Chapter 14 #3
Can you two meet at Tea Thyme at four today? We’ve made our decision.
The chime above the door sounded as Finn stepped into Tea Thyme, the familiar scent of baked goods and steeped tea perfectly
capturing the essence of the owner. The shop always smelled like her—refined, warm, with a hint of something unexpected. A
little citrus?
A lot of sass, as the locals said.
He almost chuckled at the very thought. He was beginning to think like these people!
And there she was, behind the counter—floral dress cinched at her waist, golden hair in a long ponytail.
Finn had stopped trying to keep his emotional distance from her, but that didn’t mean he’d plunge forward with any heartfelt
declarations. Not with that look he’d caught in her eyes more than once—that guarded flicker, like she’d been left behind
one too many times and expected him to do the same.
But he wouldn’t. Not now that he saw her for who she was.
Her humor. Her wit. Her kindness.
What would it feel like to earn such a love?
His broken perspective provided little comparison. And with his mother’s early death, he had very little to go on with his
parents. Harry and Margaret offered a glimpse of a well-suited, healthy relationship—one for which to aspire.
But last night, when Daphne had stood so near—her large beautiful eyes searching his—well, he’d realized a deep truth. His
honesty might open a door to, perhaps, win her trust.
And her heart.
Her gaze flicked to the door as he stepped in, her smile hesitant, but there.
That was something.
“So I guess this is it?” Her voice was light, but her hands were fussing with a dish towel that didn’t need fussing.
Hmm . . .
He stepped forward, taking a stool at the counter opposite her. “I hope you win, Daphne. You deserve it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start acting noble on me now.” And she pushed a plate across the counter between them. “But since
you’re early, try this.”
He looked down. Focaccia?
He raised a brow. “Is this the famed bread you’ve been taunting me with?”
A smile teased the corners of her mouth as she tipped her head. Her ponytail swished, and Finn had the ridiculous urge to
tug it, just to see her reaction.
“Seemed only fair. You needed to know how good it would taste with your ribs.”
That glint in her eye pulled him closer, the line between teasing and flirting growing delightfully thin.
He tore off a piece of the bread, never looking away. The crust was golden and crisp, the inside warm and airy, with olive
oil and rosemary clinging to his fingers. He took a bite—and blinked.
Rich. Herby. With just the right kick of sea salt and lemon zest. “You’re right,” he said slowly, holding her gaze. “A perfect
match.”
The combination fit in ways he hadn’t imagined. His grin almost tipped. And maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to think the two
people involved in this little meal creation might combine just as well?
Color rose into her cheeks, a pink that crept so slowly, she likely hoped he wouldn’t notice. But he had. Oh, he had. A lovely
rose to match the color of those lips.
“You’re just being nice,” she said, trying to tuck her expression back to neutral, but the light in her eyes defied that forced frown.
He took another bite, savoring it. “No, sincerely. It’s incredible.”
“Careful,” she warned, eyes dancing. “I might start believing you actually like my cooking.”
“I’ve liked it from the start, if you recall.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s the tea I took issue with.”
She gave a mock gasp, one hand over her heart. “Blasphemy.”
His chest burst with the desire to cross the counter and seize her lips. “Coffee is still better.”
She promptly ignored that comment. “Well, I’m also experimenting with a new shortbread recipe to tempt you because you said
shortbread is bland.”
Her brain worked like his. He could practically see it. Inventorying ingredients, substituting spices, piecing things together
in a new way. He leaned in, forearms braced on the counter. “Are you trying to seduce me through baked goods, Miss Austen?”
“What?” Her mouth parted. “No . . . absolutely not.”
“Because it’s working.”
Daphne blinked rapidly, then turned her attention to the bread like it had suddenly grown much more interesting. “You’re impossible.”
“But charming.”
“Debatable.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
Her lips twitched, her pleasure in the moment almost palpable. He loved her smile . . . and her fight against it. “You’re
very annoying, you know that?”
“I’ve heard rumors,” he murmured, watching with quiet fascination as another blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
A few golden wisps fell from her ponytail, framing her face—soft, teasing things.
“I just think an Englishman really ought to like shortbread.”
“There you go again with those assumptions.” He studied her. “Besides, I thought you were determined to keep all your recipes as they’ve always been. No changes, no compromises. And now here you are”—he lifted another piece of bread—“wooing me with carbs and rosemary.”
Another startled laugh slipped free from her smile, and she brushed a floury hand over her apron. “Well, maybe I . . . I needed
the challenge more than I realized.” Her gaze came back to his. “A nudge”—she waved toward him—“or shove outside of my comfort zone.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His grin slipped wide. “That focaccia is dangerously good.”
“I didn’t realize how much I wanted to create until it happened,” she said, almost to herself. “And . . . now I can’t seem
to stop.”
The words hit him square in the heart. Straightened his spine. Whether for good or ill, his special brand of nudging had helped
stretch her beyond her fear—and that mattered. More than he could say. The idea of being even a small catalyst toward her
awareness not only humbled him but deepened whatever connection grew between them. For his part, anyway. “Daphne.” He paused,
then pushed the words out. “I want you to get this catering job.”
Her eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side. “So you said . . .”
“I’m backing out.”
“No you’re not.” Her eyes sharpened now, finger jabbing at his chest. “You’re staying in this, Dashwood. All the way.”
He raised a brow.
“I don’t want a pity win, Finn.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice fierce. “If I win or lose, I want it to be fair and
square. That I was better.”
