Her shoulders slumped, and though he’d meant for the deflection, he hated the disappointment in her eyes. Despite himself, he offered, “I suppose you could call it something like... The Lizzy Bennet.”
Her gaze snapped back to his, blue eyes wide. “Why?”
He shrugged and took another sip, rolling the flavors over his tongue. French vanilla. A great addition to dark chocolate. “Well, the salty part certainly suits her sharp wit.”
Daphne tilted her head, studying him. He couldn’t resist continuing, removing the disappointment. “And the dark chocolate? That’s the depth of her character.”
Her lips parted slightly, the pink bottom one looking entirely too soft for his peace of mind.
“But the surprising hint of French vanilla... with almonds, is it?” He leaned in just a fraction. “You taste it as an afterthought. Subtle, unexpected. It makes you take a second sip just to be sure. Much like Elizabeth and Darcy, wouldn’t you say? The first impression wasn’t as clear as the second.”
A tiny, strangled sound came from her throat before she abruptly looked away.
“Wowee, sounds like I need a sip of this here milkshake, Daphne dear.”
Finn turned just in time to catch Granny D arching a knowingbrow at him, humor twinkling in her pale eyes. “She has a tendency to experiment with new drinks when she’s bothered about somethin’.”
Bothered. His gaze flicked back to Daphne, whose cheeks had taken on a shade that would put the raspberries in her scones to shame. A rather fetching hue on her.
“That’s not true, Granny D.”
“So frustration inspires your creativity, does it?” He took another slow sip of the milkshake, his gaze never leaving her face. “I’m surprised you haven’t invented at least a dozen new recipes since I moved in.”
“Actually,” she muttered, recovering just enough to give him a defiant tilt of her chin, “I have had more ideas recently.”
“I wonder why.”
She ignored that. “I haven’t modified the food recipes, though. They’re exactly as my grandmother made them.”
“Are they?”
Her spine straightened, that familiar fight stance kicking in. “Some things are already perfect as they are.”
Ah yes, the color-coded kitchen, the meticulously arranged canisters—this woman lived for structure. “I’m certain she wouldn’t mind. Experimenting is part of the fun of cooking.”
Granny D chuckled and took another bite of the toffee, waving the fork at him. “Now I’m gonna get back to my tea afore the two of ya’ll come to blows, but it was a real pleasure to meet you, Finn Dashwood.”
He dipped his head to the woman, her colorful clothing and string of varying length necklaces marking her in his memory. “A delight, Granny D.”
She reached up and patted his cheek. He nearly flinched at the unexpected... affection. His mind wanted to label it as assault, but he was in the South. Not England.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow with some of my homemade lemonade.”
For some reason, the statement sounded more like a warning than an offering. Daphne’s raised brows may have confirmed the former.
As soon as the woman exited the kitchen, Daphne added, “It’s adult lemonade. Just to prepare you. Homemade.” Her look turned pointed. “From themountains.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, the mountains are great. I’m just saying that Granny D’s lemonade packs an unexpected punch.” She dipped the fork back into the pudding and took another bite before jabbing the fork toward him. “And, for your information, I don’t have to experiment to know when a good thing is good.”
Ah, he’d hit on her pride. Why not poke a little more? “But not great?”
“Do you just like to argue?”
“Not usually.” He lifted the glass again, watching her over the rim. “But you make it so much fun.”
Her lips twitched, and for a moment he thought she might actually laugh. Then, as if remembering herself, she abruptly restacked a nearby row of napkins.
