She rolled her eyes for his viewing pleasure.
“He’s all the things you’ve waxed poetic about for years: British, funny, food obsessed.” Jack ticked off fingers, then paused, his tone softening. “Is it because he’s a dad?”
“No. Actually, being a dad is probably his best feature.” Daphne sighed. “And his version ofnice”—she used air quotes—“is at least fifty percent jerk and ninety percent commitment phobic. He told me so. He’s nothing but a flirt.”
But even as she said it, the memory of his apology flickered in her chest. Not so flirtatious. Not so light.
“What?” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, giving his head a little shake before staring back. “Um... being a flirt doesn’t always equal shallow or heartless, Daph.” Jack shook his head. “No matter what Jane Austen says.”
She squinted at him. He grinned. Then sobered.
“A guy doesn’t apologize like that if he’s indifferent. Whether or nothe wants a relationship, he clearly cares about not hurting you. And that’s not jerk behavior.”
She opened her mouth, ready to object—then closed it. Jack was right.
Again.
Finn wasn’t a jerk. He was a good dad. Genuinely decent to people, from everything she’d seen... and heard. Polite to Granny D. Friendly with the whole town.
Well—everyone but her.
And still, that kiss had felt... different. Like he’d been surprised too.
She nodded, mostly to herself. It didn’t matter. Whatever spark existed, it wasn’t going anywhere. Not when he made it crystal clear he wasn’t looking for anything beyond... impulsive facial decisions.
They could just be simple, neighboring competitors till death do they part.
“Who’s to say that he’s onlyreallyflirting with you?”
That stopped her mid-thought.
Her bottom lip dropped. “He flirts with everyone.”
“Does he?” Jack raised a brow. “Has he flirted with anyone else the way he flirts with you?”
She opened her mouth, ready to list names. Then paused.
Yes, he was friendly. Yes, he was smooth. But... was it the same?
And why did that suddenly make her think of all the horrible antics middle school boys engaged in when they were crushing on a girl?
Her face went warm at the memory of his lips on hers. But Finn most definitely wasn’t a middle school boy.
Just then Finn returned, phone lowered, looking slightly less amused. “Gavin said we’ve got a problem at the pub.”
Jack stood.
“Oh no.” Daphne lowered the pipe. “What is it?”
“Dishwasher.” Finn grimaced. “Minor flood.”
Her stomach lurched. Was Finn’s plumbing connected to hers? Similar to hers, even? Surely her leak and his couldn’t be related, could they?
“Gavin is steering suds toward the back door with a pizza peel.”
Jack snorted. “Everything falls apart without me, I see.”
“Very funny.” Finn took a few steps back. “I need to get over there.”
