Free The Traveling Tea Shop by Belinda Jones Page A

jolts upright and looks around her. “You’re telling me the film was set here?”
    “Set here, filmed here, inspired by here.”
    She releases herself from her seatbelt and steps out to survey the waterfront. We all follow.
    “So Julia Roberts was actually here?” She seems to need a lot of convincing.
    “Yes.”
    “Is there really a pizza place?”
    “There is. In fact, we’re a little early for our appointment, if anyone fancies a slice?”
    Gracie and Pamela are keen, whereas Ravenna tries desperately to shrug off her eagerness.
    Ah, the universal power of Julia Roberts.
    We cross the Meccano-esque drawbridge to the main high street and find it crammed with tourist-friendly temptations like Mystic Sweet’s fresh fudge and an array of nautical-themed knick-knacks. (I’m extremely drawn to a set of octopus, starfish and coral-print cushions but admit they wouldn’t necessarily make sense in a Manhattan setting.)
    “Mystic Pizza—A Slice of Heaven,” Pamela reads the sign as we stop outside the pale-gray clapboard building at the top of the town. “It really is just like in the movie!”
    “Apparently they renovated it to look more like the one in the film,” I chuckle as we head inside.
    Every inch of wall-space is filled with framed photos—either stills from the movie or freeze-framed sports stars. There’s a friendly, family vibe and, best of all, the girl behind the counter is just about as lovely as Julia herself—a wild tumble of curls swept over the side, dancing eyes and huge, perfect-toothed grin. She serves us our triangles of thin crust Margherita with an impressive amount of
joie de vivre.
Looking between her and Ravenna, I see the great chasm between choosing to be sunny and sweet versus sullen and sulky. Apparently Gracie sees it too.
    “Pretty girl,” she notes. “Probably about your age, Ravenna?”
    “You didn’t get one for me?” she asks as we dig in to the juicy, drizzly tomato sauce and bronzed, bubbling cheese topping.
    “Oh,” I apologize as I dab my chin. “I didn’t think you ate.”
    She gives an indignant pout. “I just need one as a prop for my picture.”
    “No problem!” I order Ravenna an individual box to go. “Would you like me to snap you outside by the sign?”
    “I’ll do it,” she says, hurrying away with her stash.
    “Another day, another selfie,” Gracie mutters as she takes a sip of iced tea.
    I smile. She’s really a very savvy granny.
    •   •   •
    It’s time for us to be heading on to our appointment at the other end of town. I feel as if I’ve pulled off quite a coup, setting up a cake-baking session with Warren Brown, host of the Food Network’s
Sugar Rush
show and author of
United Cakes of America: Recipes Celebrating Every State
(including a rather intriguing Tomato Soup Cake from New Jersey, where Campbell’s launched their condensed soup empire).
    Today he’s sharing his updated spin on Connecticut’s Hartford Election Cake—Nutmeg Spice Cupcakes. (Connecticut is known as the Nutmeg State and its residents as Nutmeggers.) I know the results are going to be good because this is a man who says, “Baking is an act of love done to bring pleasure to the world.” Isn’t that gorgeous? Of course, I know better than to expect wild applause from Pamela. Not that she’s not grateful, she’s just so distracted . . .
    Aware that we need to get a move on, Ravenna repeatedly lags behind. I can see this is stressing Pamela, so I suggest she and Gracie go on ahead, giving them the address of the host’s bake shop across the bridge and reassuring them that they can’t miss Warren’s striking six-foot-three-inch form. For many years he was known for his slimline dreadlocks, but now his head is clean-shaven, all the better to see his bright smile.
    Warren is actually based in Washington DC, but he’s passing through Connecticut on his way home from a reunion at Brown University in Rhode Island. He graduated from there with a