The Traveling Tea Shop Read Online Free Page A

is probably just as well since today’s dominant hue is elephant gray.
    “I have to apologize for the state of me,” she begins. “My luggage didn’t make it to New York and I haven’t had time to shop for anything new.”
    “Oh how awful,” I sympathize.
    “Well, it’s really such a fleeting visit, it’s not the end of the world. I’m just aware that I bear more than a passing resemblance to a bag lady.”
    “Only without any bags!”
    She laughs. “Yes—probably just as well they didn’t make it!”
    I smile fondly back at her. “Would you like to take a seat?”
    She nods gratefully, expelling a long breath as she takes in her surroundings.
    “This is quite the haven, isn’t it?”
    I nod. “I know it looks like they could offer you Botox or an acid peel in the back room—”
    Pamela hoots and then covers her mouth. “Oh, excuse me!”
    “Not at all!” I’m just happy to see her face brighten. “We can do as we please and pass it off as being English Eccentrics.”
    “Good point,” she says, eyes straying back to the cake counter.
    That’s my cue!
    “So, I took the liberty of ordering . . .” I nod to the waitress, who promptly sets down two glossy white plates before us.
    “There are two types of cheesecake here: the traditional Gâteau Fromage . . .” I let her take in the simple slice with its subtly burnished edging offering an almost sepia tone. “The thin base layer is crisp shortbread cookie crust and the cheesecake itself has a vanilla accent.”
    She nods.
    “The second,” I begin, trying to disguise any favoritism in my voice, “is the Gâteau Nuage—Cloud Cake.”
    “Oooh.” She looks intrigued.
    “They describe the base as cinnamon-kissed,” I smile. “And then there’s the airy whipped middle band of cheesecake and the top layer—”
    “The
pièce de résistance
?” She raises a brow.
    I nod. “Sweetened sour cream.”
    “I like how cool and silky that looks,” she says, holding the plate up to her eye level. “You know, in comparison to the denser texture of the cheesecake.”
    My toes scrunch in expectation. I feel exactly the same way!
    It actually puts me in mind of a layer of white gloss paint, but I don’t say that out loud in case it throws off her palate.
    “And if I may offer an alternative to tea?” I venture. “I rather like hot water with a slice of lemon and a tiny drip of honey.”
    “To counterbalance the creaminess.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Well then, that’s what I shall have too.”
    The waitress arranges the shiny white cups and saucers—Limoges,
naturellement
!—with painstaking precision. Even the lemon slices look perfect—all zesty and juicy as opposed to predominantly pith.
    I wait nervously for Pamela’s verdict, not knowing if I should speak while she is in taster mode, presuming she needs to focus fully on the—
    “Are you not having any?” She looks up at me.
    “Oh. Well, I didn’t want to crowd the table but I did order.” I look to the waitress, preparing to give her the sign to bring over the second set of plates.
    “Please,” she interrupts me. “Share mine.”
    “Really?”
    “You can imagine how much cheesecake I’ve had today, and I hardly need the extra pounds.”
    “Well, if you’re sure?”
    I don’t say anything about her weight but she does seem a little curvier than I recalled. Not that it looks bad on her. She’s one of those womanly women whose exact dimensions are irrelevant. Big boobs are the key. You look at them and the first word that springs to mind is
voluptuous.
And how can that be bad?
    I take a bite of my beloved Gâteau Nuage, smearing the textures around my mouth to maximize the bliss. I could even do without the crumbly base; just give me a scoop of the filling and I’d eat it like ice cream. But what does
she
think?
    “Sublime!” she pronounces.
    My face brightens. “You like it?”
    “Oh!” she fans herself. “So soft and smooth . . .”
    “How does it compare to