Chapter 12 #3
“Your car?” Her whole face perked up like a kid who’d been promised a pony. Then she caught herself, reined it in with a casual
shrug. “Sure. That sounds . . . great.”
He couldn’t stop staring. Seeing her in new ways. Trying to regain some semblance of balance. “What if we check both our schedules
and make a . . . date of it?”
Her smile faltered. Her posture shifted. And the wariness returned like a curtain being drawn across a window. Argh. He hated
he’d left that impression on her heart.
“I’m all for gratitude,” she said slowly. “But what’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He held her gaze. “And maybe a realization that I’ve been blind to the value of some of the people in my life.”
She tilted her head, studying him. Her chest rose and fell a little faster.
Did she hear it? The truth tucked between the lines?
“Okay, you two are getting a little too gross for me to enjoy my pizza.” Jack plopped a slice onto a plate and handed it to Lucy with a grin—no need to ask Finn’s permission anymore.
Over the past week of working together at the restaurant, Jack and Lucy had become a bit of a dynamic duo.
She adored him. He made her feel important.
Gave her little jobs, lavished her with dramatic praise.
Finn glanced at Daphne.
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 child who 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.
His dad used to be the gravitational pull that made Finn feel at home, but after the funeral Finn had drifted, trying to find
where home was next. Without Dad.
And maybe he hadn’t fought the drift. Maybe he hadn’t had the strength.
But maybe now, maybe this—Daphne, Lucy, even Jack—was his second chance.
“I know you’re busy with prep for opening Saturday.” Jack tossed a slice of pizza on a plate and walked over to Finn. “But
since I work with you, I also know you’re ready.” He offered the plate. “You and Lucy want to join us for a short game night?”
“I’m not certain.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He really should go back over everything, but the cozy idea of staying
just a little longer in this welcome environment tugged at him. “I probably should double-check the back-order list and—”
“It would be good for Lucy,” Daphne threw out there.
“And good for you, mate,” Jack said in the worst fake British accent Finn had ever heard.
Daphne shot him a frown. “Never do that again. Gran would be horrified.” She shook her head and turned back to Finn, the light
in her eyes a sudden warning. “I think Finn is just scared that I’ll not only beat him at securing the wedding job but at
Uno too.”
That smile—with that teasing curve that made his chest feel too tight—was pure trouble.
Beautiful trouble.
Finn held her gaze a moment longer, testing the air between them. Trying to see if there was room—space—for more than rivalry.
Could she still believe something good about him?
Was it possible to prove to her that he could be the guy worthy of a future with her?
“We can stay for an hour,” he said more to Daphne than Jack. “See how I fare for a game or two?”
The catering competition might still be on. And Daphne still proved his competitor.
But maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the wedding he wanted to win anymore.
He was out for a much more precious prize.
An unexpected treasure.
Daphne Austen’s heart.