Daphne’s face flashed in his mind. The shock in her eyes after their kiss. But worse—the guarded sadness that followed. Like she’d known it would end that way. Like she’d expected him to pull away. And he had.
Because he was an idiot.
A fool indeed.
He should have said something. Anything. But the second her lips left his, it was like a trapdoor had opened beneath him. His pulse had thundered, his chest had seized—and all he could think was,Notagain.
And yet, he’d wanted to stay. For the first time in a long, long while, he’d wanted to linger. Brew a pot of tea. Sit on her couch. Ask her questions about her ridiculous blend names and that vintage baking tin collection. Maybe even... kiss her again. Slower this time.
But instead, like a coward, he’d bundled Lucy up and made his exit.
Because that was safer. And safer was his default now.
Then why didsafesuddenly feel more like an excuse than a protection?
Travis, mercifully oblivious to Finn’s spiraling, looked up like he might propose right then and there. “It’s like I’ve stepped back into my nan’s kitchen. If she’d had a Michelin star and a flair for dramatic presentation.” His grin grew and he dipped his spoon into the cake first, whimpering with pleasure at the taste.
Finn really couldn’t have asked for a better recommendation. He loved this part—watching people light up when they tasted something that hit just right. Food was storytelling. Memory. Sometimes even redemption.
What might work for Daphne? Chocolate?
He stifled a groan. No. Food was much too shallow an apology when the damage was deeper than a burnt caramel or split ganache. And he wanted to apologize. Make things right. Maybe even...
What?
Hope again?
Because of her and what those minutes of conversation felt like when all the barriers slipped away? When it was talk of food and family? When it was just him and her without pretense?
Travis pointed his fork toward the spread. “Do you think there’s a way to make this look... you know, classier?”
It didn’t get classier than Yorkshire pudding, but if Finn wanted to be taken seriously by the wedding venue population, maybe he needed to think a little more... creatively. Sticky pudding in a dessert glass? Nicer plates? Microgreens?
“I could carve ‘happily ever after’ into the mashed potatoes,” Finn deadpanned. “With a gravy drizzle flourish.”
Travis laughed. “As long as the potatoes show up, mate.”
Finn chuckled, but his mind wandered—right past the Yorkshire pudding and raspberry fool, to the woman likely serving petit fours and perfumed teas through the adjoining wall.
“Didn’t I see you and Lindsay drive in together?” He nodded toward the wall like he could see through it. “I’m guessing Lindsay is with Daphne right now?”
Travis gave a sheepish nod. “She was already planning the Instagram caption in the car.”
“Which means Daphne is currently wooing her with bite-size baked goods and frosting.” He tried to sound unaffected. Light, even. But a slow ache tugged behind his ribs. “Probably has rose petals scattered on the scones.”
Travis paused mid-chew. “I didn’t think about that.”
“Don’t worry,” Finn said, injecting false bravado into his voice. “I’ll win her over.”
He had to. It wasn’t just about the gig. Or the timing. Or even the ridiculous joy he got from proving himself.
“You sure?” Travis asked, eyebrows raised, before he delved into the Yorkshire pudding like he hadn’t eaten in twelve years. “Because Lindsay has been dreaming about this day since she was five. She’s got vision boards. Plural.”
“She’s romantic. I get it.” Finn waved a hand over the food. “But this is a wedding. Not a garden party. People need fuel to dance and flirt and make questionable choices.”
Travis grinned. “You’re not wrong.”
“And look, Daphne’s incredible,” Finn added before he could stop himself. In fact, the statement slipped right out, complete with a surprising amount of... awareness that he believed it. So why would he run away from incredible? He shoved off the thought. “She’s got taste. Grace. Probably has her own zip code on Pinterest.”
