A soft nudge at his hand pulled his attention down to Winston, the Lab seeking affection.
“You understand, don’t you, mate?”
Winston sat, leaned into Finn’s hand, and exhaled like he agreed.
Daphne was no longer a crush or a rival or a neighbor with wicked scone skills. She was the woman who held his heart. And he hoped he could prove worthy of hers.
“Are you ready?” Daphne’s singsongy voice pulled him from the room and back into the hallway.
The door creaked opened and Daphne emerged first, face beaming like she’d just personally orchestrated Christmas morning.
And then—Lucy.
His little girl stepped into the light with a grin so wide it nearly swallowed her cheeks. Her hair had been swept back into a stunning series of braids that twisted elegantly to one side, forming what looked unmistakably like a rose. A shimmering pink ribbon had been threaded through like a fairy-tale flourish.
Finn dropped to his knees, utterly undone. “You look beautiful, lamb.”
Lucy responded with a triumphant spin, arms flared. “It’s like Rapunzel!”
“Yes, it is.” He chuckled and pulled her into a careful hug, avoiding the braid. “Very much like Rapunzel.”
With another giggle, Lucy danced down the hallway to the music, Winston in joyful pursuit.
He raised his gaze to Daphne, who stood quite proud with her arms crossed. “She likes Tchaikovsky.”
“She likesyou.” He cleared his throat and tried for a casual smile as he stood. “And anything you like is basically gospel at this point.”
Daphne shrugged, clearly pleased. “Well, I only like excellentthings. So she’s in good hands. Also—her hair is perfect for braids. Thick, coarse, holds like a dream. My fingers were tingling with excitement.”
“She’s certainly going to be spoiled to it now. Your results are much better than my attempt at plaits.”
“Oh well, it’s not so hard.” Daphne reached for her ponytail. “It’s a French braid with a little twist for the rose.” She tugged her band loose and her hair tumbled down like a thick blanket of gold around her shoulders, framing her face and capturing his senses with the tantalizing combination of cinnamon and vanilla wafting in his direction.
Finn forgot how to swallow.
Her fingers moved through it casually, like she had no idea what kind of personal crisis she was inciting.
“I’ll show you,” she said. She separated a section and began to braid slowly, narrating like she was on a cooking show. “You just add a small piece to each section as you go—like this...”
Finn stared at her hands. At her hair. At the curve of her smile. At everything.
Her expectant gaze found his as she unthreaded the braid. “Now you try.”
“What?” His voice cracked. He sounded thirteen.Brilliant!
“Since you figured out regular braids, you should be able to learn this one really quickly.” She gave her hair a playful toss, then waved it at him like a golden challenge. “Go ahead. I can teach you.”
Dream. Come. True.
“Here, let’s go to the couch. It’ll be easier for you to reach.” She caught his hand, and like the complete goner he was, he followed without hesitation.
She sat down wonderfully close, and he tried not to visibly combust. Lucy sat cross-legged on the floor across the room, putting ribbons in Winston’s fur, humming to herself like a tiny stylist in training.
“Clearly, it’s a braiding party, Mr. Dashwood.” Daphne smiled over at him. “You’re honor-bound to participate.”
“No argument from me, Miss Austen.” His voice came out lower than he expected. Rougher.
And her gaze caught in his, softening. Heating? Practically begging for a kiss.
