Page 27 of Love Affair in London (Once Again #12)

A fter lunch, they hopped on a double-decker bus that drove through Piccadilly Circus.

“We need to see this at night when it’s all lit up.” Piper frowned. “Right now, it seems like just a mass of cars and people.”

Then they walked, visiting Fortnum and Mason, though she found nothing she wanted to buy, and their afternoon tea was booked for the rest of the day.

At Savile Row, she peered down the street with fascination. “This is where rich people—and probably royalty—have bespoke suits tailored to their exact measurements.”

Wandering down a quieter side street, they avoided the tourist crowds. Passing an unassuming shop, Piper suddenly stopped, tugging on Jared’s hand.

“Look.” She pointed at the window.

Inside, two elegantly dressed women sat at a small table, a three-tiered cake stand between them laden with tea sandwiches and an assortment of bite-sized treats. A delicate teapot sat alongside china cups and saucers, the table radiating charm.

One woman glanced up, caught Piper staring, and smiled warmly instead of scowling. In America, the woman probably would have waved. But this was England, and the pair didn’t look like tourists.

Piper gripped Jared’s arm. “They’re British. And they’re having afternoon tea here. That must mean this is a great place.”

“But don’t you want to go somewhere famous, like Claridge’s?”

“I like this place. Do you see the mismatched china, like someone has been to estate sales, collecting it piece by piece? That takes a lot of care. And it’s off the beaten track, so its clientele come through word-of-mouth rather than tourists spotting the sign and dropping in.”

She looked at him seriously, though her pulse quickened with excitement. “Unless you really don’t want afternoon tea.”

Jared cupped her cheek, but he didn’t kiss her—perhaps out of respect for the two women in the window. “I would love to have afternoon tea with you. Especially since I’ve never indulged before. Drinking tea with you will make it so much more memorable.”

She blushed. “You’re poking fun at me.”

He shook his head. “I’m absolutely not making fun of you. Like I said, I’m going to remember my first roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, my first boat ride on the Thames, and now my very first English afternoon tea.”

She smiled, her heart swelling. Then she pulled him into the tea shop.

They were seated by a woman around Piper’s age, wearing a floral print dress that could have matched several of the teapots in the room. They took the last vacant spot—a cozy table for two by the flower-papered wall. Jared was the only male customer.

The woman, her voice pleasant and lilting, set two menus in front of them. One was the afternoon tea menu, the other a long list of teas.

“I’ll give you a few moments to decide what you’d like. You each get your own pot, so you don’t have to choose the same type.” Then she whisked away.

Jared said in a low voice, “Do you think she’d let me have coffee instead of tea?”

She let out a soft scoff. “This is a tea shop. I don’t even smell brewing coffee. You’ve never had tea before?”

He raised his brows in mock indignation. “I’m a coffee drinker.”

“What about in the summer? Don’t you even have iced tea?”

“I have iced coffee.”

She shook her head slowly, as though lamenting his misfortune. Then, one eyebrow slightly raised, she said haughtily, “Well, if you want to embarrass yourself…”

He grinned at her chiding. “All right.” Then he quickly added, “but I don’t want any froufrou herbal tea.”

She scanned the menu. “I know just the thing.”

“Does it have caffeine?”

She nodded. “We get two pots. One decaf for me, and one caffeinated for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I assume I’m in for it now.”

When the woman returned, Jared allowed Piper to order for him. Which also meant he didn’t have to put on his reading glasses.

“We’ll have a pot each. Lady Grey for the gentleman and the decaf version for me.”

The woman glanced down her nose, as though no one ever ordered decaf. But Piper didn’t waver. “We haven’t decided on the afternoon tea yet. May we have a few minutes to decide while you bring the teapots?”

“Of course.”

Jared leaned in after the lady left. “Isn’t it supposed to be Earl Grey, like Star Trek’s Captain Picard?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s almost the same, but Lady Grey is more citrusy.”

“I’m not sure Captain Picard would approve,” he grumbled. It felt good to mess with her, especially since she didn’t take offense.

“You wouldn’t know what to pick anyway,” she teased.

“So true,” he admitted. “Does that mean you’re going to choose what we eat as well?”

“Of course. And believe me, you’ll love it.”

Still wanting to ruffle her, he snorted. But he knew she was right. He would love it—just as he’d enjoyed the beans on toast he’d sampled for breakfast that morning at her suggestion.

As their server—or perhaps the owner—approached their table with two mismatched teapots, Piper murmured, “You’re not allergic to nuts or anything, are you?”

