft laugh slipped from her as she offered him a little plate with the cookie she’d specifically kept just for him. “That
is a disadvantage when rescuing princesses, I’m afraid.”
He suddenly sobered and shifted a step closer to take the plate. “Daphne, thank you.” His gaze searched hers in a way far
removed from Mr. Flirty Face. “For your help and ready kindness. It truly was a rescue.”
Her gaze dropped to his plate, suddenly tempted to take back the cookie. “Um . . . well, it’s what neighbors do.” She cleared her throat and waved toward him. “Though this is the first time I’ve had a man in my apartment past 11:00 p.m. in a very long time.”
She squeezed her eyes closed as her own words echoed back to her. And that would probably be why it had been so long. Oh,
where were her granny’s genes when she desperately needed class?
“I’m happy to break your record, for my and Lucy’s sakes.”
The timer beeped behind her, and she turned to the oven, slipping out another pan of cookies. She placed the pan on the stovetop
and turned toward him, mitt still in place. “Well, she’s a complete sweetheart.”
“Indeed, she is.” His smolder turned lethal. “She gets it from her father.”
Her pulse responded with an enthusiastic mamba, but she buried it beneath an exaggerated eye roll. “I’m sure she does.”
Oh yeah. He could definitely keep the cookie.
He lingered near her, that fresh, appealing scent of vanilla and something clean mixing entirely too well with the lingering
aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies. Her brain short-circuited for a second. Oh mercy. Vanilla and chocolate. A combination so potent it really ought to be illegal. At least to her.
“Did you say you only had sleeping bags at your apartment?” she asked, grasping onto anything to shift the conversation.
Finn nodded, lifting the cookie to his lips.
And Daphne waited, watching as he took a large bite.
His grin dissolved into something horrified as he chewed. He struggled—valiantly—to maintain composure but failed.
“Oh, sorry.” She offered him a sweet smile. “I must have gotten my salt and sugar confused for that one.”
His gaze flashed up to her before he coughed—or maybe it was a strangled laugh—and she passed him a bottled water.
“Touché,” he rasped, still having a wrestling match between a cough and a smile.
“I would’ve made you tea to go with it.” Daphne plucked the cookie from his fingers and tossed it in the trash. “But since
you’re a plebeian, I figured you’d refuse.”
“I deserved that.” His grin made a triumphant return as he took a sip of water, and for some reason, his good-natured reaction
only made her like him more.
Drat.
“You sure did.” She offered him a fresh cookie from the tray she’d just pulled from the oven. “Try this one. Won’t assault
your taste buds. Scout’s honor.”
He took it with exaggerated caution, his gaze never leaving hers as he bit in—and honestly? Why did he have to make eating
a cookie look . . . indecent?
That just seemed wrong.
And yet, here she was, rethinking Santa, cookies, and every hallmark of childhood innocence.
Heaven help her if he ever started baking in front of her.
She swallowed as the temperature in the room tipped right back up into feverish. Granny’s upbringing had not prepared her
for this level of temptation. Like a dark chocolate milkshake with a pump of vanilla and a dash of reckless charm.
At least she had enough country girl stubbornness to keep her cool. Probably.
Still, there was something different about him tonight. The edges of flirtation were still there but softer. Gentled. Real in a way that was far more dangerous than smirks and swagger.
Ack! Bring back the flirt!
“Much better,” he murmured, finishing the cookie in two sinful bites. “You are an excellent baker.”
“Thanks.” She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, needing something to do with them before they betrayed her and started fanning her flushed face.
“I do love it. There’s something raw and wonderful about taking a mess of ingredients and turning them into something people enjoy, isn’t there? ”
“Absolutely.” His expression became more thoughtful. “I’ve always found it . . . settling.”
Settling! That was how he seemed at this very moment. Settled.
A Finn Dashwood to draw out more from her than a verbal fight. “Right? Like the creativity fuels not only more creativity
but a . . . comfort and connection. As if . . .”
She faltered, giving her head a shake. Silly.
But he leaned forward, chin dipped. “As if?”
She waved it off. “As if we were made to create.”
He crossed his own arms and studied her until her cheeks heated to frying status, but she didn’t want to look away. In that
moment, she glimpsed a kindred spirit and she didn’t quite know what to do with the dichotomy of Mr. Hotface and Mr. Baker
Bestie.
“Exactly,” he whispered.
The word settled between them and for one ridiculous second, she felt seen by him in a way she hadn’t felt seen in a very
long time. And the accompanying warmth tremored through her to squeeze at her heart.
“Have you always wanted to be a chef?” She nudged another cookie in his direction across the counter between them.
“Most of my life. Got it from my gran.”
That caught her off guard. “Great food and an awesome granny?” She raised her cookie in a mock toast. “A potent combination.”
He chuckled—a real one. “She was a force of nature.”
“The best grans are, I think.” Daphne grinned. “Mine could silence a room with a look and then charm everyone back in the
next breath. Slightly terrifying. Utterly iconic.”
“Same.” Then his grin curled, slow and crooked, like she’d answered a question he hadn’t meant to ask out loud.
Daphne quickly busied herself with the tray. Dangerous. He was way too dangerous when he smiled like that. Remember, Daph—he’s transient. Said so himself.