His eyes widened.“Yours?”
“That’s right. It was my grandmother’s.” Her chin lifted a notch. “She was a wonderful English lady who knew how to offer class and charm to all her guests—regardless of their sentimentality.”
She focused her attention on his raised brows. Looking him in the eyes wasn’t safe for her brain cell health.
“And perhaps”—she glared with every ounce of defense she could muster, her pink nail a fashionable weapon—“Mister Fish and Chips, you could do with a bit of class and charm yourself.” She gestured at the car. “Cabriolet notwithstanding.”
Notwithstanding?Good grief! So that’s when the English major decided to show up.
His grin gave way to another breath-altering chuckle—a deep, rolling sound that didvery bad thingsto her pulse.
“Well,” he said, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I guess I’ll have to drop by for a cup of tea sometime and see what all the fuss is about... neighbor.”
Before she could respond—before she could even think—he winked, spun on his heel, and strolled toward the building next door, leaving her rooted in place.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.Did he just dismiss her?
Dismiss her? After the way he’dacted?
With another glare toward his retreating—and sauntering—form, she marched back toward her precious tea shop, determined to protect it from the likes of a neighboring Wickham. Clearly, dashing men were not to be trusted.
And she’d better remember that fast.
Finn Dashwood leaned one shoulder against the doorframe of his new building, arms crossed, eyes narrowing on the blonde in the pink suit storming into the tea shop next door. Her slim legs carried her with determined efficiency—right up until she shot him a glare sharp enough to peel paint.
The door slammed behind her.
He winced.
Not the most promising start to his transition from successful English businessman to small-town American restaurant owner. But little Miss Tea Barbie was much too easy to fluster to let the opportunity pass. A slow chuckle rumbled in his chest at the memory of catching her pressed up against his car, fumbling over her words and pink-faced.
And those legs.
Her long, blonde hair practically begged for a man’s fingers to tangle in it. A petite frame rounded in all the right places—even if she hid it beneath clothes that looked like they were stolen from an uptight librarian. A very brightly colored uptight librarian.
Not to mention that accent.
His chest gave a slight twinge.
If all the women in this town spoke in that easy drawl, he might have to fight a grin on a daily basis.
Attraction always made life interesting—a welcome flirtation—but he had zero plans to act on it. Not withanyone, and certainly not with some pink-clad tea shop owner who used words like “notwithstanding” and probably named all of her teapots after Disney characters. He considered her for a moment and then shook his head. No, that one likely named hers after Jane Austen characters.
From the decor on the outside of her shop, there was no knowing what sort of floral explosion the inside re-created. He’d never seen so much pink in his life—which was quite the statement, consideringhis six-year-old daughter refused to leave her room without wearing at least three shades of it.
Besides, he’d known Miss Tea Shop’s type before—romantic, wide-eyed, convinced the universe sent her signs. The kind who’d hand him a carefully curated playlist of “songs that remind me of us” by date two and expect a proposal by date six. Then, when life got hard or the knight fell off the horse or something better came along... he’d be the one to suffer.
Him and his sweet girl.
However—he stifled a groan—he could at least remain polite.
He sighed, already planning his apology. He’d smooth things over later with an easy smile and a box of chocolates. Maybe flowers. Unless she was the grudge-holding type.
He frowned. Judging by the door slam, though...
Finn shook his head and stepped into the restaurant, surveying his new kingdom. It was still rather empty, except for what Harry had set up for him over the last few weeks—a few tables and chairs, a kitchen in decent shape, and a wall of dark wood trim that suited his plans well. The ghastly blue paint and floral wallpaper, however, had to go. This was meant to be a pub, not a nursery.
At least part of the paper had already been removed, so it was left to Finn to finish before opening in a week. A feat that never would have happened without some long phone calls and careful intervention by Harry, who could get everything in order while Finn moved himself and Lucy across the ocean.
