“Fit as a fiddle, darlin’. Though I’m so damp I’m either going to mildew or sprout something green.”
Daphne choked out a laugh and wrapped the older woman in a hug. “And Finn?”
“He’s fitter than me, and that’s a fact, though he’s likely even soggier.” She huffed out her laugh as Daphne adjusted the blanket around the woman’s shoulders and focused on her every word. “We got a ride in the fire truck, and let me tell you, them boys were something special. I’ve always wanted to be carried around like a prize, and they were just the ones to do it.”
Daphne’s whole body sagged with a sudden wave of relief. “So... he’s okay?”
“Half mad but alive. Last I heard, him and Jack were floating around on a boat looking for stragglers. That man can paddle like an Olympic rower. I saw it with my own eyes.” And her grin crooked enough to let Daphne know that Granny D was mighty impressed with what she saw.
Another much-needed laugh shook from Daphne’s chest. “Good. Great.” Daphne breathed out the words and guided Granny D to a room nearby lit by a warm fire and even warmer company.
“Did you say you was lookin’ for Finn Dashwood?” A woman, clothes damp and wrinkled, stepped forward as Daphne returned to the entry hall.
“Yes, I am.”
The woman’s bottom lip quivered, her dark, damp hair plastered to her forehead. “He got me and my boy off the roof of our house. I heard he joined up with Jack Austen.”
A man nearby enough to overhear joined the conversation. “And Pastor Nate’s out there with a few of his elders doin’ the same. They cut through the woods out on Possum Run and brought my mama to the church.”
And as more folks poured in—soaked, stunned, thankful—the stories kept coming.
“Finn and Jack just got Mrs. Jessup off her porch roof!” someone said.
“Pastor Armbrister brought the Stanley twins in a kayak—they were clingin’ to their swing set.”
“Jack dove right into that water and rescued a cat that didn’t want to be rescued, given the scratches he left on Jack’s cheek.”
On it went. Story after story. Hands offered. Lives saved. Each person carrying a bit of someone else who’d helped them along, tying everyone closer together in the middle of such enormous tragedy. Unexpected loss.
Hope among the devastation.
This is what it looked like.
And then, Mr. Clark, who’d been rescued from his antique shop that stood right next to Finn’s pub, brought a painful truth to light.
“I don’t know how we’re gonna recover,” he muttered. “Forty years in business, and now it’s gone. Finn just got that pub up and running. Brand-new. I don’t know if he’ll want to rebuild. If he evencanrebuild.”
Daphne froze.
He’d invested so much into The Green Dragon. Would the loss push him to leave?
After all, he’d only been here a couple of months.
What if, once this was all over, he looked at the wreckage of his pub—his dream—and decided it wasn’t worth salvaging? What if the people of Wisteria—she—were not enough to get him to stay?
Imagining what tomorrow might look like for anyone who’d lost part of their lives nearly sent her into hysterics. But she had a community here. A life here. It was home.
What choice would Finn make after the waters cleared and the devastation shone in the light of day?
She told herself not to panic. Told herself to trust.
But her fingers curled tighter around her clipboard.
Because how could she expect Finn to stay when he lost everything that brought him to Wisteria in the first place?
The boat skimmed past a mailbox, its red flag barely visible above the rushing brown water.
Finn turned the steering wheel hard to avoid a floating trash can, then angled around a submerged sedan—the back window smashed in.
