Chapter 13
@TGDPub: You ever notice how coffee drinkers just . . . drink their coffee? Meanwhile, tea drinkers need an entire personality quiz,
a three-act play, and the alignment of the planets before they can take a sip? #JustAnObservation #DrinkAndGo #TeaPeopleExplain
Comments:
@TeaThymeNC: @TGDPub Oh, I’m sorry, do you need me to apologize for having standards? The beauty of tea is in its subtlety. A gentle balance
of flavors. An experience meant to be savored. Not burned to a crisp and buried under gravy. Some of us prefer elegance over
culinary aggression. #TeaCulture #DelicacyMatters
@TGDPub: @TeaThymeNC The beauty of a real meal is flavor. Something tea culture wouldn’t know about since you people think “notes
of chamomile” count as excitement. Try a full English sometime and then tell me a lavender biscuit changed your life. #FlavorOverFrills
#JustEatTheChicken
@TeaThymeNC: @TGDPub I have tried your full English.
My palate hasn’t recovered. You seasoned the potatoes like you were mad at them.
Also, for the record, a good lavender cookie (we are in the US after all) can change your life.
Especially when not served next to something that looks like it survived a pub brawl. #RespectTheTea
@WisteriaGeneralStore: We’ve got #TeamTea and #TeamCoffee mugs in stock. Also a tote that says, “Don’t talk to me until the leaves have steeped.”
#WisteriaWares #ShopLocal #GrubWars
@SheriffGrady: Are they flirting or fighting? Because I truly cannot tell. #SmallTownDrama
@PastorNateNHC: As long as they bring snacks to the next potluck, I don’t care what they’re drinking. (Though I’d like to remind everyone
that coffee is mentioned in the Bible. Hebrews. Just saying.)
@TeaThymeNC: @TGDPub and @PastorNateNHC And lo, the prophet Isaiah said, “In quietness and trust is your strength.” Which sounds an awful
lot like steeping to me. #SteepAndKnow #BlessedAreTheBrewmakers
@OldManRutherforton: Back in my day, a fella with this many opinions on a lady’s breakfast would’ve just bought her a meal and called it courting.
@TeaThymeNC: Not helpful, Mr. Rutherforton, but I’ll happily serve you breakfast.
The afternoon with Lucy had rattled Daphne more than she wanted to admit.
Not because she didn’t love comforting that sweet little girl.
And not because she didn’t believe every word she’d said about truth—words her granny had once tucked into her heart, now
passed along to another.
But because of Lucy’s complete confidence in her dad. In Finn’s sweet adoration of his “lamb.” The way she’d curled into his arms like it was the safest place in the world. The way he had looked at her like she was the moon and stars and all the best parts of the sky.
Daphne had no memory of a father’s love like that. No real idea of how it anchored a heart. But she recognized the certainty—the
rootedness—of being loved by a father. She’d seen it in Lucy. In Rosemary. In dozens of people she’d grown up around.
They understood a security Daphne recognized in theory, and in her faith. And she got a little taste of it with Jack. She
almost smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she could count on him. There had been times in their lives when they
only had each other.
And he’d always been there.
But her heart ached for something different. Security from the man who would hold her heart someday.
And then, the way Finn and Lucy had joined into game night like they just . . . belonged there? It was unnerving and sweet.
When Rosemary and Nate had shown up an hour later, Finn had stayed. Long after the polite escape window had closed. His charm
and humor had blended right into the cozy chaos of their “gang” . . . and added just enough spice to keep her toes curled.
That accent.
That hair.
That smile that made her feel like she’d swallowed warm cider and maybe a few fireworks.
The secret ingredient to her downfall.
It wasn’t fair.
And then he’d had the audacity to dangle his car as a date option.
A date.
Which could mean anything.
And probably did.
His definition of date and hers were likely worlds apart.
She’d always seen dates as the possible first step toward forever.
So, yeah.
There was pressure. But she couldn’t seem to think smaller.
Building emotional connections in a disposable way felt . . . heartbreaking.
And she’d had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.
She smoothed her hair before sliding on a pair of silver earrings, delicate with a little sapphire bead that caught the light.
They matched the flirty dress she’d chosen—a deep blue that hugged her curves and suggested more poise than she felt. The
entire ensemble boasted a simple, classic look. And the shade matched her eyes.
If she was going to walk into her competition’s grand opening, she might as well look like a woman in control.
The pub had only been open an hour and already had the low, golden hum of success. Candles flickered in mismatched brass holders.
The stone fireplace cast a low, cozy heat. Laughter lilted through the air like music.
