Daphne’s lips tipped. Granny’s memory breathed in every corner of this place, all the way down to the scuff marks on the hardwoods fromher size 6 Mary Janes. And, perhaps, as the one-year anniversary of her death neared, the buffer of time dug the reality deeper:
Tea Thyme was Daphne’s alone.
And it was up to her to save it.
Maintaining the fundraiser this first year on her own had boosted Daphne’s confidence a little.
Catering a few parties and bridal showers, even two small weddings, had given additional funds and helped Daphne build up a little of the courage grief snatched away...again.
Being brave was always easier with a sidekick. Or a friend. And maybe a mentor.
And Granny had been all three at some point or other, especially after Mom’s death.
But tiptoeing back into being brave had paid off a little.
She just needed to figure out more ways to increase revenue and expand income.
And be braver.
Maybe... get back into creative baking... even without Granny along to brainstorm? Advertise more? After all, Daphne had started experimenting with new tea blends last month, even selling a few bags of them.Thatwas something.
“Finished cleaning up for the night already?”
She looked up to find her brother, Jack, sauntering in through the front door, looking, per usual, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He faked it well.
The open button-down over a T-shirt and khaki shorts probably helped. No one could look stressed in khaki shorts. It was scientifically impossible. Jack had tried to explain this to her once, complete with diagrams drawn on Tea Thyme napkins, until she’d threatened him with decaf.
And he’d finally grown comfortable enough showing off his prosthetics by wearing shorts. Of course once he’d moved from mechanicalto bionic prosthetic legs, he started bragging about being a “bionic man,” so maybe that helped.
Daphne stood and took two cups from the holder nearby. Jack’s afternoon visits had become a pattern since Granny’s death... maybe even before. He said he just wanted free tea and snacks, but Daphne knew he stopped in to make sure she was safe. To make sure she was still standing, still putting one foot in front of the other when grief tried to anchor her in place.
Moving forward was a little easier on some days than others.
And, although her faithful retriever, Winston, offered good company, Jack understood.
In ways no one else could.
Wearing his big-brother concern with a smile. He’d been doing that for much longer than since Granny’s passing. He’d had to grow up even faster than Daphne when, first, their dad left... and then Mom.
But for very different reasons. One had wanted to leave.
The other hadn’t.
“Rosemary stayed behind to help before rushing off to her night class.”
He walked over to the counter and took a seat on the stool, sliding his hand into the ever-full cookie jar and pulling out a gingersnap with the practiced ease of someone who’d been pilfering cookies since he was tall enough to reach the counter.
Daphne eyed the jar. What would people think if she sneaked in a few of her ginger-pecan snaps? Typical gingersnaps with a bit... more. Or some other creation she devised in the secrecy of her kitchen?
She’d started dabbling with Granny’s gingersnap recipe last week and her scones last night. Just a little. For some reason, even if only for herself, she needed to prove she’d captured some of that creativity Granny always seemed to have.
She used to have it too.
Death had a strange way of redirecting lots of “used tos.”
But what would her patrons think if she started serving some of her own creations?
