“Oh, this place is adorable!” She took in the room, smile growing. “The photos online just don’t do it justice. It feels like I just stepped into a storybook.”
Daphne’s pride did a little internal curtsy. “That’s exactly the idea. Tea should be an experience, not just a drink. A little daily escape.”
“That’s what I keep telling Travis!” She stopped in front of the food-laden table. “That the food and the setting are part of the whole thing. Our wedding’s small on purpose—for the magic, the intimacy.”
“And...” Daphne arched a brow, gesturing toward a chair in front of the delectable display. “Your fiancé doesn’t quite see the vision?”
“Oh, he wants it to be nice. But where food is concerned?” Lindsay sat gracefully, crossing her legs. “He’s obsessed with hearty, heavy comfort food. Think steak pies, pasties, full English breakfasts. If it doesn’t involve a stick of butter and a food coma, he’s skeptical.”
Daphne arched a brow. “He sounds like an experience all on his own.”
Lindsay laughed. “He’s a wonderful man, but when it comes to food, he’s almost the equivalent of a walking cookbook from 1974.” Her grin softened. “He appreciates refined food of course, but deep down he wants meals that remind him of growing up in Yorkshire.”
“That type of food has its place.” Daphne filed that away with interest. “But let’s see if we can expand his culinary worldview.” She laid out the first round of her tasting menu—miniature savory tarts: wild mushroom and Gruyère, caramelized onion and goat cheese, and smoked salmon with crème fraîche and a dill sprig so tiny it looked like it belonged in a dollhouse garden.
After all, her grandmother had been English. And Daphne loved all things British. So surely, with a few tweaks here and there, she could dip further into more extensive savory options.
Think outside the box some more.
She drew in a breath. Not everything had to fit into her self-made boxes, did they? This wedding opportunity certainly didn’t. It came out of nowhere. Totally outside her comfort zone.
And she already felt it pushing her in ways she’d been too afraid to try.
But wasn’t “necessity the mother of invention”? And maybe even the “mother of creative growing pains” in this case?
Lindsay took a bite of the mushroom tart and groaned softly. “Okay. That’s... absurdly good. And the crust? Flaky, buttery perfection. Like a hug from Mary Berry herself.”
Daphne’s heart did a traitorous little skip. Not from the compliment—but because she suddenly realized she wanted this. Not just the job. But the chance tobethis version of herself in front of more than just her gran or Jack. Confident. Creative. Capable of making a roomful of people melt with food. With joy.
And... to afford plumbing repairs was a nice by-product too.
“And that onion tart?” Lindsay was already reaching for the next. “Elegant. Flavorful.” She reached into her bag. “Mind if I take some photos? My followers will love this.”
Mind? Trydie of internal squealing. Lindsay Monroe had more than thirty million followers on her lifestyle, travel, and beauty social media pages. And she was posting her dishes!Hers!
“Of course.” Daphne nodded, her voice breaking into a little squeak at the end.
As Lindsay artfully arranged a few tarts on her plate, Daphne unveiled the sweets: raspberry-rose pavlova with sugared petals, a delicate Earl Grey peach tartlet, and an apple cider tea cake dusted with a whisper of cinnamon sugar.
“Oh wow.” Lindsay placed the remaining pavlova in her mouth, angling her phone for the perfect shot. “This isn’t just good. It’s couture for your mouth.” She angled her phone for another shot, this time of the tea cake. “You know what I mean, right?”
“I do,” Daphne said with a somewhat-tempered grin. “I like to think of it as emotional support sugar.”
“I knew I liked you,” Lindsay said, taking a bite of the tartlet and actually moaning. “If your pastries can make me forget that our caterer bailed, I’m calling you a miracle worker.”
“Only if miracles include a carb-based coping strategy,” Daphne quipped, refilling her tea. “You should see how people melt after a bite of scone and a whiff of bergamot. I’m telling you, baked goods are like therapy.”
“Wisteria is like that too.” Lindsay sighed as she took another sip of tea. “The entire community has welcomed me like I never left. It’s very grounding.”
“Well,” Daphne said, surprised at the sudden kinship blooming between them, “I think these hills carve out a little spot in everyone’s heart who’s lived here long enough.”
Lindsay nodded, then turned thoughtful. “I never realized how much it would mean to be here again, and now to use a local business for the wedding? It makes it feel more real somehow. Like... home.”
Daphne froze at the unexpected comradery. Lindsay had been all over the world. Met famous people. Made tons of money. But the fact that Wisteria still meant something to her... well, the distancebetween struggling tea shop owner and world-renowned influencer didn’t seem as large as it did a few minutes before. “Home is a special place.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Andspecialis exactly what I want people to experience at my wedding,” Lindsay continued, her eyes bright. “I don’t just want good food—I want food that delights people. The kind of thing where every bite feels like a treat, from first look to last taste. And maybe even helps people experience this”—she waved her hand toward the window—“home of ours. That’s why I wanted to meet with you first while Travis is meeting with Finn.”
Daphne’s heart did a very unhelpful little hiccup at the mention of Finn, but she wasn’t sure if it was from professional rivalry... or the way he’d kissed her like—her gaze dropped to the peach tartlet—like she tasted good. Heat ticked up her neck and into her cheeks.
