@TeaThymeNC:Wow. I see we’re asking the hard-hitting questions. Careful, Finn. The internet might just prefer sophistication over beer snacks. #TeamTeaRoom #TeamTea #SteepedLeaf4Life
@TGDPub:Pasties are sophisticated. They’ve got layers. Also, wasn’t it you who nearly proposed to a short rib last night? #TeamPub #SmokedMeatIsLove #SheMoaned #Receipts
@TeaThymeNC:A moment of weakness. Clearly. And it was a private moment between a woman and a very goodrib. Lord, help me! You just told the whole town! And I did not moan. #FakeNews #RibsRNotWorthThis
@JackAustenPhotography:[blurry zoomed-in photo of Daphne’s face mid-bite] I believe the technical term is food euphoria. Evidence submitted to the court. #SorryNotSorry #BigBrotherDuties #ReceiptsCaptured
@TeaThymeNC:DELETE THAT IMMEDIATELY. #Betrayed #NoMoreFreePhotography #TimeForANewWillAgain
@TGDPub:I’d like to order a framed print, please. For the pub wall. For... customer testimonial purposes. #HighestPriority #WillPayPremium
@TeaThymeNC:[photo of perfectly plated rosemary sea salt focaccia next to a teacup] Don’t you dare. Or you’ll never seen how well this pairs with your ribs. #NotAboveBlackmail #BreadSwoon
@PastorNateNHC:Remember, friends: “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” Proverbs 16:18. That said, my vote’s for the collaboration. #JustSaying #BringingPeopleTogetherSince2019 #AlsoThoseRibsAndFocacciaSoundAmazing
@TGDPub:Listen to the preacher, Daphne. You bring the focaccia. I’ll bring the ribs. Let’s see what happens. #CollabOrFlirt #ISayBoth
@TeaThymeNC:Fine. But only if you try some of my best tea too... with photo evidence. Also, I demand another piece of that sticky toffee pudding. #TermsAndConditions #BreadBeforeDudes #StillNotFlirting
@WisteriaWeekly:A surprise collaboration (#TeamFocacciaRibs) Vote now! Results in next week’s issue! #WisteriaFoodWars #BettingPoolInProgress #GrubWars
@NCFoodies:Thanks so much for alerting us to the #FoodieWar happening over in #Wisteria @LindsayMonroeOfficial They’re all over social media. #WeWantIn
@WisteriaWeekly:You two are causing more commotion than the upcoming Harvest Festival. Just imagine if you had your own booths. Now that would draw a sizable crowd at this point.
@SheriffGrady:It would. More people. More revenue for our dear town.
@TGDPub:Did the sheriff just comment on my social media page?
@TeaThymeNC:It’s about revenue. Of course he did.
@JackAustenPhotography:And to get his name on the same page as Lindsay and Travis. #PlayingWithTheBigBoys
@SheriffGrady:I’ve been playing the game longer than y’all have been alive.
@LindsayMonroeOffical:I love helping my hometown. And maybe that means the folks of Wisteria can help us decide about our caterer. Especially with a real cook-off? What do you say, folks? Send help. Or votes. #WeddingWars #HowDoWeChoose
@TravisLangfordConnects:@LindsayMonroeOfficial Great idea. The whole town is following the plans online anyway. Might as well let them join in.
A quiet knock stirred Daphne from the kind of slumber that only happened by accident—and only when you were so cozy that your body gave in before your mind did.
Lucy lay curled on the couch beneath a fuzzy blanket, her long, dark hair fanned across a floral pillow. A sprinkle of freckles peekedover the bridge of her nose, and one arm had flopped dramatically over the side like a princess who had fainted mid-ball. Daphne blinked fully awake, gently closedThe Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and stretched to stand, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty in her living room.
About an hour after arriving at Finn’s pub, Lucy had started to yawn. Another half hour in, she’d wilted just a little more—still smiling, still game to pass out menus and wave like a celebrity, but the sparkle had dimmed behind her eyes. So Daphne had offered to take her back to the apartment, let her rest if she wanted.
Finn thanked her, told her he’d expected Margaret Coleman from the inn to take Lucy for the night, but the woman had come down with a stomach virus that morning, so she was out of commission.
What followed had felt like a balm to Daphne’s slightly weathered soul.
A cup of tea for both of them—in real china, thank you very much—and a round of princess braids while Lucy made up a bedtime story involving a sword-wielding duchess and a dragon who liked sparkly accessories. It had made something warm bloom in Daphne’s chest. Not quite grief, not quite nostalgia. Just... a sweet ache. The kind that whispered of things you hadn’t realized you missed... or wanted.
Another knock. This one gently insistent.
Daphne padded barefoot to the door and opened it to find Finn on the other side, looking like a well-worn dream. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves still rolled up at the elbows, and his hair was doing that tousled thing that looked expensive and intentional but Daphne suspected came from running his hands through it five hundred times. He offered a tired smile, and she nearly melted to the wood floor.
He looked unfairly good at midnight after a long day of work. Which was rude.
And weird things happened at midnight.
