She cringed. Oh dear heavens, had she just killed him?
Definitely not the best way to prove Southern hospitality.
She took a step back from the door, contemplating whether to run away, when the door swung wide.
There stood Finn, looking decidedly less put together than during their first encounter. His dark hair stuck up at odd angles, and a fine layer of dust covered his plain white T-shirt, which clung just enough to his frame to make Daphne acutely aware that he must work out regularly. A small streak of dark red paint decorated his left cheekbone like he was either preparing to free Scotland or make a touchdown. The overall effect was irritatingly appealing.
Finn blinked, the surprise in his eyes quickly replaced by that infuriating half smile that did absolutely nothing to her heart rate. Nothing at all. The same way she absolutely didn’t notice how his forearms looked with his sleeves pushed up or how his eyes were the exact shade of chamomile with just enough cream.
She preferred surprise. At least surprise didn’t make her stomach do that annoying little flip.
“Ah, my tea... neighbor,” he said with a nod, his British accent somehow both crisp and lazy at once. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure at”—he glanced down at an imaginary watch on his wrist—“half past too early in the morning?”
Daphne’s smile died on her lips. She’d waited until seven thirty! And clearly, he’d been awake already!
Costume dramas failed to prepare her for the sunny sidedownof the English. Mr. Darcy never gave Elizabeth Bennet sass about visiting hours. Then again, Mr. Darcy never had bedhead that managed to look artfully tousled rather than like the victim of a ceiling fan accident, which was Daphne’s usual morning look.
Perhaps it was time to call upon the strength of someone much greater than Granny.God, help her.“We weren’t properly introduced yesterday.”
“No, I don’t believe we were. I think you were much too distracted by my car to adhere to such whims as introductions.” His brow rose at a flirty tilt, somehow increasing the heat in her cheeks to the temperature of freshly baked scones.
She attempted to ignore the fluttering in her chest. Because of the car. Not the man. Or the grin. Or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was trying not to laugh at her. Definitely the car.
“I’m Daphne Austen.” She thrust the tray forward before she could change her mind, before her traitorous brain could conjure up any more inappropriate thoughts about accent-wielding pub owners. “And I brought breakfast.” She clung to a smile that was threatening to flee the premises along with her dignity. “A neighborly gesture as a welcome to Main Street, Wisteria.”
“I thought you gave me a welcome yesterday.” His lips crooked a bit higher, topped with a wink, and her face jumped into sauna territory. At this rate, she’d need to market her tea as “Embarrassment Flush: the exfoliating heat treatment you never asked for.”
Hmm... maybe that would prove a good social media post?
“Can we please move beyond yesterday?” she snipped. “It was a momentary weakness that willnothappen again.” She emphasizednotfor her own benefit.
“Disappointing. It’s been much too long since my... car has benefited from such open appreciation.” He leaned against the doorframe, somehow rocking “disheveled” in a way that defied human logic.
She narrowed her eyes at him, attempting to sort out if he intended the double entendre or not. The gleam in his eyes suggested he absolutely did. “Do you like scones? Muffins?” she blurted, desperate to redirect the conversation to safer territory.
“Scones?” Finn’s gaze dropped to the covered tray, and another look of genuine surprise crossed his features, softening the sharp edges of his smirk. “You baked for me?”
“I thought you might appreciate a civilized start to your first morning in Wisteria.”
“Civilized?” One brow lifted. “You do realize it’s barely eight? In Britain, this would qualify as a dawn raid.”
“From the paint on your face, I’d say you’re well prepared.” The comment just popped right out, and instead of offending him, it only inspired his grin all the more. Ack! She rushed ahead. “I happen to believe that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and besides, we didn’t start off on the best footing. I thought I’d extend this olive branch, or scones, as the case may be, as a second attempt at a first meeting.” She smiled, despite the fact that her inner voice was screaming,Retreat!with the—to keep with the raid theme—vigor of a general facing an army.
The problem was, retreating would mean admitting defeat. And if there was one thing Daphne Austen wouldn’t do, it was admit defeat to a handsome Englishman who mocked her tea shop. Even if he did look unfairly attractive while covered in paint and... flour?
Finn exhaled a laugh that shouldn’t have sounded so appealing. “So this is an attempt at diplomacy? I’m flattered. Though I should warn you, the English have a rather spotty history with that.”
She almost laughed. He shouldn’t be funny.
“An opportunity,” she corrected sweetly. Too sweetly. Sugar-coated poison apple sweetly.
A glint lit his eyes, something between amusement and... was that appreciation? “Miss Austen, I feel we are not acquainted well enough for—”
“For you to apologize, Mr. Gutter Brain.” She thrust the tray into his chest with just enough force to make him catch his breath. “You insulted my business, my livelihood, and, frankly, my excellent taste in decor. The least you could do is accept my neighborly gesture without innuendo.”
Finn took the tray with a chuckle, stepping back from the impactenough for Daphne to enter. “By all means, come in.” He waved toward her with exaggerated gallantry. “Though, I warn you, the amenities are somewhat lacking at present.”
Daphne stepped into what used to be the Morgans’ sandwich shop. But before that it was—Daphne almost smiled from the memory—Mrs. Duncan’s antique shop. She’d bought her first secondhand teapot from Duncan’s when she was nine, a chipped little thing with pink roses that Granny had helped her restore. It still sat in her shop window, a reminder that sometimes the most precious things are a little broken.
