A High-End Finish(8)

“Oh, Shannon, love,” she cried, taking both of my hands in hers. “I heard what that horrible man did to you. Let me get you some tea.”

I smiled at her idea of an all-purpose remedy. “Sounds perfect. And maybe a currant scone to go?”

“To go? No, no, you don’t,” she insisted, her Scottish brogue coming through. “You’ll stay and sit and enjoy yourself. The girls are all here for you, so go join them. Wait.” She grabbed a clean dish towel and handed it to me. “You’re glowing a bit.”

“You mean sweating?” I laughed and used the towel to pat down my still-damp face and neck. “Thanks.”

She pushed me toward the cozy back room, which was used for private parties. “I’ll bring some treats to you in a jiffy.”

Her words sank in. “The girls are all here?”

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “I rang them up when I saw you jog by earlier. I knew you’d have to come back this way eventually, so if you hadn’t stopped in we were planning to lasso you.”

I could listen to her talk all day long, even though it was occasionally necessary to ask her for a translation.

The tension in my neck loosened slightly as I realized my friends were circling the wagons on my behalf. I entered the back room and Lizzie sprang from her chair and grabbed me in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I murmured, patting her back to comfort her. She laid her head on my shoulder, or tried to, anyway. She was barely five foot one, but every inch of her was perky and vibrant. Her dark hair was cut in a short, sassy style with long bangs that emphasized her big eyes. She chose to wear monochromatic colors because she thought it made her appear taller. I loved her; I truly did. But I wouldn’t be going on another of her blind dates again.

“I feel so guilty.” She sniffled. “You could’ve really been hurt.”

She had no idea how right she was about that.

“Let her catch her breath, Lizzie,” Jane said.

“I will, I will. I’m just so upset about this and, oh, God, wait until Hal finds out. He’ll track Jerry down and punch his lights out.”

“Tell him not to bother for my sake,” I said. “I already took care of it.”

“And good for you! Did you really kick him in the . . . you-know-what?”

“No, but I kicked him in the shin. I was wearing my ankle boots, so I caused him some pain. I wish I’d worn my steel-toed work boots, though. I could’ve really done some damage.”

“The ankle boots I talked you into buying?” she said, brightening. “So I sort of helped you out, right?”

“Nice try, Lizzie,” Jane said.

Lizzie’s smile fell. “They all agree it’s my fault.” She still held on to my waist, but she was so petite that her arm barely fit across my back. “And they’re right. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“So you’ll stop setting us up on blind dates?” I said, teasing her as I took my place at the table.

Her mouth snapped closed and she glanced around at each of us.

“Oh, Lizzie,” Jane said, shaking her head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I just want you all to be happy,” she said in her own defense.

“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested brightly, and grabbed the teapot. I poured hot tea into my cup and then added a dollop of milk, as Emily had instructed me on numerous occasions.

“Don’t listen to those ninnies who insist on milk first, then tea,” she liked to say.

On the walls of the tea shop she’d hung colorful frames with prettily printed instructions on everything having to do with tea. How one held one’s cup, for instance, and the proper way one stirred the hot liquid with one’s spoon. Placed prominently in the center of the wall was the etiquette of adding milk to tea, along with the reasons why the rules had changed from the days when the way you added milk to your tea could determine your very status in society.

Back in the olden days, the teacups were of such poor quality that they were liable to crack when hot tea was poured into them. Therefore, milk was added first. These days, the quality of the cups was no longer an issue.

Additionally, there were so many types of tea on the market today that it was important to look at the tea in the cup to determine how dark and strong it was. Only then could you gauge the proper amount of milk to add in order to suit your own taste.

Emily, despite her delicate looks and kindhearted smile, was a hardheaded Scotswoman through and through. She was very strict about such things, and there was no way I would ever argue with her. The same couldn’t be said for some of her other customers, though. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that wars had been fought over this very sticky issue.

I took my first sip and sighed with pleasure. It wasn’t coffee, but it was strong and good and I was happy to be here with my closest friends. I set the empty teapot at the side of the table. “What’s going on with the rest of you? Marigold? How are you?”

“I’m dandy. Thanks,” Marigold said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “We’re more worried about you, though, so don’t try to wiggle off the topic.”

I exchanged glances with the other girls. Marigold had a natural reserve that made her opinions seem all the more vital since she only voiced them occasionally. She was close to my age of thirty, but she hadn’t grown up around here. She had been raised in rural Pennsylvania in an Amish community. When she was twenty, she left her family and quit the life to join her free-spirited aunt Daisy out here in Lighthouse Cove.