“She’s great, isn’t she?” Finn tried for a smirk, but it landed somewhere in lovesick-puppy territory. “Smart, creative, beautiful. Too good for me.”
“So that’s the problem?”
“I’m the problem, Harry.” Finn’s shoulders caved beneath the truth. “She thinks I’m a player,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I don’t blame her. When we first met, I was... careless. Flirty. I didn’t know what this was going to become. I didn’t expect—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t expect her.”
Harry’s eyes softened.
Finn stared down into his glass. “I’ve never felt this way. Not even with Sarah. It’s like—being near Daphne is... oxygen. I’m better around her. I want to make her laugh. I want to listen to her talk about scones or tea pairings or obscure Austen quotes and just... never stop listening.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief, the realization settling deeper. “With Sarah, it felt like I had to work for those perfect moments. But with Daphne? Even when we’re bickering, it feels... easy. Right.”
“You’ve grown since Sarah.” Harry gave a slow nod. “You know the difference between something that looks right and something thatisright.”
“Yeah.” Finn huffed a humorless laugh. “Grown—and still managed to act like a complete idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You did what a lot of hurting people do.” Harry gestured with his glass. “You built a wall. A pretty one. Made of charm and banter and friendliness. But a wall all the same.”
“For Lucy,” Finn murmured. “And me.”
“But here’s the thing—walls don’t just keep pain out. They keeppossibilityout too.”
Finn winced. Daphne’s face flashed in his mind again. Those wounded eyes. Her voice like flint:“No troublesome hearts involved.”
“I want to change how she sees me,” he said softly. “But I don’t know how.”
“You change it by being honest.”
Finn looked at him sideways. “I’m a lot of things, Harry, but sentimental confessions aren’t exactly in my toolbox.”
“You’re a chef, Finn. You know presentation matters—but it’s the flavor that makes someone stay.”
Finn leveled his friend with a long look. “Are you really going to use cooking metaphors?”
He shrugged his answer. “Stop feeding her surface-level charm. Give her the deep stuff. The real you.” Harry’s smile crooked. “Still be your usual gregarious self, but this time lead with your heart. She’s smart. She’ll see the difference.”
Finn was quiet for a long moment. “I... was hopeful she already had, at least a little.”
Harry chuckled. “Nobody argues that passionately about ribs and focaccia unless there’s something sweeter simmering under the surface.”
Finn’s lips quirked. “Simmering?”
“What?” Harry raised a brow. “Roll with it.”
Finn chuckled and then looked down at his glass. “I just hope it’s not too late.”
Harry gave his shoulder a solid clap. “For real love? The kind that surprises you, makes your daughter smile like that, bowls you over?” He leaned in, eyes alight with humor. “It’s never too late. Just don’t wait until the teapot boils over.”
Chapter 14
@TGDPub:What would you rather have for lunch?
Pasties
A cookie on a fancy plate
Vote wisely. #TeamPub #FoodWars #TeamCoffee #BeanWaterIsLife
PS: Thanks for making opening night for #RealFood an amazing success, Wisteria!
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