And Finn—blast him—was behind the counter in rolled-up sleeves, shaking hands, laughing easily, and passing out plates like
he had the corner on happiness.
Just Finn Dashwood doing what Finn Dashwood did best: charm an entire room with that smug, stupidly attractive smile and ridiculously
enjoyable humor.
Daphne’s grin wavered.
Charming could be dangerous.
Her mother had said the same about Daphne’s father. And he’d vanished the moment life turned demanding.
But Finn? Whatever happened with Lucy’s mom meant he’d taken on a responsibility alone. A tough choice, regardless of whatever
circumstances surrounded Lucy’s mom. Could someone look like a Frank Churchill and at heart be a George Knightley?
Was that possible?
“Glad you finally decided to show up,” a familiar voice said behind her.
She turned to find Jack, balancing a food tray with the ease of someone who’d spent years in their granny’s kitchen. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”
She offered him a tight smile. “Funny.”
His eyes skimmed her dress, brows lifting. “You do know this is a pub, not The Marches?”
Her smile dipped into a frown at his mention of one of the oldest inns in Wisteria that also had a high-end restaurant attached.
“Class doesn’t need a boundary line, Jack.” She tossed out his name like an insult. “Didn’t Granny teach you anything?”
“Oh, I’m so innately classy, all I need is my smile.” He waggled his brows and gestured with his chin toward a booth nearby.
“Granny D’s already here, holding court with Travis, Lindsay, and Rosemary.”
She followed his gaze to a back booth.
“If you’re looking for some table company, that would be the place to go.”
“Oh dear,” Daphne murmured.
“Yep.” Jack grinned. “She’s already told them the story of when she and her husband”—he looked skyward—“number two?—saw Bigfoot,
so it can only get more entertaining from there.”
A laugh slipped from her lips just as a blur of pink and sequins came flying at her.
“Miss Daphne!”
Lucy hurled herself into Daphne’s legs in a hug, her shirt blinking Princesses Have the Best Smiles in LED confidence.
“Well, hey there, sugarplum.” Daphne bent to return the squeeze—just as Finn rounded the bar, clearly in motion toward them.
Her gaze snagged his over Lucy’s shoulder, and just like that, every coherent thought left the building.
“Miss Daphne.” He dipped his head, and the way his voice swooped to say her name took a little of her breath along with it.
His gaze dropped to her dress—lingered—and suddenly she felt far too aware of the neckline, the fit, and that flirty little ruffle at the hem.
That smile of his should’ve come with its own LED warning.
Her knees wobbled.
She was officially ridiculous.
But she couldn’t seem to stop the fluttering in her chest. And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Hey,” she managed, instantly annoyed at the way her voice came out breathy. She cleared her throat. “Looks like a solid turnout.”
“It is.” His gaze didn’t leave hers. “Better now that you’re here.”
There it was. The flirt. Exhibit A.
She raised a brow. “Do you say that to all your guests?”
“Only the ones who make me regret not wearing cologne.”
She rolled her eyes for his benefit, but the grin tugging at her lips was harder to fight. He turned toward the bar, grabbed
a drink, and returned with a tall glass of iced sweet tea.
Her favorite.
“Ice over steeped leaf water and a scandalous amount of sugar,” he said, offering it with a wink. “Just how you like it.”
Exhibit B. Still unfairly charming.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass, willing her knees to obey reason.
“I’m drinking tea too,” Lucy announced proudly, lifting her own glass like a toast. “And Daddy’s letting me give out menus!”
To which Lucy turned and plucked a menu from a nearby pocket attached to the side of the bar, sweetly offering it to Daphne.
“Is he?”
Finn nodded solemnly. “She’s been promoted to menu delivery assistant.”
That earned a slip of a laugh from her—blast it again—and she turned her attention back to Lucy. “Well, I can’t imagine a better one. You’d brighten anyone’s day, sugarplum.”
Lucy’s grin tilted in that lopsided way Daphne was growing dangerously fond of.
“And I see your dad is pulling out all the stops to win this competition.” She narrowed her eyes. “Adorable helpers? Very
strategic.”
When her gaze came back up to Finn, something in his expression caught her full attention. It looked the same as the one she’d
seen when he came to pick up Lucy in her apartment yesterday. Gentle and intense at the same time. Stalling her breath all
over again.
“Just proves how hard I have to work to compete with you.”
Her smile flared before she could stop it. Competition had never looked so appealing. Doggone it. Time to rein in her face.
“Forty or so people here,” she said, glancing around. “All looking very charmed into loving you and your food, I see.”
“Not everyone.” Finn lifted a brow. “Still working on one.”