the tiny cleft in his chin creasing slightly. “Oh God, that’s sacrilege. I have my work cut out for me.” He moves to the huge selection on the wall. “Where to start? Hmmm, let’s try something simple and classic. English breakfast.”
I observe his motions at a little service area, where he boils water in an electric kettle, then warms a small porcelain pot with a quick rinse. He waggles his brows and reaches for one of the canisters. Measures. Places two teacups on a tray with mini containers of milk and sugar.
Watching him calms me. My breathing slows. “That’s quite the ritual.”
Orion swipes a tea towel along the counter. “If you appreciate rituals, just wait until I make you some of the Asian green teas. Or oolong.” He places the fixed tray in front of me then drops into another stool.
Him doing all this for me is more than cute. It’s kind. Smiling, I reach for the pot, but he stops me with a palm. His fingers are long and slim. “One minute more. Timing is everything. Can’t be rushed.”
Timing. For the next three months, my family has taken over mine, from clock to calendar. I haven’t been able to get an early plane ticket or rush them, either.
“Lila?”
“I… thank you.” Orion pours deep brown, fragrant tea into our cups. “Customers can buy loose tea, but they can’t order a cup to drink here? Maybe with a pastry or scone?”
“Not at the moment. We inherited the back kitchen with the property, but we’re not set up for food service.”
I meet his eyes, nodding before looping my fingers into the handle. I know taste. But English breakfast tea coats my tongue with flavors I can’t name. “It’s really nice. Bold and full.”
Orion smiles. “I’ll take that. Now, do you want to be really British and add a splash of milk?”
I find I do, in this small, insignificant way. Maybe it’s just the way he asked, his smooth, syrupy accent spiced with a pinch of cheekiness. I pour the milk and watch the tea lighten to pale mocha.
Orion adds a bit to his cup, too. “Say, with all that talk earlier about Jules and Goldline, I forgot to invite you to their show next weekend.”
I sip again. Remembering Orion gushing about her voice and stage game earlier has me nodding an easy yes.
“Great! It’s a…” He blushes a shade of red our run had nothing to do with. “It’s you and your Winchester city guide making sure your dance card’s booked for Saturday night.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, and find it’s true.
“So, Lila from Miami.” He points to my cup. “Most locals have a tea they consider theirs. You know, their signature favorite. For instance, Victoria from the secondhand shop loves this Ceylon black we offer. She chooses it before all others. We have to find your go-to. I know you need to try more varieties, but is English breakfast in the running?”
I’ve almost finished my cup. “Not sure. I mean, I like it a lot. I might not know tea, but I know quality and this is that. I just don’t know if it’s mine.”
“No matter. I guess I have nearly three months to figure it out.” This he says like that’s both plenty and not nearly enough time.
12
Today is my warmest day yet in Winchester. I’ve gotten by with a little dress, trolling the farmers market for passable Cuban cooking ingredients. A thin, lemony glaze of sunlight clings to late afternoon, enough for me to toss on a denim jacket and find a lounge chair on the inn grounds. I’ll FaceTime Pilar from here. Across the lawn, Spencer and Cate are picking veggies from the kitchen garden.
I catch his sweet peck on her forehead and can’t help but lose myself inside another garden—my great-uncle’s in the Little Havana neighborhood of Miami. It was the first place Andrés ever kissed me.
That small plot of land holds all our family roots. Four years after Abuela left Cuba, my great-uncle followed her path across the ocean. He brought his meager possessions and a cloth bag filled with dried corn kernels from the family farm. The corn in Miami, the corn in all the United States, would not do. He still plants the crop every year. We grind it for masa. We eat from what was born of Cuban soil, more than fifty years ago.
Tío’s house is also the site of most of our big family dinners. For years, Stefanie came along to feast on