It workedbetter. For him and for Lucy.
Maybe especially for him.
He jogged up Daphne’s porch steps two at a time, a container balanced in one hand. It was his turn to share a culinary creation, and this one might just tempt her out of her comfort zone—and maybe, if he played it right, just a little farther into his arms.
Lucy had been with Daphne for four hours. One more than planned, thanks to a waiter calling out. But Daphne had texted that Lucy was no trouble and could stay as long as needed.
He’d believed her. Exhaled. Trusted.
Sheltering under the eaves from yet another downpour, he knocked on the door. The latest bout of rain was, according to pub gossip, thanks to a tropical storm stirring somewhere south. Apparently western North Carolina had a habit of soaking up extra weather in advance, but other than finding shelter and watching for flooding basements, no one appeared concerned. Which was good for Finn to hear, since he was very little accustomed to such weather. And since, as the natives said, the winds would turn to the west and all should pass before the wedding next week, Finn didn’t give it too much thought.
Except to wear a mackintosh while outside.
No one responded to his first knock, so he repeated the action.
Silence. Well, not complete silence. He could hear muffled music coming from behind the door.
He pushed it open.
Then came the scent.
Baked sugar. Chocolate. Cinnamon.
Daphne’s unofficial love language.
He stepped inside, finding the living room empty. “Daphne?”
A giggle floated down the hall.
He grinned, set the container on the counter, and moved toward the sound. “Daphne?”
“No, no!” came a muffled call from behind a door at the end of the hall. “You have to wait out there. Lucy has a surprise for you.”
A rush of warmth poured over him. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. “Girls,” he muttered with no heat.
Is this what his little girl had been missing all these years? Another woman’s presence like this? And Daphne embraced Lucy as if she’d always cared about her.
He edged nearer the door, Lucy’s little voice giving some animated directions about a color and maybe—glitter? With a sigh, he tucked his hands in his pockets and let the moment settle over him until the music from behind the door began to bleed into recognition.
“Classical again?” he called. “Are you trying to corrupt my daughter?”
“Enhance her life, I believe, is the phrase you’re looking for,” Daphne replied through the door. “Classical music is good for brain development, remember? I’m actuallyhelpingyour beautiful daughter.”
Beautiful daughter.
He grinned. And no doubt, Daphne was helping her feel even more beautiful.
“It’sSleeping Beauty, Daddy,” came Lucy’s voice. “Like de movie.”
Finn stopped and listened with more intention. Tchaikovsky.
He let the music fill the silence and examined the photos on the wall nearby. A little girl, who looked like a younger version of his favorite tea princess, stood between two women who resembled each other—one much older than the other. Daphne’s grandmother and mother, perhaps?
She looked to be about seven or eight, maybe. And she’d grown into a woman who wasn’t just charming and pretty. She was somethingrare.
Generous. Funny. Effortlessly kind.
And he wasn’t about to be careless with her again.
