“You’re ridiculous.” She shook her head and drew her cup close, breathing in the tiny hint of orange she’d slipped in among the other ingredients. Something in her chest loosened at his words. “By the way, Mrs. Abernathy liked it too.”
“You served this to the Dragon Lady of Rosewood Street? And survived?” Jack nearly choked on his tea. “Wait—she liked it?”
Daphne bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Asked for seconds, even.”
Jack let out a whoop. “Then it’s official. You’ve created magic in a cup.” He raised his mug in a toast. “To Daphne’s... wait, it still needs a name.”
She hesitated. Then, on a breath, “What about Midnight Muse?”
His smile softened. “Perfect.” He clinked his mug against hers. “To Midnight Muse—Daphne Austen’s first official”—he raised a brow—“and solely original contribution to Tea Thyme’s legacy.” He took another sip and pointed at her with his cup. “And this only proves my point.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh?”
“You’ve got the talent, Daph. You’ve always had it. This tea is both a tribute to Granny and completely your own. That’s exactly what this shop should be.” His voice dipped into something quieter, somethingthat brushed against the most vulnerable part of her heart. “And before you argue”—he lifted his brows—“I just want to add that Granny would approve.”
Warmth swelled into her vision. Having Granny’s approval had always meant something special. She’d been their anchor when Mom got sick, taking them in, making ends meet, all while watching her only daughter succumb to the relentless grip of aggressive cancer.
Daphne turned away, walking to the tea tins, giving herself time to gather her emotions as she nestled Midnight Muse among the others.
Change had always felt hard.
Life-alteringly hard.
Goodbyehard.
But with Granny encouraging her, she’d navigated and even grown through it.
Yet maybe, just maybe, some changes could still be... good?
And maybe all those times Granny had been helping her made her brave enough to make changes on her own. Maybe?
“So, have you had a chance to meet your new neighbor yet?”
And just like that, all the warm, budding feelings of growth and optimism fizzled into the ether.
She snatched a pair of tongs and turned toward the pastry case. “Briefly.” With swift, possibly aggressive movements, she began relocating the leftover scones to their overnight container.
“And I take it that ‘briefly’ wasn’t a good experience, judging by the way you’re attacking those pastries.”
“He made fun of Tea Thyme, Jack.” She whirled toward him, raspberry scone gripped tightly in the tongs. “Called it a princess tea shop. Had the audacity to assume my clientele consists solely of gray-haired ladies and my shop smells like potpourri.”
Jack’s lips tightened before he shoved a cookie into his mouth. Whole.
He’d better not even slightly agree with Mr. Fish and Chips. Not a bit.
Daphne pointed the scone—tongs and all—directly at him. “You know I have more variety than that. Today I had a whole host of ages.”
Jack took an exaggerated sip of tea, expression bursting with the effort to contain laughter. And that boorish British bad boy wasn’t right. Her precious tea shop was relevant. Special.
She’d prove it!
“And just like we discussed,” she continued, tossing the scone into the container, “I’m planning some changes. Create a”—she shrugged—“cool online presence. Social media, promotions, the works.”
Jack only nodded, humor dancing in his eyes.
She pointed the tongs again, warning him to contain that laughter. “Just because I have a vintage shop, enjoy classic fashion, and may have a slight obsession with England—”
“Slight?” Jack coughed. “Your goldfish were named after the Brontë sisters.”
