The afternoon with Lucy had rattled Daphne more than she wanted to admit.
Not because she didn’t love comforting that sweet little girl.
And not because she didn’t believe every word she’d said about truth—words her granny had once tucked into her heart, now passed along to another.
But because of Lucy’s complete confidence in her dad. In Finn’s sweet adoration of his “lamb.” The way she’d curled into his arms likeit was the safest place in the world. The way he had looked at her like she was the moon and stars and all the best parts of the sky.
Daphne had no memory of a father’s love like that. No real idea of how it anchored a heart. But she recognized the certainty—the rootedness—of being loved by a father. She’d seen it in Lucy. In Rosemary. In dozens of people she’d grown up around.
They understood a security Daphne recognized in theory, and in her faith. And she got a little taste of it with Jack. She almost smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she could count on him. There had been times in their lives when they only had each other.
And he’d always been there.
But her heart ached for something different. Security from the man who would hold her heart someday.
And then, the way Finn and Lucy had joined into game night like they just... belonged there? It was unnerving and sweet.
When Rosemary and Nate had shown up an hour later, Finn had stayed. Long after the polite escape window had closed. His charm and humor had blended right into the cozy chaos of their “gang”... and added just enough spice to keep her toes curled.
That accent.
That hair.
That smile that made her feel like she’d swallowed warm cider and maybe a few fireworks.
The secret ingredient to her downfall.
It wasn’t fair.
And then he’d had the audacity to dangle his car as a date option.
A date.
Which could mean anything.
And probably did.
His definition ofdateand hers were likely worlds apart.
She’d always seen dates as the possible first step toward forever.
So, yeah.
There was pressure. But she couldn’t seem to think smaller.
Building emotional connections in a disposable way felt... heartbreaking.
And she’d had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.
She smoothed her hair before sliding on a pair of silver earrings, delicate with a little sapphire bead that caught the light. They matched the flirty dress she’d chosen—a deep blue that hugged her curves and suggested more poise than she felt. The entire ensemble boasted a simple, classic look. And the shade matched her eyes.
If she was going to walk into her competition’s grand opening, she might as well look like a woman in control.
The pub had only been open an hour and already had the low, golden hum of success. Candles flickered in mismatched brass holders. The stone fireplace cast a low, cozy heat. Laughter lilted through the air like music.
And Finn—blast him—was behind the counter in rolled-up sleeves, shaking hands, laughing easily, and passing out plates like he had the corner on happiness.
Just Finn Dashwood doing what Finn Dashwood did best: charm an entire room with that smug, stupidly attractive smile and ridiculously enjoyable humor.
