And then—maybe from Gran, maybe from God—a quiet knowing settled in.
Maybe she did have something to offer this little girl who was starting to steal her heart.
Finn took the porch entrance up to Daphne’s door, wiping damp palms on his apron. He’d been nearly elbow deep in a batch of beef Wellington, trying to coax the pastry into that golden, flaky perfection that earned Michelin stars—or at least a raised brow from Granny D—and hadn’t seen Daphne’s text until nearly a half hour after she’d sent it.
Father of the Year, right here.
On Lucy’s first day of school too.
He hadn’t fully counted the cost of launching his own business and trying to keep tabs on his little girl’s every milestone. Nursery school had wiggle room in its pickup time. But a school bus?
He hadn’t thought to watch for her.
His shoulders slumped as he crested the stairs and paused in front of Daphne’s door, left open just a bit. Like she’d been expecting him.
The wood hung slightly crooked, similar to the back door to her restaurant’s kitchen. More was in need of repair than her plumbing. He filed the thought away, his hand brushing the weathered frame as he stepped closer.
Then he heard her voice.
“Well, that’s a funny question,” she continued, saying something about how English people and Americans didn’t all look the same.
Finn tilted his head, squinting through the opening. What was going on?
Then Lucy’s soft, shaking voice answered, and heat exploded in his chest. Some boy on the bus had said something cruel.
A growl itched at the back of his throat. He’d had enough practice swatting away people’s assumptions about Lucy—her speech, her crooked smile, her absent mother—but those had always come in sideways glances and whispered questions meant for him. Never for her ears. She didn’t have the words yet to fight back. She shouldn’t have to.
Maybe school had been a mistake. Perhaps he should wait another year.
He took a step forward, ready to storm the room with all the righteous fury of a protective dad. Why had Lucy run to Daphne? Had she seen her first?
“I’m so sorry, Lucy. What those kids said wasn’t kind at all,” came Daphne’s response. He’d missed some of their muffled conversation, but he waited in silence a beat more to calm down before entering the conversation. He shifted another step forward.
Why did kids have to say such horrible things?
Daphne’s voice paused his approach. “Words hurt sometimes, don’t they?” She remained too calm. Not angry enough. “And those kinds of harsh words hurt even worse if we believe them.”
Believe them?He almost rounded into her living room, but Daphne’s next question brought him to a complete stop.
“So how do we figure out whether we should believe those words or not?”
Finn braced a hand against the wall. What was she doing?
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we have to ask someone who knows better. An expert about the topic.”
Finn peered around the corner of the wall to see Daphne curled up with Lucy on a large blue chair, pink pillows around them and Lucy holding a handkerchief in one hand and a... milkshake in the other?
Daphne looked around the space and suddenly seemed to find what she was looking for. She picked up Lucy’s lunch box that lay beside them on the floor and ran her finger over the pink monogram. “What if Mavis or that little mean boy on the bus”—maybe Daphne wasn’t as calm as she seemed—“pointed to thisLand said that it was anA? What would you say?”
“It’s not anA,” Lucy whispered, indignant. “It’s anL. ForLucy.”
She still couldn’t quite land theLsound, but that didn’t seem to bother Daphne at all.
“Exactly right. It’s anLforLucy. But what if Mavis kept saying it was anAand didn’t believe that it was anL? What would you do then?”
“I know how to spell my whole name,” Lucy said, a touch of sass sliding into her tone.
