Chapter 18 #3
a few wild hairs sticking up like he’d wrestled a mixer, and still managing to look like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle
magazine.
He was everything she wasn’t.
And yet, Daphne was starting to wonder if maybe—maybe—he was exactly what she’d been looking for all along.
Cooking with him had been like a dream . . . at first. They’d worked together easily, trading advice here, swapping stories
there.
And then she’d overcooked the popovers. Right in front of him.
And her brain had spiraled into a full-on anxiety tornado of all the other ways she could fail this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Naturally, her entire body had joined the revolt.
To such a degree that Finn—not exactly the poster child for subtlety—had noticed.
Which had only humiliated her further . . . until she realized he wasn’t laughing at her.
He wasn’t patronizing her.
He was worried about her. Showing he cared.
Not so much for the wedding.
For her.
And then he’d offered his car.
It was unfair. Dirty pool, really. And yet—brilliant.
Because somehow he’d shifted her spiraling panic into something else.
From failing everyone to relaxing.
To freedom.
Then he’d called the car Ladybird, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man was such an exasperatingly attractive cocktail of unexpected things—sharp wit, soft heart, and maddeningly good hair—that
it should be illegal.
Or at the very least, off the menu.
But no. Now, here she was—speeding up the Blue Ridge Parkway with the top down, her dream car wrapped around her and a dashing
Englishman in the passenger seat.
A man who’d once annoyed her right down to her carefully organized socks.
But now . . .
Now?
The open air blew his spice-and-vanilla scent toward her.
And somewhere between mile markers, she realized with a start—he mattered.
More than competing neighbors. More than friends.
“The brown signs point to the parkway.” Daphne gestured forward as they turned up the entrance to the parkway, casting Finn
a grin. “You’ll want to know, because one visit will ruin you for life.”
His chuckle enveloped her like a favorite sweater as another easy silence settled between them. The kind of silence that only came when you didn’t have to force anything.
When it felt . . . safe.
Daphne’s brain flinched at the awareness. How had that happened?
“So . . .” His gaze stayed forward, but his lips crooked in profile, readying her for a flirty comment, no doubt. “This infatuation
with my car—should I be concerned?”
Her shoulders squeezed at the memory. “I really was fawning all over it that first day, wasn’t I?”
“I’ve not seen a woman look at anything like that outside of a shoe store.”
Her laugh burst out. “Oh, I’ve been that woman too. But this”—she smoothed her hand over the dashboard almost reverently—“this
is a much more thoughtful obsession than Steve Madden, Vince, or Paul Green could ever inspire.”
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Are those rugby players? Because they cannot possibly be shoes.”
Another laugh slipped from her.
He kept doing that—catching her off guard, surprising her into laughter when she least expected it.
“And . . .” His rich voice curled like red-velvet icing. “I hope you don’t think that answer satisfies my curiosity.”
She flicked a glance at him, noticing the wind tossing his hair into a riot. Oh, she was in so much trouble. “Granny came
to the States for school, met my grandpa, and stayed. She used to tell me stories about her childhood—open fields, picnics,
afternoon teas, and the tiniest, most perfect cars buzzing along country lanes.”
“Thus your love for Britain?”
“Granny was amazing, so everything she loved, I ended up falling in love with too.” The admission pricked with bittersweet memories.
So many. Crowding in as they often did in unexpected ways.
“Her favorite car was a 1965 blue Cabriolet,” she said.
“Grandpa bought it for her when they were newly married. They couldn’t afford fancy trips, so they’d fill up the tank and drive until they ran out of daylight—camp under the stars, dream together, plan their family together. All in that little blue car.”
She sighed, the familiar road and the company somehow unwinding all her tense muscles.
How had he known she’d needed this?
“And your mother was one of those dreams?” he asked gently.
Mom. The familiar ache twisted tighter. “Grandpa died in a car accident when Mom was just a few years old.” She tried for a light
shrug, but the grief still clung to her like a shadow. “I’m sure they would’ve had more kids if they’d had more time. Granny
loved children.”
The road curved sharply, and ahead a tunnel yawned open from the mountainside.
“Oh, tunnel ahead.” Gratefully seizing the excuse to shift gears, she glanced over at Finn, mischief sparking. “My mom always
warned me about tunnels. I like to be prepared.”
His deadpan response came without missing a beat. “Shocking revelation, Miss Austen.”
She snorted, and the tension in her chest cracked open a little more.
“Is sarcasm a permanent character trait for you?” she asked as the tunnel swallowed them in darkness.
Beside her, his voice dropped, low and wicked in the dark. “Some people inspire it more than others.”
Oh wow.
That voice . . . in the dark.
Her pulse floundered. “I’m flattered,” she said, aiming for breezy but hearing the breathlessness underneath.
“You should be.”
The tunnel spat them out into blinding sunlight, but the moment between them clung to the air.
She tossed the hair off her face and glanced briefly over at Finn. “I think one of my more prominent character traits is that I love giving other people surprises.”
She threw him a wink and caught the flash of something dangerous in his eyes before she turned her attention back to the road.
Whew.
“Good surprises? If not, that seems highly unfair of you.” His voice was rougher than before.
“I see it as generosity,” she tossed back. “Giving rather than receiving.”
He chuckled. “Ah, so not only are you magnanimous with the pressure of your foot on the gas pedal, but also with your surprises?”
She started to laugh—then caught the sly jab—and instinctively eased off the accelerator. “Sorry.” She shot him an unrepentant
grin. “I forget the first time on this road can feel a little . . . death-defying.”
