Tea with Emma (Book One of the Teacup Novellas) Page 9

  She stared at him. A hiccup quirked her body.

  “I know, I know. But you must believe me—I am a changed man.”

  She blinked, then looked over his shoulder. “That must make your girlfriend very happy.”

  “Girlfriend? But I don’t—” He followed her line of vision, his eyes landing on the BMW across the street. “Ohhh . . . . no, that’s not what . . . oh my, then you must have seen—”

  “I was sitting here on the porch that night. You opened the door and then she kissed you so tenderly, and, well, I just assumed, since the car is there all the time now—”

  “Maddie,” he chuckled. “You’re quite mistaken. I assure you no one is living with me, nor do I have a ‘girlfriend.’”

  “You don’t? I mean, you don’t! I mean—oh . . .” Her face crimsoned. “Because to be perfectly honest,” she looked back into his eyes, “and I think it’s time I learn to be perfectly honest, don’t’ you? Then I would have to tell you—”

  He pulled her into his arms again, silencing her with the kiss he could no longer hold back. Maddie responded, slow at first, then with such eagerness, it took his breath away. At last, when he pulled away and looked at her, he discovered the most enchanting smile on her face and eyes gazing back at him with unabashed pleasure.

  “No girlfriend,” he breathed, kissing her forehead. “Unless . . .”

  “Wait—Ian,” she gasped, pulling back abruptly, running her hands through her hair. “You don’t even know me. Yet you say you’ve wanted to hold me? I don’t understand.” She searched his eyes for meaning.

  “Oh, but you’re wrong.” Ian traced her jaw with his thumb. “I know a great deal about you, Miss Cooper. I know that you’ve cared for your grandmother selflessly for many years.” He smiled. “And yes, I overheard that part on the plane.”

  “How very rude of you, Dr. Grant,” she teased.

  “I know that you love your grandmother very much. I’ve seen you on this porch with her, singing together while you arrange flowers, consulting her with every stem you add. Having tea together, working crossword puzzles together. And I’ve watched how you lavish her with your kisses and smother her with your hugs.

  “I’ve seen how you treat the work crew over here. Some of them don’t even speak English, yet I’ve watched you serve them elaborate picnics here on the front porch.” He tipped her chin to face him closer. “And I have it on good authority that you often leave baskets of muffins and cookies on the doorstep of perfect strangers. Even ill-tempered ones who never offer so much as a thank you. Quite delicious pastries, I might add. Not a single crumb survived.”

  “Ian, I don’t know what to say.” She nestled her head against his chest, burrowing deeper into his arms. She felt her heart beating against his. I could stay right here for a lifetime.

  “That’s easy,” he whispered into her hair. “Just say you’ll do me the honor of allowing me to court you as a proper English gentleman who’d love nothing more than to spend a lifetime getting to know you, Maddie Cooper.”

  Chapter 12

  The grand opening of The Chawton Tea Room was a huge success. By eleven, it was necessary for Lanie to take names as the customers far outnumbered the available seating. Every nook and cranny of the downstairs filled with patrons who enjoyed a traditional English tea menu and browsed the many Jane Austen artifacts and books decorating the festive tea room. The local newspaper covered the event, promising to splash the smiles of delighted customers on its pages the next day.

  But no one was happier than Maddie Cooper. Early that morning, Lanie and Jeff appeared in her kitchen, faces beaming. In a flurry of apologies and cries of joy, Lanie and Maddie mended their friendship, thanks to the persistent diplomacy of a certain California computer geek. And when Lanie announced their engagement, Maddie’s shout of joy could surely be heard down the block.

  “Oh, Lanie! Nothing could make me happier! Nothing! This is spectacular! And to think you did it in spite of me!”

  “Miracles never cease, eh, Maddie?” Lanie laughed, hugging her best friend again.

  Jeff hugged Maddie as well, as if they’d been friends for years, promising he would take good care of Lanie. “Oh, and Maddie? In case you’re interested, I’ve got a whole computer lab full of friends I could introduce you to.”

  Her mouth fell open until she realized he was kidding. “Oh yeah, really funny. No, I think all efforts of matchmaking should hereby cease and desist. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” they shouted in unison.

