Page 18 of Morel Dilemma

“He did mention the diner and the Golden Whisk victory.” Tharla didn’t seem to hear the kitchen argument. “He sounded pleased that you’ve changed careers and are finally putting your education to use, but he’s distressed that you want to work there instead of in the family business.”

“It comes with free spruce-tipped bacon.”

Tharla opened her mouth, but didn’t seem to know how to answer that. Tezilly delivered a steaming latte with a heart design floating in the milk and extra cookies perched on the saucer. Maybe that was a thank-you for not being difficult. Tezilly held up a finger to Tharla, then nodded to the half-gnome server Vilma who was trotting out the door behind Tharla’s chair with a purse in her hand.

“If Father has a problem with me, he should come to me,” Rylana said.

“Exactly what I told him. And he said he would as soon as work slows down and he isn’t so busy.”

“So, after he retires?”

Tharla snorted. “Really, Ry. As if your father would ever retire.” She waved dismissively. “Anyway, it’s a more delicate matter that he wanted me to bring up with you. It would be nice if you would succumb to his desires and go into the family business so I wouldn’t have to hear about such things or answer questions on such matters. Though I suppose I can’t blame you entirely. If your brother had half a brain for business—or just half a brain, in general—Uncle Gavlin wouldn’t have pinned his hopes on you. He could also deign to train my husband if he weren’t so insistent on a blood relative being his heir and taking over the business one day.”

The door opened behind Tharla, Vilma returning with bouquets of fresh lavender and roses. Rylana’s jaw descended. Those had to cost more than Tharla’s coffee order, especially since the shop didn’t overcharge like the ridiculous place she’d mentioned. With only a glance at their table—or maybe the back of Tharla’s head—Vilma hurried into the kitchen.

“Maybe he’ll get more flexible when he realizes his children aren’t destined to be the heirs he dreamed of all through our youth,” Rylana offered. “And apparently beyond.”

“It depends if you consider it flexible that he sent me to ask if you’ve plans to marry and have babies. He’s concerned you’ll near the end of your fertile years without children.”

Rylana stared at her. “Father brought up my fertile years? And sent you to ask about them?”

She’d never discussed anything related to female reproduction with her father in her life. One time, during her teenage years, she’d had a public accident during her cycle and had mentioned her mortification to him. He’d rushed off and hired a maid to advise her on such matters.

“From what he hinted at,” Tharla said, “I gathered he wonders if you might have offspring with someone smart and entrepreneurial, which could result in grandchildren that he could help educate.”

“So they would take over the family business?”

“Yes. He’s tried to have influence over your brother’s children, but they largely use books to kill spiders. They excel more in hurling balls through sporting apparatuses than anything academic.”

Rylana rubbed her face. “Why doesn’t Father just find someone appropriate who isn’t a blood descendant but who will love and grow his business with the same dedication and reverence he has?”

“Such people exist?”

“They must. Look, even if I were going to have children with someone suitably smart and entrepreneurial…” Were such traits even handed down to one’s offspring? Her brother hadn’t inherited many attributes that could be described by such words, though she’d always believed that was more a lack of interest than inherent dullness. “That would be a long-term play for Father. He’s already in his early sixties.”

“I said the same thing—tactfully, so that he wouldn’t think I was calling him old. He’s assured me that he’ll cling to the mortal realm long enough to provide adequate tutelage.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

Tezilly arrived with Tharla’s drink. “Double-shot, no-foam, vanilla-bean cappuccino with a dusting of crushed lavender and rose petals.” The two cookies perched on the saucer were the smallest Rylana had seen come out of the kitchen, and there wasn’t a design swirled in the top of the drink. Maybe that was hard to achieve without foam and with flower petals scattered everywhere.

“Goodness,” Tharla said, “I was starting to wonder if you’d chartered a ship to sail to the equator to collect the beans personally for this.”

Tezilly smiled with an impressive lack of teeth baring. “Not quite.”

After delivering the drink, Tezilly went to the chalkboard and wrote lavender-and-rose-petal-dusted latte under the specials. After a thoughtful pause, she added lavender-and-rose-petal sugar cookies. Well, one did need to use up excess ingredients.

Tharla sipped from her drink, and Rylana expected a snide comment, but Tharla’s eyebrows rose, and she smacked her lips. “This actually isn’t bad. At my other coffee shop, the flower petals are usually dried, but they did crush them. The aroma is nice.” After another sip, she said, “If you’ve news on the marriage or fertility front, I will, with only a modicum of embarrassment, share it with your father.”

“I…” Rylana looked out the window, as if a sign from the gods might appear and save her from the conversation—or at least inform her on how to tactfully end it.

Someone with lush dark-green hair was looking in the front window of the diner. The person wore a cloak over a tan dress and athletic footwear. That wasn’t Sylin, but the similar hair made Rylana look again.

“Ry?” her cousin prompted.

The green-haired elf turned and looked at the coffee-shop window, as if she’d sensed Rylana watching. Oh, it was Layothlee. Of course.

“I’m not seeing anyone right now, unless one counts the dragon I share a storeroom with at night.” Rylana delved into her pocket to pay for the drinks, leaving a nice tip.