Resist Finn Dashwood’s charm?
She stiffened her resolve. Quite easily.
Wickhams were Wickhams, and she knew the end result of liking one. She’d experienced it before. Sure, it had been in high school, but those first loves should count double.
Maybe triple.
Daphne eyed the French vanilla on the shelf. With a shrug, she added some of it to the malt cup before placing the cup in the mixing machine.
It was bad enough she’d let herself indulge in that little bit of petty revenge with the chalkboard. But it had felt so satisfying to see her handiwork this morning—especially when she’d spotted him through the window, reading it with that reluctant almost-smile tugging at his lips.
Not that she’d been watching forhimor anything.
She reached for the whipped cream canister, pausing as AC/DC gave way to “Welcome to the Jungle.” Good heavens, the man’s musical taste was as subtle as a wrecking ball. And as welcome.
Fit his personality.
“Daphne dear.”
The familiar sound of Granny D rose from the woman’s regular table by the front window. Every day she came. Every day she talked about how much she’d loved her dearest friend, Daphne’s grandmother. And every day Granny D tried to convince Daphne that “romance was very close” for her. She’d been saying it for two years. Evidently, Granny D’s definition ofclosewas different from Daphne’s. Two years of “very close” seemed more like “wildly distant” in Daphne’s dictionary. But there was no one like Granny D to fill in the gap of a missing grandmother. She’d been Granny’s best friend, after all. As opposite as chalk and cheese, as Granny would say, but a great match. Granny D probably knew Daphne and Jack better than anyone in town. And even though Granny’s class clashed with Granny D’s... uniqueness, no one spread love around, in her own quirky way, like Granny D.
Daphne left the milkshake and picked up a fresh pot of hot water along with a Ceylon and India tea bag, moving to the woman’s table. “Here you go.”
Wrinkles creased the woman’s face, and her pale eyes twinkled. “Thank you.” But as Daphne stepped back, Granny D grabbed her wrist, the woman’s six beaded bracelets clinking together like tiny wind chimes. “I dreamed about you again last night, sugar. Three times with the same dream. You know what that means.”
That Granny D was bound and determined to keep Appalachian wives’ tales alive and daunting. “That you love me a whole lot to be thinking so hard about me?”
Her smile stretched full, crinkling her face all the more. “Now, sweet girl, you know good and well I pray for you every night afore bed, but this was a surefire promise that love is comin’ your way, Daphne. I’ve dreamed of your wedding daythree times in a row.”
She emphasized her final sentence with enough volume to draw a look or two from the neighboring tables. Heat skirted up into Daphne’s face, so she bent closer to the woman, lowering her voice in a subtle hint. “You keep praying those prayers for me then, Granny D.”
With a kiss to the woman’s cheek, Daphne checked on a few guests and then returned to the counter to pour the creamy chocolate mixture into two glasses. Rosemary didn’t deserve one after her teasing.
Daphne sighed.
But she’d give the other milkshake to her anyway.
Because she was friend-since-grade-school and knew-all-Daphne’s-secrets Rosemary. Also, probably deserved a best employee award just for putting up with Daphne over the past year.
Tossing a straw in each of the glasses, she closed her eyes and sipped up the contents of the nearest one. Flavors and chilly cream poured over her tongue. Rich chocolate inspired by the sweet hints of French vanilla and edged with salty caramel. Salt. Sweetness. Rich and dangerously delicious.
Who said she only had to serve tea, right?
For some reason, that had been another crazy rule Daphne had given herself.
She took another taste, and the flavors deepened.
This was definitely a new treat to add to her summer specials list.
“Rosemary.” She rushed from around the counter toward her friend, who stood near the front window, just as the bell over Tea Thyme’s door chimed to announce a new guest. “You have to try this! It’s going on the menu—”
Someone entered, and the air shifted as if the entire shop had been reset to a different frequency.
Daphne’s feet and expression froze.
Finn Dashwood stood in her doorway, looking both out of place and frustratingly at ease, a small container in his hands. His presence alone seemed to dwarf the dainty decor, and the contrast of his dark jeans and fitted gray Henley against the pastel paradise of her tea shop was almost laughable.
He wasn’t a Darcy. Or a Knightley. Or a Brandon.
