And proved he’d witnessed every inch of her not-so-subtle inspection.
There would come a day when she’d respond like a grown-up around handsome men.Thiswas not that day.
“It’s very English,” she said, her mind offering a slow clap for that brilliant deduction. “Otherwise, I would’ve given you a proper small-town welcome.”
“Slack-jawed and pawing my car is not the usual greeting here, then?” His lips twitched.
Her eyes watered from the swelter in her face. She smoothed her blazer with her palms and stood straighter, determined to salvage a shred of dignity. She was Southern and somewhat intelligent. She could handle this. Just don’t stare too deeply into his eyes. “How are you enjoying your visit?” Good. Progress. Sensical question.
“Visit?” He chuckled softly. Of course his laugh was sexy. “I’m moving here.”
Her heart stopped for the second time in three minutes. “M-moving?”
He gestured toward the vacant building beside hers, the For Salesign still crooked in the window. “Actually, I’ve purchased the entire building. Plan to open a restaurant.”
The lump in Daphne’s throat lodged a little tighter. Harry Coleman had been in and out of the building for weeks, so she’d just supposed he’d purchased it as an additional business for the Wisteria Manor.
But this guy was certainly not Harry.
Her gaze shot to the windows of her little apartment above Tea Thyme and her brain flatlined yet again, this time for a full five seconds. This had to be a prank. “Purchased it?” Or an out-of-body experience. “As in... forever?”
For a former English major, she was having surprising difficulty finding coherent words to respond. This magnificent specimen of English masculinity was going to liveandwork next door to her?
“Well, I’ll give it a trial run of six months before I answer that question.” His voice dipped lower, almost a purr. “You know, see how the neighbors turn out.”
Oh for the love of biscuits.Was he flirting? No, surely not. This kind of man didn’t flirt with the likes of her.
Argh. She was a mess. And she tried so hard never to be a mess.
But, in her defense, her recent experience with romance consisted of two-dimensional costume dramas, a romantic movie collection large enough to start up her own Netflix channel, and a well-worn edition of Jane Austen’s works, which left her poorly equipped for three-dimensional swooniness with a heart-melting grin to boot. Not to mention whatever leathery citrus scent wafted off the man.
Her knees gave a little quake in homage.
She desperately needed more practice with real-life attraction, because practicing in her head was nothinglike this.
Harry had mentioned in passing someone opening up a new restaurant in town, but he’d left out dazzling details like handsome, British, Cabriolet owner,next-door neighbor, and—her attention dropped to his left hand—possibly single?
The glint in his golden eyes lit her face with another flicker of responsive fire. He oozed charm from the top of his dark head to the soles of his... Well, her somewhat dazed perusal of his glorious person hadn’t made it to his feet yet, but his shoes were probably adorable too.
She forced a steady breath. “What kind of restaurant?”
“English cuisine.” His gaze held hers again and she looked away for sanity’s sake. “Do you fancy fish and chips?”
“Fancy?” Her attention shot back to his face. Did Queen Elizabeth II have excellent posture? “Of course. Is that what you do? Make fish and chips?”
Ah yes. Eloquence, thy name is Daphne.
“Hopefully more than that.” He chuckled again, the sound sending a residual tingle trembling through her at Richter-scale proportions.
Seizure by accent... or English chuckle. Was that even possible?
“Though I’m not sure how it’ll do next to a princess tea shop.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward Tea Thyme. “Might be a little too much potpourri in the air for the crowd I’m hoping to draw in.”
Every hyperventilating scene from her romantic future came to a screeching halt in her head. She examined her adorable storefront with its pink door and picturesque awning, along with a window display featuring her grandmother’s favorite tea set. Her brilliant daydream turned monochrome and her stomach collapsed as if someone had just questioned the romantic validity ofPride and Prejudice. “Tea Thyme?”
“Clearly there’s a great deal of sentimentality in that one.” He shook his head. “I suppose the gray-haired ladies who come for tea will be put off by the crowd I draw. Not exactly your mum’s sort of company, if you know what I mean?”
All heat drained from her face and rushed back with enough force to boil water. “That’s... that’smy princesstea shop.” She jabbed amanicured finger at him. “And I’ll have you know it’s very popular with people of all ages. Not just gray-haired ladies.” She raised her chin, though the mental tally of customers under sixty wasn’t encouraging.
