Aunt Ophelia stepped in and let out a breath that sounded like polite judgment. She crossed the room like she owned the floor beneath her and handed me the tin.
“Rosemary shortbread,” she said, then kissed my cheek. “You’ve lost weight. You always do when you’re stressed.”
I didn’t respond. Emily tensed beside me.
Aunt Ophelia turned to her. Calm eyes. Measuring. “You must be the reason for the smile I keep hearing about.”
Emily gave her a professional smile. “I try.”
We slid into a booth by the window. I poured coffee. Mrs. Dalrymple sat two booths over, eyeing us with full interest and no shame.
Aunt Ophelia frowned. “I thought you told me last week you weren’t dating anyone. This feels… fast.”
I fidgeted. “I wasn’t ready to tell you yet.”
She studied him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. Then she nodded once. “Okay.”
Aunt Ophelia stirred her coffee with slow circles. “So. What’s your story, Emily? How’d you two meet?”
“We used to date. In high school.”
Aunt Ophelia raised her eyebrows. “Wait. You’re that Emily Carter?”
Emily nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“The one who broke his heart and took off for New York City?”
I opened my mouth. “It wasn’t her fault. We both wanted different things.”
Aunt Ophelia waved that away. “Okay. Whatever. Why are you here? What happened to the glamorous city life?”
Emily sighed. “I lost my job. Moved back home. Looking for new opportunities.”
Aunt Ophelia sipped her coffee. “And how did you meet up again?”
Emily paused. “We ran into each other at the farmer’s market. By the tomato stand.”
“She dropped a basket of radishes,” I said.
Aunt Ophelia’s mouth twitched. “Romantic. What do you two do for fun?”
“We went to the movies last weekend,” Emily said.
I nodded. “Together.”
Aunt Ophelia glanced up. “Which one?”
“The new Marvel one,” I said.
“Oh, I love those,” she said, then paused. “Except… that hasn’t come out.”
Emily jumped in. “We watched the trailer. On the couch. In the dark. I cried.”
I turned and looked at her.
“It was very emotional,” she said.
Aunt Ophelia leaned back. “So. I hear you’re the new marketing manager. Are you going to rip up my diner and turn it into some kind of… Instagram mess?”
