It was sweet. Tender.
Some of the emergency workers had been going since first thing that morning—hauling people out of flooded homes, navigating washed-out roads, digging through debris. Heroes in volunteer T-shirts and turnout gear. How they kept going, she didn’t know.
She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for them, for the ones still missing, for the ones who’d already lost too much.
So many prayers.
The lobby had quieted. Kids curled in donated quilts, the elderly dozed on borrowed cots, and the scent of peanut butter sandwiches and rain lingered in the air. Even the volunteers were running on fumes now, slumping against counters and folding chairs with the slow-moving weariness of people who’d given everything they could today.
A light rain still dripped from the eaves outside, but the worst of the weather had passed.
She rubbed a hand over her bleary eyes as the front door creaked open across the foyer. Another found person? Another family member searching for a loved one? Another emergency worker in need of food or rest?
She straightened, readying to help—and her breath left her.
Finn stood in the entryway, soaked through, mud on his jeans, a line of exhaustion etched deep in his brow. He looked heavier somehow—like the weight of everything he’d seen was still clinging to his shoulders.
But his eyes—those warm, tea-colored eyes—landed on her, and the weight shifted.
Something in her melted.
He let out a breath she felt across the room.
With a shift of her body to lower Lucy’s head onto the couch, Daphne stood, her legs shaky, and then she moved.
Didn’t run, didn’t cry—just walked straight into his arms.
The heaviness of the past few hours crashed over her as she pressed in as close to him as their bodies allowed. Pulling from his strength. Giving of her own. Sharing the unspoken burden.
They stood in the middle of the foyer, and neither of them said anything. Just held each other, his head resting on hers, her palms pressing in on the back of his wet jacket. He clung to her like he never wanted to let go.
Daphne exhaled against his neck. The scent of rain and woodsmoke and something uniquelyhimtucked between them, relaxing her coiled muscles.
He was safe.
“I had to help—” His voice cracked, low and hoarse.
“I know.”
“So many people needed us...”
“Here too,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes were rimmed in red, his lips pressed tight. She reached up to touch his jaw, mud-splattered and rough. “You did the right thing.”
He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking around the room—checking on Lucy, the crowd—before coming back to her. He lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek.
“You smell like baby powder and peanut butter,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s a new scent for you. But... oddly, not terrible.”
She huffed a tired laugh, blinking fresh tears.
“There was a minor explosion while I was hunting down baby powder. For about twenty minutes, I looked like a cupcake.”
“Sounds like I missed the best part of the day.”
“You didn’t.” Her voice dropped as she searched his face. “You showed up just in time for it. And I’m so glad—”
He covered her lips with his. Not a long kiss, but a sweet one. Grateful. Somehow communicating strains of how much he cared about her in mere seconds, rewiring the emotional architecture of a moment.
“Called it!” a voice shouted from behind them.
