Because sure, the ribs were good. And yeah, his sauce deserved to be soaked into something spectacular.
But watching her light up, talk like they were coconspirators of some culinary masterpieces—that was the real magic.
And, heaven helphim, he was absolutely, irreversibly... toast.
“I’d call this night a definite success.” Harry walked back from locking the front door, apron still tied. “Everyone—and I do meaneveryone—in Wisteria popped in.”
Finn sighed, a slow grin spreading. “Not complaining.”
Harry edged onto one of the barstools across from Finn.
“Told you this place was worthy of your dreams. These people too.”
Finn fixed two glasses—one for Harry, one for himself—using the familiar motions to buy time. The wordsuccessfelt too small. It wasn’t just a good night.
It felt like something had clicked into place. A lock turned.
A sense of...belonging.
In each pat on the back, friendly hello, and even begrudged smile.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows, gaze drifting toward the darkened windows. Only the streetlamps down Main Street glowed. “But they do make you feel a part rather quickly.”
Harry gave a knowing chuckle. “They make therightpeople feel a part quickly. That’s Appalachian clannishness for you. If you fit, you’re in. If not”—he shrugged—“might take a while.”
Finn nodded, taking a drink. “It was like that for you?”
“Absolutely. I came in skeptical. But somehow I ended up in a small Southern town with people who treat me like kin.” His grin softened. “For better or worse. And I know you needed that too.”
So that’s why Harry pushed for Finn to make the move.
He knew what Finn had needed even more than he’d known himself.
Finn studied the older man. “What else are you trying to say, Harry?”
Harry’s grin returned and he leaned back a little on the stool. “Do you remember the time you were invited to be a guest chef on the telly?” He snapped his fingers in thought. “What was the show?”
“Well Done?” Finn groaned, heat climbing the back of his neck. He’d hated watching himself on-screen. It had been a huge opportunity—and it led to Sarah. Better chef. Big name. Glossy ambition. And he’d gone starry-eyed and pudding-brained over her. Never paused to figure out if theyfit.
Idiot.
“I remember the moment you got the call. You, me, and your dad were sitting around that table.”
“He’d just gotten back from hospital.” The first of a long trail of visits.
“Right.” Harry nodded. “And the pride on his face... I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man beam like that. He knew how hard you’d worked.”
Finn took another drink just to have something to do. His eyes burned. “I remember.” His father had always been the best cheerleader. The loudest. It was like he was making up for two parents.
“And the look on your face, well, it said it all. A dream had come true. You’d found your place.”
Finn’s attention shifted back to Harry, eyes narrowing. “I feel as though you’re trying to make a point.”
“Tonight, I saw that same look.” Harry leaned in. “That light. Joy, even. The sense you were exactly where you were supposed to be.”
“Like we said, this town really showed up—”
“It wasn’t from the opening, Finn.” Harry shook his head, expression gentling. “It was when Daphne walked in. When you sparred over ribs. When she spoke to Lucy.” Harry leaned closer. “You’re friendly with everyone, but anyone who knows you could have read you like a book.”