  “Besides,” Maddie added, “I’m not really in the market. But that’s all I’m going to say about that.” Her eyes danced mischievously. “Hey! We’ve got a tea room to open today! We’ve got work to do!”

  “Maddie?” Lanie drawled, cocking her head to one side. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “Yes! Lots and lots! But there’s no time now. Here, put on your apron and get to work. Jeff? Would you like to jump in and help too?” She handed him one of the bib aprons she’d designed—the Chawton Tea Room logo monogrammed against a classic English chintz background, and handed Lanie one as well.

  “Consider it done,” Jeff offered, already pulling an apron over his head. “Just put me to work.”

  “I knew I’d love him,” Maddie teased.

  “So did I, girlfriend. So did I.” Lanie planted a kiss on Jeff’s cheek, which quickly blushed a soft shade of crimson, and nuzzled into his embrace.

  Jonathan arrived an hour later with an enormous bouquet of pale pink roses smothered in baby’s breath. “For the belle of the ball, my dear,” he announced, kneeling beside Nana and kissing her freshly-rouged cheek. “At your service, today and forever, Rachel Cooper.” Nana’s eyes sparkled in ready adoration. Maddie wasn’t sure what to make of those two, but had a feeling about them—one which now she gladly kept to herself.

  A few moments later, one more early bird arrived at the front door.

  “Ian!” Maddie felt the heat on her cheeks as she returned his smile.

  “Forgive me if I’m intruding at this hour. I wondered—well, I thought perhaps I could be of assistance to you somehow today. Maybe pour a spot of tea, clear a dish or two, park a car or mop the floor . . .”

  Maddie snuggled into his extended arms, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him firmly on the lips.

  “Well, now! I take that as a yes?” He kissed her back, this time more gently, taking his time.

  At last, Maddie pulled back. “But of course you may assist, Dr. Grant,” she intoned. “How could I possibly welcome my guests to an authentic English tea without the presence of an authentic Englishman?”

  “Well there you have it!” Ian backed out of her embrace, taking a deep bow.

  Maddie introduced Ian to Nana and Jonathan then reacquainted him with Lanie. He begged Lanie’s forgiveness, taking her hand into his. She burst into laughter, then pulled him into a hug. In her best English accent, she responded, “Jolly good form, Ian Grant. Jolly good form!”

  “Thank you, my dear girl, but do us all a favor today and leave the accent to me. Will you?”

  “Gladly, old chap. Gladly.”

  They all shared more laughter before scattering in different directions, jumping into the tasks at hand.

  Hours later, after The Chawton Tea Room closed its doors on its first day of business, a small after-party gathered around the kitchen table. With fresh pots of tea and the few remaining pastries before them, the group basked in the glory of the day. Maddie leaned against Ian, sighing with pleasure. “We did it. We actually did it.”

  Lanie raised her cup. “To Maddie, for making dreams come true.”

  “Here, here!” they answered in unison.

  Nana joined in the toasts. “To Lanie, for finding it in your heart to forgive a dear friend, and finding love in the process.”

  Jeff kissed Lanie’s cheek as another “here, here!” rang out.

  Jonathan lifted his teacup. “To
Rachel, whose quiet strength and courage inspire us all.”

  “Here, here!”

  Ian cleared his throat, raising his teacup as well. Maddie smiled when she realized it was the same cup she’d brought back from Chawton Village in England. The very same cup she’d unwrapped to admire on the flight home, seated behind a quite irritable Scrooge of a professor who’d scolded her and Lanie for their “incessant chatter.” She dipped her head, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing out loud at the memory. Could that cranky Englishman actually be the warm and caring man seated beside her now, his fingers snuggly entangled with hers below the table?

  “Lanie. Maddie. Mrs. Cooper?” Ian began. “I salute you for your success today. Jane Austen could not have done it better herself. Take that from a true Englishman.”

  “Here, here!”

  He took a sip then turned to Maddie, bringing her hand to his lips, then speaking just to her, barely above a whisper. “To new life, new friends, and new beginnings.” Then, with his eyes locked on hers, he bestowed a long gentle kiss on her hand.

  Leaning over, Maddie placed a perfect kiss against his warm lips.

