1 – The Last Dragon
Castlenew Emlyn, Northumberland, England
Late, again.
Elizabeth Carrington—Liza to her friends and family—grabbed her handbag from the passenger seat and exited her car. The heels of her bootstap-tap-tappedthe pavement as she hustled onto High Street and scanned for the teashop Mrs. Manson had mentioned during their last phone call.
Her bloody ex.If he were within reach, she’d loosen the ties on her temper and strangle the selfish, calculating, cheating—
Ah!She hot-footed it to a brick building with a bay window and a bright red awning. A sign in the shape of a woman announced this was Barbara’s Café.
Liza spotted the elderly couple, her stress leaving her shoulders. Mrs. Manson had informed her they’d sit in their usual corner. She’d suggested Liza buy them a cuppa, and they’d tell her the tale of the last dragon spotted in the region.
“Mr. and Mrs. Manson?” she asked, forcing brightness and enthusiasm into her voice. The eager part was simple. The sunny happiness proved more difficult since her ex-husband had dropped a bombshell this morning and disrupted her routine.
Bastard.
She hated Tony Richards. Detested that he’d tricked her into thinking he was decent while he’d hidden the greedy and corrupt man beneath his handsome shell. Tony refused to leave her alone, refused to let her and their daughter move on with their lives, refused to grant her a divorce.
Gritting her teeth against a snarl, she shoved her personal drama back to focus on her book of dragon myths and legends. Far more exciting and inspiring. Her new work-in-progress,The Magic of Dragons, fueled her creativity. Her gut told her this book would galvanize publishers. Liza pinned on a smile—stiff and uncomfortable, but enough to show the couple polite interest.
“Tom and Miriam, dear.” Mrs. Manson beamed, interest flashing in her brown eyes. A cream hat, adorned with brown and orange flowers, perched on her gray curls while she wore a cream twinset and a tweed skirt. A string of lustrous pearls circled her neck.
Mr. Manson—Tom—appeared uncomfortable in his white shirt and paisley tie. His thin hair lay in neat strands across his head, the comb marks still in evidence. Liza couldn’t see his trousers from where she stood, but his shirt buttons strained over his belly.
“I’m Liza Carrington. I’m so sorry I’m late. Can I order you a tea or coffee? Something to eat?”
“We’ll have a cream tea,” Miriam told her with a decisive nod.
Liza held back her amusement. “I’ll be right back.”
With their orders placed, Liza joined Tom and Miriam at the table. She pulled out her notebook and her phone. Her pen hid at the bottom of her handbag, but she finally plucked it free. One day, she’d Marie Kondo her handbag into neatness and practicality.
One day.
“Is it true you’re writing a book of dragon tales?” Tom demanded.
“Yes, dragons have always fascinated me. I figured with the rise in popularity of the fantasy-based movies and television shows, now was the perfect time to write my book.”
“Are you published?” Miriam asked.
“Not yet,” Liza said. “But I’m motivated to change that with this book.”
A plump, height-challenged woman, wearing black clothes and a scarlet apron, bustled over with a tray of cups and a teapot. After setting them on the table, she retreated and reappeared with a plate of sandwiches, two scones, a dish of jam, and another of clotted cream.
With the arrival of the tea, Tom relaxed. It was apparent Miriam had bullied him into his best clothes to meet the lady author. A little polite chatter and Miriam might calm too instead of behaving like a Regency dowager and crooking her little finger as she sipped her tea.
“Have you lived in the village long?” Liza asked.
Miriam picked up her napkin and leaned closer to her husband to dab a spot of cream off the corner of his mouth. “We were both born in Castlenew Emlyn.”
“Aye, our families settled here four generations ago.” Tom rolled his eyes at his wife in affection. “My older brother lives in the original cottage, although the family has added to the building’s footprint over the years.”
“June and Alf modernized the kitchen and the bathroom last year,” Miriam shared. “George, our eldest son, works with Tom at the manor house. June and Alf’s children have left. I doubt they’ll be back. Joy is engaged to a boy from New Zealand. Imagine that.”
Liza grinned. “My mother is a New Zealander. I went to school over there.”
“What made you come to England?” Miriam asked, diverted, curiosity sparkling in her lined features.