He shook his head as the woman set the teapots down. Mismatched cups and saucers and sandwich plates already sat on the table.

Before the woman could take their order, Piper asked, “I have to know—where did you get all your china? I love that nothing matches.”

For the first time, the woman’s smile extended beyond a formal welcome.

“I’m glad you like it. Every weekend, I visit charity shops and estate sales.

So many young people don’t want full china sets anymore.

They’re practically throwing them away.” Her tone was thick with disgust. “I’ve been collecting pieces for years. ”

“You’re so right,” Piper said. “Whenever I visit a charity shop, I see that all the time.”

Jared surmised that a charity shop was the British equivalent of a thrift store.

The woman, now chatty, asked, “Have you had afternoon tea before? Would you like me to make some recommendations? I try to include options that suit the American palate.”

“I’ve had it many times,” Piper said confidently. “So I’d like to choose some of my own tea sandwiches. But I’d love some recommendations too.”

The woman didn’t glance at Jared, as though she knew Piper would decide. All the options were for two—apparently, no one went out alone for afternoon tea.

“One of my favorites is ham with Branston pickle.” The woman pointed to the menu. “I make it myself. You can even buy a jar if you like it.” She leaned in and said conspiratorially, “Although I don’t call it Branston Pickle. Trademarks, you know.”

She was the owner. Jared doubted a regular server would mention making the Branston pickle—whatever that was.

Piper nodded decisively. “We’ll definitely have the ham with Branston pickle.”

Jared mouthed, “Who the hell is ‘we?’”

Piper ignored him, smiling as the woman recommended the crab salad sandwich. “Oh, we’ll have that too. And we’d like the cream cheese and cucumber and the cheese and tomato.”

The woman’s radiant smile lit up her face. Perhaps she didn’t get many American tourists who truly appreciated authentic British afternoon tea.

“And for the savory treats?” Piper asked.

The woman suggested four options. “But I wouldn’t recommend the pea tart. It’s a bit like mushy peas in a tart.”

“And it wouldn’t suit the American palate?” Piper finished for her.

The woman chuckled. “Precisely.”

“Then let’s do the smoked salmon with brie, cream cheese meltaways, the caramelized onion and feta pastry puffs, and…” She paused, glanced at Jared. But he was letting her choose.

“May I suggest the Beef Wellington Bites?” their hostess offered.

“Perfect.”

Jared noticed that the woman wrote nothing down. “And for your sweets?” she asked. “Scones with clotted cream, of course.”

“Of course.” Piper smiled. “We must have the butter tart and the Bakewell tart. Please surprise us with the last one.”

The woman placed a hand on her chest. “Excellent choices. I promise you’ll love the one I choose.” She bustled off, clearly delighted to prepare their order.

“You totally impressed her. But what the heck is Branston pickle?” Jared asked.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s chutney. You’ve had chutney before, haven’t you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s a relish. You’re going to like it.”

“Can we have tuna instead of cream cheese and cucumber?” He stuck out his lower lip.

She rolled her eyes, and he fought the urge to laugh. Messing with her was too much fun.

“You are so American,” she mocked. “You’ll love cream cheese and cucumber, I swear.

” Then she picked up his teapot. “The tea has steeped long enough. Are you ready to try?” Her voice dropped to a low, seductive tone, as though she were suggesting something far more intimate. “Do you want milk and sugar?”

“What are you having?”

“Both.” She poured milk into his cup, then added a sugar cube before pouring the tea.

“Did you learn all this from your friend Hazel?”

“Of course. Who do you think I drank all that tea with?” She stirred the tea with a tiny spoon, then pushed the cup and saucer toward him.

He leaned in, murmuring, “When you say it in that seductive voice of yours, I’m willing to try anything.”

Her laugh held a sensual note that strummed his nerve endings.

Jared picked up the delicate cup, holding it carefully, afraid it might break in his hand. He took a tentative sip, then another. “It’s definitely citrusy. I wouldn’t have known how to describe it if you hadn’t said that.”

“But you like it?”

For the first time, he stopped teasing her. “It’s good.” But he couldn’t help adding, “I’m not supposed to gulp it down, right? Just sip?”

“Exactly.” She poured her own cup.

When their three-tiered cake plate arrived, Jared enjoyed everything, even the Branston Pickle, a sweet yet savory chutney.

It was a far cry from the mustard and mayo he used on his sandwiches.

Tea sandwiches were a different breed altogether.

On thinly sliced bread with crusts removed, each sandwich was cut into triangles, allowing the two of them to sample everything.