Silent.
Awed.
“It’s... magnificent.” His whisper surfaced with reverence, his attention fully fastened ahead.
Then—without looking her way—he shifted his grip, threading his fingers tighter through hers, grounding her like an anchor against the breathtaking view.
Her heart stumbled. His hand felt so steady. So certain.
And the realization of him knowing her, caring for her enough to come here with her... well, it pierced deep and then branched out through her chest.
They stood there, suspended in a moment too perfect to rush.
Then Finn squeezed her hand. “And what about this footpath you promised?”
With a grin, she tugged him toward the worn trail leading into the trees. The birdsong and gentle rush of the breeze from up the valley brought all sorts of wonderful autumn scents—goldenrod’s honeyed sweetness, pine’s sharp snap, the distant smoke of someone’s woodstove curling into the sky.
Home. Comfort. Her gaze trailed to Finn. And him?
“Jack told me a little about your mum and granny,” Finn said quietly, matching her slower pace. “I’m sorry, Daphne.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her. Unwrapping wounds that were still finding a way to move from fresh to scarred. Some days, it seemed they didn’t hurt as much, but then, out of the blue, they’d nearly debilitate her with the gaping holes of those missing lives.
“They were the best women,” Daphne said, slowing her pace even more and sending Finn a small smile. “Granny would have really liked you.”
“Oh?” His smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “She had a thing for tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome?”
“She did.” Daphne chuckled, grateful for the levity. “But even more for quick wit and a good heart.”
At that, Finn stopped walking. Gently, he tugged on their joined hands until she turned to face him.
“A good heart, huh?” His gaze searched hers, something more serious flickering behind the teasing. “Is that a windup, or do you mean it?”
She shrugged and started walking again. “I’ll let you figure it out.”
They kept to the path in silence until the trees gave way to reveal an even more panoramic display than before—the layers of mountains now almost a painting of blues and golds.
Finn inhaled sharply, expression rapt—and she liked him even more for it.
“This,” he said, voice rough with wonder. “This feels like home.”
She tucked a hair behind her ear, easing close enough to him for their arms to touch. “Granny always said it looked a little like England.”
“Not England.” Finn shook his head slowly, his gaze still on the horizon. “This moment. This view. And... you.” His gaze swung to her, crooked grin intact, like he hadn’t just left her swooning from the kneecaps upward. “All we’re missing is Lucy to make it perfect.”
And that—that—was what finally unraveled her last threads of resistance. Adding Lucy only solidified the fact that he wasn’t trying to “chat her up” as Granny would say. This was authentically Finn. The flirt, the dad, and the tenderhearted romantic all rolled up into one.
Something in Daphne’s heart roused as if from a long slumber, slowly walking into the light. And the thread of fear that had been coiling inside her for so long began to unwind with each recognition of who Finn really was. One smile, one act of care, one teasing remark at a time.
“I...” The words tumbled out before she could second-guess them. “I know you care about me.”
He turned fully toward her, brow creased, as if bracing for the other shoe to drop.
She squeezed his hand, reassuring him. “And... I don’t know how to do this.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been scared of a relationship for so long that... if I seem cautious, it’s because I am.”
She swallowed through her tightening throat, attempting to find the words. “My dad left when I was little. Then a boyfriend ghosted me after high school. And then... Mom. Granny.”
Finn caught her other hand, cradling both of hers in his and pulling them to his chest. “There’s no rush, Daphne. If you need time, take it.” His grin flashed, boyish and sweet and completely sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”