“I’ve only seen my life flash before my eyes twice in the last half hour.” He gestured to the stunning vista unfurling around
them. “But if I had to go, this view”—his eyes caught hers, lingered, softened—“would certainly make for a memorable send-off.”
Volcanic heat infused her middle and into her face to the teary-eyed spot. Heaven and earth! She tried to redirect the reaction
to something she could handle while driving. “I can do better than just a drive-by view.” She nodded ahead. “There’s an overlook
with a short hike for an even better view.”
She veered into a small, paved turnout and flung open her door. “Come on,” she called over the roof of the car, willing her
pulse to behave. “You’re going to love it.”
Or at least she hoped he would.
Finn rounded the hood to meet her, and without thinking she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the trailhead.
He didn’t just let her; he laced his fingers through hers like he’d been waiting for the invitation. And her heart settled into the touch, even as it lit a thousand nerve endings through her she didn’t even know she had.
They crested the overlook together, the view exploding open before them—layers upon layers of blue mountains rolling toward
the horizon, the trees already whispering hints of gold and crimson at their edges.
The sky stretched endlessly overhead, clear and impossibly blue, and her smile stretched with it. This was home. She breathed
it in.
Finn stopped beside her, his hand still linked in hers.
Silent.
Awed.
“It’s . . . magnificent.” His whisper surfaced with reverence, his attention fully fastened ahead.
Then—without looking her way—he shifted his grip, threading his fingers tighter through hers, grounding her like an anchor
against the breathtaking view.
Her heart stumbled. His hand felt so steady. So certain.
And the realization of him knowing her, caring for her enough to come here with her . . . well, it pierced deep and then branched
out through her chest.
They stood there, suspended in a moment too perfect to rush.
Then Finn squeezed her hand. “And what about this footpath you promised?”
With a grin, she tugged him toward the worn trail leading into the trees. The birdsong and gentle rush of the breeze from
up the valley brought all sorts of wonderful autumn scents—goldenrod’s honeyed sweetness, pine’s sharp snap, the distant smoke
of someone’s woodstove curling into the sky.
Home. Comfort. Her gaze trailed to Finn. And him?
“Jack told me a little about your mum and granny,” Finn said quietly, matching her slower pace. “I’m sorry, Daphne.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her. Unwrapping wounds that were still finding a way to move from fresh to scarred. Some days, it seemed they didn’t hurt as much, but then, out of the blue, they’d nearly debilitate her with the gaping holes of those missing lives.
“They were the best women,” Daphne said, slowing her pace even more and sending Finn a small smile. “Granny would have really
liked you.”
“Oh?” His smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “She had a thing for tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome?”
“She did.” Daphne chuckled, grateful for the levity. “But even more for quick wit and a good heart.”
At that, Finn stopped walking. Gently, he tugged on their joined hands until she turned to face him.
“A good heart, huh?” His gaze searched hers, something more serious flickering behind the teasing. “Is that a windup, or do
you mean it?”
She shrugged and started walking again. “I’ll let you figure it out.”
They kept to the path in silence until the trees gave way to reveal an even more panoramic display than before—the layers
of mountains now almost a painting of blues and golds.
Finn inhaled sharply, expression rapt—and she liked him even more for it.
“This,” he said, voice rough with wonder. “This feels like home.”
She tucked a hair behind her ear, easing close enough to him for their arms to touch. “Granny always said it looked a little
like England.”
“Not England.” Finn shook his head slowly, his gaze still on the horizon. “This moment. This view. And . . . you.” His gaze
swung to her, crooked grin intact, like he hadn’t just left her swooning from the kneecaps upward. “All we’re missing is Lucy
to make it perfect.”
And that—that—was what finally unraveled her last threads of resistance. Adding Lucy only solidified the fact that he wasn’t trying to
“chat her up” as Granny would say. This was authentically Finn. The flirt, the dad, and the tenderhearted romantic all rolled
up into one.
Something in Daphne’s heart roused as if from a long slumber, slowly walking into the light. And the thread of fear that had
been coiling inside her for so long began to unwind with each recognition of who Finn really was. One smile, one act of care,
one teasing remark at a time.
“I . . .” The words tumbled out before she could second-guess them. “I know you care about me.”
He turned fully toward her, brow creased, as if bracing for the other shoe to drop.
She squeezed his hand, reassuring him. “And . . . I don’t know how to do this.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been scared
of a relationship for so long that . . . if I seem cautious, it’s because I am.”
She swallowed through her tightening throat, attempting to find the words. “My dad left when I was little. Then a boyfriend
ghosted me after high school. And then . . . Mom. Granny.”
Finn caught her other hand, cradling both of hers in his and pulling them to his chest. “There’s no rush, Daphne. If you need
time, take it.” His grin flashed, boyish and sweet and completely sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her heart squeezed so tight it hurt.
She pushed up a wobbly smile, and then with a shivering breath, she stepped into him.
And Finn gathered her close without hesitation, folding her into his chest like she belonged there. He smelled like soap and
spice and autumn air, filling her lungs, her heart. And the waiting tears slipped onto her cheeks, warming her face, blending
in with the heat from Finn’s body.
But they weren’t painful. They were soft. Healing.
She burrowed deeper, pressing her face into his shoulder, letting the warmth and strength of him fill all the hollow spaces she hadn’t realized were there.
The wind sighed around them, and Finn drew her closer into his embrace, his chin resting lightly on her hair.
And somewhere, in the deepest, quietest part of her, the fear finally began to evaporate and give way to something much more
promising.
Hope.