Her lodged breath shook free as her thoughts grappled to catch up to the shift. “Is... is Lucy likely to have another nosebleed tonight?”
His attention shifted back to her. “Hard to say. I hope not, but with sutures, you never know.”
There it was again. That flicker of concern. The kind that didn’t fake easily. Maybe even some weariness?
Daphne hesitated. Reason screamed,Don’tdo it!but her mouth didn’t get the memo. “It’s well past midnight. Seems a shame to move her.”
Finn turned slowly, brow raised, and that unguarded look was back on full display. “Pardon?”
She was beginning to really like that look.
“She’s sleeping so well.” She shrugged as casually as she could manage while her heart climbed up her throat.Don’t offer. Don’t offer.“You... you could stay here. In the living room. On... on the other couch.” She pointed in the direction for emphasis. “That way you’d have running water. Towels. Just in case.”
“Stay here?”
“For Lucy.” Daphne reiterated with another nod.
The silence that followed was somehow louder than the invitation itself.
Then, softly, “Thank you, Daphne. Truly.”
And the way he said her name—gentle, reverent, like he meant it—stilled her breath for an entirely different reason.
She nodded, fighting the flush creeping back. “Happy to help.”
And she was. Because this version of Finn—the one who smelled like vanilla, loved his daughter fiercely, talked of his gran, and lit up at the mention of creative recipes—thiswas the one who fit right into cozy movie nights, morning cook-offs, and sweet conversations.
And the flirty one?
Hewas starting to look like a shield.
Sleep came in shallow waves, and each time Finn woke, he found himself on Daphne’s couch, with Lucy sleeping peacefully across fromhim. He lay awake much too long contemplating the events of the night.
Or rather, Daphne Austen herself.
She was a pink-infused anomaly.
He kept trying to place her among the women he’d dated over the past year—sweet, shallow encounters that started with drinks and ended with dessert, never veering beyond. Simple. No complications, no messy emotions.
No one who reached into his world and sparked something hidden—or what he’d believed to be dormant—back to life.
But the way Daphne had knelt by his daughter and made her laugh? Draped a quilt over her with a look of such unabashed tenderness? That wasn’t performance. That washeart.
And Finn didn’t have the emotional real estate for heart.
Or did he? Could he... risk more?
More than a single evening of conversation that ended with a good-night kiss and a goodbye.
The past five years had been structured around three priorities: take care of Lucy, run a business, and keep his heart safe. He’d raised Lucy with some help from his dad and sister, juggled life and work with precision, until it fell apart. And he’d gone on the occasional date here or there, of course—casual, uncomplicated, disposable.
But Daphne Austen was none of those things.
She was messy. Surprising. Clever.
And kind in a way she didn’t seem to even realize.
Since entering her apartment last night, something unexpected brewed in the air between them, a shift he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was his lack of sleep, or maybe it was just her being... her.
