And for a suspended moment, it felt like a fairy tale. Or the edge of one.
His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His gaze never left hers. “There’s a quote I read once by”—he looked toward the ceiling in thought—“Ernest Hemingway, I think.” His attention came back to hers. “‘The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.’” His fingers hovered on her skin, gaze fastened with hers. “You deserve a happily ever after, Daphne.”
Could he see her scars? Read the wounds left behind her eyes? The way he looked at—saw—her made her wonder.
Her breaths shallowed, the warmth in his look pulling her a half step closer.
His attention dropped to her lips again, and he drew in a deep breath, stepping back.
“I’d best get back to my place.”
And within a minute, with a sweet bundle in his arms and a final look and “good night,” he left her alone.
Painfully aware of how much she wished for another five minutes with an English flirt.
Text from Travis and Lindsay to Finn and Daphne:
Can you two meet at Tea Thyme at four today? We’ve made our decision.
The chime above the door sounded as Finn stepped into Tea Thyme, the familiar scent of baked goods and steeped tea perfectly capturing the essence of the owner. The shop always smelled like her—refined, warm, with a hint of something unexpected. A little citrus?
A lot of sass, as the locals said.
He almost chuckled at the very thought. He was beginning to think like these people!
And there she was, behind the counter—floral dress cinched at her waist, golden hair in a long ponytail.
Finn had stopped trying to keep his emotional distance from her, but that didn’t mean he’d plunge forward with any heartfelt declarations. Not with that look he’d caught in her eyes more than once—that guarded flicker, like she’d been left behind one too many times and expected him to do the same.
But he wouldn’t. Not now that he saw her for who she was.
Her humor. Her wit. Her kindness.
What would it feel like to earn such a love?
His broken perspective provided little comparison. And with his mother’s early death, he had very little to go on with his parents. Harry and Margaret offered a glimpse of a well-suited, healthy relationship—one for which to aspire.
But last night, when Daphne had stood so near—her large beautiful eyes searching his—well, he’d realized a deep truth. His honesty might open a door to, perhaps, win her trust.
And her heart.
Her gaze flicked to the door as he stepped in, her smile hesitant, but there.
That was something.
“So I guess this is it?” Her voice was light, but her hands were fussing with a dish towel that didn’t need fussing.
Hmm...
He stepped forward, taking a stool at the counter opposite her. “I hope you win, Daphne. You deserve it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start acting noble on me now.” And she pushed a plate across the counter between them. “But since you’re early, try this.”
He looked down. Focaccia?
He raised a brow. “Is this the famed bread you’ve been taunting me with?”
A smile teased the corners of her mouth as she tipped her head. Her ponytail swished, and Finn had the ridiculous urge to tug it, just to see her reaction.
