She scrambled for a distraction.
Jack leaned in, eyeing her with a slow, knowing smirk. “Don’t tell me Daphne Austen is breaking tradition and trying something new again in this shop!”
Heat rushed to Daphne’s cheeks as she rounded the counter and casually slid the tin out of sight. “Just... just experimenting.”
“Experimenting?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up with exaggerated surprise. “The same person who refused to change the Christmas decorations last year because ‘Granny always put the garland exactly three inches from the ceiling’?”
“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a tea blend. Something I’ve been... working on. At night. When I can’t sleep.” When the shop was quiet and memories of Granny hit particularly hard.
“Like some of those recipes you concocted in the wee hours after Granny died?”
The tenderness in his teasing, the way he understood those moments—and had, in fact, joined her in a few—stung her eyes a little. “Yeah, kind of. I mean...” She shrugged, even as her throat tightened around the words. “Like you said... Don’t you think it’s about time?”
Jack shifted closer, resting his elbows on the counter. “Can I try it?”
It was one thing to allow a few of the regulars a taste. Most of them were the sweetest ladies on the planet and never found fault with Daphne (or Granny) in any way. But Jack? Jack knew her better than anyone.
And he’d speak the truth.
She hesitated, her fingers curling around the tin protectively.Maybe she’d lost her creative touch after so long. “I’m not sure I’m ready foryouto try it. I mean... I think it needs... something.” Like courage.
“Let me be the judge of that.” His gentle urging nudged her bravery up a few notches.
And shewantedthe truth.
Wanted to be brave.
The old Daphne was practically wrestling to get out.
She loosened her grip on the tin.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Jack waggled his brows. “I hate it, and you never make me tea again? Actually, that might save me from your experimental phase where you nearly poisoned me with that seaweed concoction.”
“That was matcha, and it’s very healthy,” she shot back, laughing. The tension in her chest eased just a fraction. Giving herself permission to... dream, like Jack said? Maybe that wasn’t so scary.
“Okay, but don’t just gulp it down. Actually taste it.”
She prepared the tea with careful precision, measuring the loose leaves, monitoring the water temperature, and timing the steep with the ancient kitchen timer Granny had used for decades. The familiar ritual calmed her nerves as Jack watched—and pilfered two more gingersnaps from the jar.
“What do you call it?” he asked as she poured the amber liquid into his cup. The aroma bloomed in the space between them—bergamot and black tea, yes, but with notes of lavender, warm spice, and a hint of citrus brightness that made it distinctly... hers.
“Not quite sure yet,” she admitted, unwilling to share the whimsical midnight thought that had sparked the blend’s creation.
Jack lifted the cup to his lips, eyes twinkling. “Smells great.”
Daphne held her breath, watching every minuscule movement of his face.
He tilted his head, swallowing, and then took another sip, longerthis time. His smile emerged slowly, brightening his entire expression so much that she actually felt his pride.
“This is really good, Daph. Like,reallygood. It’s familiar but... different. In a good way.” He took another appreciative sip. “It tastes like...” He searched for words. “Like tradition with a twist.”
“Tradition with a twist?” She arched a brow, unable to suppress a grin. “Is that another hint to encourage me to branch out?”
He chuckled. “I didn’t plan it that way, but sometimes I’m brilliant without trying.”
She shook her head, pouring herself a cup.
“Somehow it fits you.” He moved his palm across the air as if displaying a headline. “‘Classic with Spice.’”
