now, I have a good chunk of the day to pursue my own interests, which wasn ’ t always the case.” April laughed again and squeezed Cate ’ s arm. “It gets better, then it gets much much worse. Hold on for the ride.”
“Great.” Cate glanced out the window again. Nothing unusual.
“Someone waiting for you?”
“Ah, no. Looks like it might rain. I w ant to get home before it pours.”
“Where ’ s home? Do you live in Mystic Springs?”
“No. Laughlintown .” Cate didn ’ t bother to give specifics.
“I live in Ligonier. That’s only five miles or so from you. We ’ re practically, neighbors. Why don ’ t you join me for a cup of tea ? Lunch is two hours away.”
“All right.”
“Pick your poison.” April gestured to the wide variety of jarred loose tea leaves displayed on the burgundy granite counter top.
“White Pomegranate is my usual favorite. But I ’ m intrigued by Dragonwell .”
“Excellent choice.” April grabbed the jar and used a silver scoop to transf er loose tea into a ceramic pot, then filled it with boiling water from the spout of a stainless steel dispenser. She popped a lid onto the pot to let it steep. She swir led the pot three times counter clockwise. Then sat it down . “The Long Jing Dragonwell from Zheijiang Province is one of our best-selling teas. A soothing, yet refreshing blend with nutty high notes and sweet undertones.” April giggled. “You ’ ll love it. Cures all that ails you. A spa-day in a cup.”
Cate laughed in response. “What a selling point.” The muscles in her face relaxed into a natural smile for the first time in weeks. She liked April.
“Why don ’ t you grab a table and I ’ ll bring the refreshments.”
Cate picked a spot near enough the window that she could watch outside. She sat in the chair facing the door.
April slid a tray onto an adjoining table. She unloaded the tea pot, a plate of mini-scones with clotted cream and lemon curd, two fine china cups and saucers, silverware and two matching plates. “Here we go. Fresh scones and a cup of the best tea in Southwestern PA. What more can a girl ask for?”
“Smells heavenly.” Cate poured her tea, adding a spoonful of sugar, then sipped the hot brew. “ Mmmm . God, that tastes so good. You ’ re right. Amazing. I ’ ve died and gone to h eaven.”
“It gets better with each sip.” April winked at her.
Cate blew on her hot brew then took another drink. She looked up, over April ’ s shoulder, through the plate glass window and flinched. Her hand trembled and her tea cup clattered in the saucer.
Michael?
She stilled .
Then, the man was gone. He ’ d peered in the window, tried the door, then walked toward the bar and grill e . It couldn ’ t be. It had to be his American doppelganger. Michael lived in London. She hadn ’ t heard from him since she ’ d left England. Word from her stateside lawyers was that the International Bar investigation had wrapped up and an indictment would come any day now. Someone was going to jail. Cate feared it was Grayson. Her heart squeezed painfully.
“You look like you ’ ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?” April glanced over her shoulder out the window.
“I ’ m fine.” Cate sipped her tea and lowered her eyes.
“You don ’ t look fine. You look scared.”
“No. I just thought I saw someone I know from England.”
“You ’ re from England?”
“No. I grew up here, originally. I lived there the past few years, after I married. I moved back a few months ago.” Cate worried the lacy paper doily on her saucer by shredding the edge closest to her.
“How does your husband like this area?”
April ’ s question punched Cate in the solar plexus, stealing her breath. She missed Grayson. He would love her house , and, as a born loner, he ’ d love the rugged rolling landscape, the seclusion. The more remote the area, the better, as far as he was concerned. Now she knew why. Beware. Dragons.
“My husband , Grayson, and
“Great.” Cate glanced out the window again. Nothing unusual.
“Someone waiting for you?”
“Ah, no. Looks like it might rain. I w ant to get home before it pours.”
“Where ’ s home? Do you live in Mystic Springs?”
“No. Laughlintown .” Cate didn ’ t bother to give specifics.
“I live in Ligonier. That’s only five miles or so from you. We ’ re practically, neighbors. Why don ’ t you join me for a cup of tea ? Lunch is two hours away.”
“All right.”
“Pick your poison.” April gestured to the wide variety of jarred loose tea leaves displayed on the burgundy granite counter top.
“White Pomegranate is my usual favorite. But I ’ m intrigued by Dragonwell .”
“Excellent choice.” April grabbed the jar and used a silver scoop to transf er loose tea into a ceramic pot, then filled it with boiling water from the spout of a stainless steel dispenser. She popped a lid onto the pot to let it steep. She swir led the pot three times counter clockwise. Then sat it down . “The Long Jing Dragonwell from Zheijiang Province is one of our best-selling teas. A soothing, yet refreshing blend with nutty high notes and sweet undertones.” April giggled. “You ’ ll love it. Cures all that ails you. A spa-day in a cup.”
Cate laughed in response. “What a selling point.” The muscles in her face relaxed into a natural smile for the first time in weeks. She liked April.
“Why don ’ t you grab a table and I ’ ll bring the refreshments.”
Cate picked a spot near enough the window that she could watch outside. She sat in the chair facing the door.
April slid a tray onto an adjoining table. She unloaded the tea pot, a plate of mini-scones with clotted cream and lemon curd, two fine china cups and saucers, silverware and two matching plates. “Here we go. Fresh scones and a cup of the best tea in Southwestern PA. What more can a girl ask for?”
“Smells heavenly.” Cate poured her tea, adding a spoonful of sugar, then sipped the hot brew. “ Mmmm . God, that tastes so good. You ’ re right. Amazing. I ’ ve died and gone to h eaven.”
“It gets better with each sip.” April winked at her.
Cate blew on her hot brew then took another drink. She looked up, over April ’ s shoulder, through the plate glass window and flinched. Her hand trembled and her tea cup clattered in the saucer.
Michael?
She stilled .
Then, the man was gone. He ’ d peered in the window, tried the door, then walked toward the bar and grill e . It couldn ’ t be. It had to be his American doppelganger. Michael lived in London. She hadn ’ t heard from him since she ’ d left England. Word from her stateside lawyers was that the International Bar investigation had wrapped up and an indictment would come any day now. Someone was going to jail. Cate feared it was Grayson. Her heart squeezed painfully.
“You look like you ’ ve seen a ghost. Are you okay?” April glanced over her shoulder out the window.
“I ’ m fine.” Cate sipped her tea and lowered her eyes.
“You don ’ t look fine. You look scared.”
“No. I just thought I saw someone I know from England.”
“You ’ re from England?”
“No. I grew up here, originally. I lived there the past few years, after I married. I moved back a few months ago.” Cate worried the lacy paper doily on her saucer by shredding the edge closest to her.
“How does your husband like this area?”
April ’ s question punched Cate in the solar plexus, stealing her breath. She missed Grayson. He would love her house , and, as a born loner, he ’ d love the rugged rolling landscape, the seclusion. The more remote the area, the better, as far as he was concerned. Now she knew why. Beware. Dragons.
“My husband , Grayson, and
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