  “Here, here, Ian Grant,” she whispered. “Here, here.”

  Epilogue

  With ridiculously exaggerated flair, I typed the last two words on the page:

  The End

  I punched my fists straight up in the air. “YESSSSSS! I’m fi-nished. I’m fi-nished. I’m fi-nal-ly fi-nal-ly fi-nished!” I cranked up the volume on my laptop speakers and jumped up from my desk chair. As Michael Jackson’s eccentric voice quirked the first lyrics of Thriller, I mimicked his famous moves, complete with ghoulish expressions and syncopated side steps—even throwing in an ad-libbed moonwalk across my hardwood floor. That October weekend we all used Shirley’s Wii to learn the King of Pop’s dance moves had really paid off. I didn’t miss a beat.

  Gertie jumped off her chair and twirled beside me, barking along for good measure. The two of us zombie-walked our way to the kitchen where I pulled a pint of Blue Bell Mint Chocolate Chip from the freezer. The dancing continued while I pried open the lid on the little carton then grabbed a spoon out of the drawer. Multi-tasking never felt better.

  As with anything I attempt to accomplish these days, I was interrupted by the ringing of my doorbell. I dug out a scoop of the minty green ice cream and savored it as I headed toward the door. I did a modified zombie-walk down the hall with Gertie traipsing along behind me. I was about to open the door when I peered through the curtains and saw my UPS guy laughing. Make that guffawing.

  I dropped my head then opened the door. “Okay. Fine. So you saw me dancing.”

  “You do a wicked Thriller, Lucy. Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

  I admit it. I love his dimples. I truly do. But even those sweet craters couldn’t distract my embarrassment. “It’s a long story and you don’t have the time. Hand it over.”

  He handed the small carton to me, then shook his head, still laughing at my pitiful zombie. I had to admit it was a great laugh. The kind you feel all the way from your abs up. And might I just add, I’m quite sure that UPS-issue brown uniform shirt was hiding some killer abs. Not that I’ve seen them.

  “Okay, okay, you’ve had your laugh, big guy. Where do I sign?”

  “No need to sign for this one. You've just got me trained to make it personal, with or with a signature request. Besides, you’re always the highlight of my day.”

  “Yeah, well, you must be starved for entertainment.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I know how to have a good time now and then.”

  He smiled that crooked smile again. Like the cheek on the right forgot to pull up as much as the one on the left. He had no idea how cute that is.

  My face heated, so I avoided eye contact. “Well, then, there you go. Have a good one, Mark. See you next time.”

  “Sure thing. And give my best to Michael.” A wink and off he went, doing his best Michael in a silly falsetto

  I rolled my eyes, shut the door, and tossed the package on the side table. Just another case of tea. After doing my research on Maddie's behalf, I'd grown partial to her preferred brand, Taylors of Harrogate. I liked ordering it by the case because . . . well, if you must know, it’s one more excuse for the guy in brown to stop by. But let's just keep that between you and me, okay? I smiled and shook my head, continuing down the hall.

  We walked back into the kitchen, my funny black Scottie tapping her nails on the hardwood as she tried to keep up, her long tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. I snatched the carton of Blue Bell and scooped out another bite of that heavenly blend of flavors when my cell chirped. I wouldn’t have heard it, but it was the part in Thriller where it’s mostly rhythm and percussion playing over and over. I dug in the front pocket of my jeans for my cell, debating whether or not I’d answer it. Samantha Graham. My editor. Crap. I had to take this.

  I made my way back to my office and turned Michael down a few decibels. “Sam! It’s finished. You’re gonna love it. And we made deadline with time to spare!”

  I was greeted with her usual cough, a raspy tribute to her two-pack-a-day habit. I pulled the cell away from my ear. A natural reflex, somehow sure if I don’t, my ear will be grossly baptized. Ew?

  “You know those things are gonna kill you one of these days,” I reminded her. Again.

  One final hack followed by a deep breath. “I know, I know. I don’t want to hear it. So you’re finally done. Why don’t I see it in my inbox?”

  “Because you caught me in my Celebratory Ritual. Some things can’t be rushed. You know that.”

  “Ah, that explains Michael in the background. Was that Thriller?”

