Whoever raised these two—Gran, most likely—had left behind a legacy of generosity. Of quiet, resilient kindness.
“You don’t have to repay me, Finn,” Daphne said softly. “Sometimes people just do the right thing because it is the right thing. Like caring about Lucy. It’s easy.”
“I don’t mean it as a repayment, but more of a thank-you.” He searched her face. How had she grown even more beautiful in the past half hour? He prayed he hadn’t blundered things beyond repair.
She stared back, a little of the wariness waning. Still around the edges but not quite as sharp.
“Not everyone adjusts so easily to Lucy’s... speech differences or to strangers the way the two of you have done.”
“Gran always welcomed strangers.” Jack chuckled. “She and Granny D were a wild duo when it came to generosity. Took in every stray soul who wandered through town. Half of Wisteria probably owes them a casserole.”
“And Lucy’s speech isn’t that bad,” Daphne said, moving to grab a bag of chips. “Nothing that should scare people off. Besides, anyone who can’t see how special she is? That’s their loss.”
“People don’t always like differences or... the unexpected. It makes them uncomfortable.” He studied her and then looked back at Jack. “But you two seem to take it in stride.”
“In stride?” Daphne stilled, shot a look at Jack, and said, “Funny you should put it that way.”
“Don’t—” Jack groaned, but Daphne only shrugged.
“Jack, take your legs off.”
Finn blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
Lucy looked up from slipping crust to Winston. Even the dog paused.
Jack let out a sigh that suggested he was all too familiar with this bit. “He would have figured it out eventually anyway.”
“Not with you wearing black jeans and white button-downs all the time for your work uniform.” Daphne waved him away and turned back to Finn. “We understand about the struggle with differences because Jack was born with phocomelia. Congenital limb malformation.”
Finn’s head whipped toward Jack.
Jack stood there like any other man. Confident. Capable. Solid. “Congenital limb malformation?”
“Without legs.” Jack shook his head and shot Daphne a weak glare. “Or in my case, part of my legs were missing.” And with another exaggerated sigh, he sat down on the nearby chair and raised one of the trouser legs to reveal the gleam of a metal prosthetic. “Left leg’s gone from the thigh down. Right from just under the knee.”
Finn stepped closer, staring. “But... I’ve seen you run. Climb ladders.”
Jack tapped the leg with a knuckle. “Been using these since I was a toddler.”
Daphne gestured toward her brother with a smile full of both pride and affection. “An entire life of questions, stares, low expectations... all of which Jack’s blown to smithereens.”
“Now you’re just trying to make up for outing my prosthetics like they’re a party trick,” Jack grumbled, though his tone held no sting. “It’s not a big deal anymore. I don’t lead with it because most people don’t know how to react. They can’t handle”—he glanced at Lucy—“differences or the unexpected, like you said.”
The implication landed heavy in Finn’s chest. Could that have been another reason their father left? Because he couldn’t accept a childwho didn’t fit the world’s expectations? The thought raked over Finn with extra pain. A man who left his family when they needed him. Who saw his children as less than or not enough? The ache in Finn’s chest spread as he looked at Lucy—bright, funny, brave Lucy—and imagined the shadow of that kind of rejection. Then his attention flicked to Daphne. What scars would that have left behind? He looked to Jack. What wounds?
“Just don’t challenge him to a trampoline contest,” Daphne said, pouring a glass of iced tea and handing it to her brother with a grin. “Still a bit tricky.”
“They’re tricky for me, and I have nothing like your excuse.” Finn shook his head and chuckled. “You both are remarkable people.”
“One of us is,” Jack said, taking a sip of tea and throwing a look at Daphne. “The other is a nuisance.”
“Thank you.” Daphne dropped into a small, theatrical curtsy. “I do try.”
Finn’s smile lingered, but something deeper stirred beneath the amusement.
This—the teasing, the ease, the warmth—this felt like family. Like belonging.
He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.