He searched her face—flushed cheeks, fire in her eyes, fingers curled against the counter. She looked absolutely stunning!
“You are,” he said softly. “Better, I mean.”
The words hung in the space between them. Her expression faltered for half a breath before she looked away, busying herself
with stacking napkins that didn’t need stacking.
“I meant what I said,” she added. “Your savory dishes are phenomenal.”
“But not very pretty.”
She chuckled, the tension in her shoulders easing. “That’s an easy fix, and you know it.”
His heart tugged.
There it was again—that ache to cross the distance between them and taste that smile. To see if the spark still hummed between
them like it had the first time . . . only deeper now. Sharper. His heart had finally gotten the memo, and it was all pointing
in one direction.
Straight toward her.
But he didn’t move.
Because attraction was easy. But wooing her heart? Much more difficult, especially after his beginning. But he wouldn’t give
up. This was much more than attraction. He liked her. Admired her. And the combination held an allure he hadn’t realized he’d
been missing with his ex-wife.
It scared the daylights out of him.
Because he wasn’t sure how to do this right. Not when he knew her heart had been broken by the one man who should have kept
her heart the safest. Not when Finn had been so careless and scared himself that he’d blundered things.
A chime above the door rang, signaling Lindsay and Travis’s arrival, both looking much too pleased with themselves to offer
any bad tidings.
“Thanks so much for meeting with us today,” Travis said, gesturing for Lindsay to sit before claiming the spot beside her.
“We really need to make a decision,” Lindsay added, her gaze bouncing between Finn and Daphne with barely contained excitement.
“The wedding’s in a little over two weeks.”
“Of course.” Daphne nodded, her smile tight.
“You must decide,” Finn echoed, leaning on the counter beside her.
“Exactly.” Travis dipped his chin toward Lindsay, as if to cue her. “And we have an idea.”
Lindsay sat straighter, clearly delighted to be the one with the reveal.
“I’d forgotten how much I love Wisteria.
The charm. The community.” She shook her head as if in wonder.
“So many of the people here hold a special place in my heart, and watching the two of you compete for this wedding gave me . . .” She looked to Travis.
“Gave us an idea not only to get a caterer but to celebrate Wisteria.”
A knot twisted low in Finn’s stomach.
“You know, with the whole town taking sides,” she went on, “#TeamTea vs. #TeamPub is becoming a full-on local obsession. And . . .
we think it’s time to make it official.”
Finn exchanged a wary glance with Daphne, who looked like she was preparing to bolt through the kitchen.
He turned to Travis. “What do you mean by ‘official’?”
A hint of mischief lit Travis’s eyes. “A cook-off. A town-wide tasting event during the Harvest Festival. People vote on their
favorite dishes—savory and sweet. Settle it once and for all.”
Finn blinked. “A live showdown?”
“It fits with Lindsay’s whole ‘celebrating community through food and story’ thing,” Travis added, shrugging like it was no
big deal.
Daphne looked from Linday to Travis, eyes wide. “You’re really suggesting a cooking contest between me and Finn? With the
whole town participating?”
“Exactly.” Travis’s grin spread to massive proportions. “Think of it as the ultimate showdown, but with a mutual prize. Both
of you will get visibility, regardless of who wins.”
“Wednesday night is the festival’s kick-off dinner,” Lindsay continued, clearly already picturing it all. “There’ll be dancing
after. It’s a perfect moment to showcase what you both do best.”
The vision took root and grew in Finn’s mind. Yes, he was new to Wisteria and he didn’t even know what the festival was, let
alone how many people would be there. But the idea of going head-to-head with Daphne? Publicly? Somehow it didn’t feel like
a threat.
It felt like an opportunity.
“That’s two days away,” Daphne squeaked.
She needed the visibility. The chance to be brave. “Daph,” he said gently, waiting until her eyes flicked up to his. “You said
business was up. That the online attention was helping. This—this is a good idea. Strange, perhaps. But good. For everyone.”
She stared at him like he’d grown two heads.
Lindsay jumped in. “The people are already getting into your rivalry, and it’s making news outside of Wisteria. Extra tourists
will come. More business. It will benefit the entire community, Daphne, which I know you love.” She took Daphne’s hand across
the counter. “We can’t invite them all to the wedding, but this is a wonderful way for them to play a part and for us to show
our appreciation for them too.”
“And support two caterers whose work we’ve come to admire,” Travis added.
Daphne kept blinking and shifting her attention to each face in the room like a trapped rabbit. Poor hen.
Time to rescue her—or push her buttons. Maybe both.
“Daphne?” He let his smile stretch slow and lazy. “If you’re afraid I’ll best you in front of the whole town, maybe we should
decline. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you on your home turf.”
Her blinking stopped cold.
She turned her head with exaggerated calm and pinned him with a stare hot enough to scald.
“Best me?” she repeated, folding her arms like she was preparing for war.
“You do seem incredibly reluctant,” he said mildly, though the wink that followed likely ruined any attempt at innocence.
Her glare was pure fire. Well, not completely fire, because her lips twitched—just slightly. She was definitely enjoying the
challenge as much as him.
“I’m not afraid, Mr. Dashwood.” She turned to Lindsay and Travis, her posture suddenly regal. “Sounds like an excellent plan.” Then she looked back at him, golden brow bowed in challenge. “And may the best chef win.”
Finn swallowed the grin that threatened to take over his face.
Oh, it was on.
And creating the recipe to win Daphne’s heart had just begun.