  “I love that about you, Sam. You don’t have a clue who’s in the White House or which team won the Super Bowl, but you know your Michael Jackson. You’re a regular Motown groupie.”

  Another cough. Another deep breath. Then three clicks and an expletive.

  “Your lighter still not working? Could be a sign to stop, you know.”

  She ignored me. “When the song ends and you finish your ice cream, will you please send me your manuscript? I don’t need to remind you we have less than twenty-four hours until the official deadline.”

  “It’s worth the wait, I promise you. This one—I don’t even know how to explain it. It wrote itself. I just tapped the keys. Never had that happen before.” I thought back to the day my aunt’s teacups arrived and the flood of memories and ideas that seemed to float out of that box. “This one was truly a gift. I’m dedicating it to Lucille’s memory.”

  “Ironic, since it was her funeral that put you so far behind schedule.”

  I remembered Samantha’s stern lecture (that’s putting it nicely) when I insisted on flying to Chicago for Lucille’s memorial service. As if a silly deadline would keep me from being with my family at a time like that? “Be nice. I adored her.”

  “Yeah, fine, whatever. Look, Lucy, just hurry up and send me what you’ve got. The design team is giving me grief here. Since you threw out the original story line, they’ve got to start from scratch, which puts them behind before they begin.”

  “Giving you grief, are they? What’s that saying—what goes around, comes around? No problem. I’ll have it to you in ten.”

  “Ciao mein.” Click.

  “Ciao mein yourself,” I grumbled, dropping my cell back in my pocket. I took another lick of ice cream and reached for my keyboard. A couple of quick strokes and my sweet baby was up, up, and away in cyberspace, mere seconds from landing in Samantha’s Manhattan inbox. Mission accomplished.

  I curled up in Gertie’s chair, much to her delight. She hopped up to join me, settling in with a final sigh of pleasure. I scratched the back of her neck as my mind wandered. Sam had short-circuited my celebration, but that was okay. I was already drifting into Phase Two of my post-manuscript ritual—the major let-down as I say goodbye to my characters. You live with these people, crawl around inside their
heads for months on end, put every word in their mouths, only to close the book on them. So to speak. It’s just hard.

  That said, I felt a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of starting the next novella in the series. I usually take a couple of weeks off between projects, but I couldn’t wait to get started. I gnawed at my lower lip, then gave in. I jumped up and reached over to pick up the red and gold teacup and saucer resting on the decorative shelf above my desk. It had served as my inspiration through the entire book I just completed. But it was time to move on.

  I padded down the hall to the dining room and opened the door to my china cabinet. The sunlight streamed through the windows striping broad, bright lines across the room. Still, I turned the switch inside the cabinet door, illuminating the shelves and their precious contents. A slow smile crept across my face as I returned the cup and saucer to the empty spot on the second shelf. Alongside it, Aunt Lucille’s teacups were displayed in all their elegance, like so many members of the royal family all vying for my attention. I’d felt so honored to receive them after she passed away, especially knowing she’d included instructions in her will for them to go directly to me. Even the cabinet that now housed them was a gift from her, another surprise inheritance that arrived a couple months ago. As I touched each and every cup, I felt Lucille’s presence so near, I could swear I caught a whiff of her beloved Chanel No. 5.

  “Well, that makes it official. You’re here with me. That means you have to help me pick the next one.”

  I studied them all, trying to remember which design had sparked the story line buzzing around in my head. The plots all came to me so quickly that first day, but I neglected to jot myself a note as to which teacup set beckoned which story. But I knew she’d tell me.

  “It’s an unusual plot. Not something you’d ever see coming. Which means it must be unique and—ah! Now I remember. This is the one.”

  Tiny hand-painted bows in cobalt blue, very simple, each tied with an even smaller gold ribbon, all linked together in a unique net pattern, airy on a white background. The cup and saucer were both rimmed in gold as well, with an eyelet-like edging inside the cup. The cup handle was painted in a matching cobalt blue with just a touch of gold. I remember Aunt Lucille telling me about this famous Russian design, the Lomonosov Cobalt Net. I lifted it from the shelf even as the characters of my new story came to mind. “This is it. The one that mends a broken heart. It’s perfect.”