No pressure at all. I changed outfits three times before settling on something that felt like me—soft jeans, a flowy sage-green top that Viola had talked me into buying last month, my worn canvas jacket in case the evening turned cool. Casual. Comfortable. Not at all like I'd agonized over every detail.
The drive to the Henderson property—theirproperty, I needed to start thinking of it that way, was achingly familiar by now. I pulled up beside Garrett's truck, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Through the open windows, I could smell charcoal and smoke, hear the lowmurmur of voices from somewhere behind the house. Normal sounds. Welcoming sounds.
So why did my hands feel like ice?
You can do this, I told myself, gripping the steering wheel.You've had dinner before. You've eaten food in the presence of other humans. This isn't complicated.
But it was. It was terrifyingly, wonderfully complicated, because this wasn't just dinner. This was stepping into their space, their home, the life they'd built together. This was seeing where they lived and laughed and existed when I wasn't there. This was?—
A knock on my window made me jump nearly out of my skin.
Levi grinned at me through the glass, his blond hair tousled and a smudge of what looked like barbecue sauce on his cheek. "You planning to eat dinner in your truck, or were you going to come inside at some point?"
Heat flooded my cheeks as I fumbled with the door handle. "I was just... gathering myself."
"Gathering yourself." His grin widened as he pulled the door open for me. "Is that what we're calling it? Because from here, it looked a lot like panicking."
"I don't panic." I mutter, but I knew it was a lie and by the look on Levi’s face so did he.
"Sure you don't." He offered his hand to help me out, and I took it without thinking—his palm warm and slightly rough against mine. "For the record, we're all nervous too. Garrett's reorganized the patio furniture three times. Micah keeps checking that the meat thermometer is calibrated correctly. And Oliver's been stress-cleaning the kitchen since noon."
The image was so unexpected, so humanizing, that I laughed despite my nerves. "Oliver stress-cleans?"
"Like you wouldn't believe. The man's been through half a bottle of surface cleaner. I'm pretty sure the counters areactuallysqueakingat this point." Levi tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, guiding me toward the house. "Come on. Let me give you the grand tour before he polishes the doorknobs off."
The front door opened into a wide hallway that smelled like lemon cleaner and, beneath that, something warmer, wood smoke and coffee and a masculine scent I was learning to associate withpack.
There had been some changes since the last time I’d been to their place for dinner. A large sectional sofa in a deep charcoal gray, massive TV mounted on the wall, bookshelves stuffed with an eclectic mix of paperbacks and hardcovers. A guitar leaned against one corner. A chess set sat half-finished on a side table.
There were other details too. Softer ones. A throw blanket in forest green draped over the arm of the sofa. Fresh flowers, wildflowers, the kind that grew in the fields around my cabin, arranged in a mason jar on the coffee table. Beside the front door, a row of hooks for coats and jackets, one of them conspicuously empty, positioned right next to where Oliver's leather jacket hung.
"That one's for you," Levi said, following my gaze. "If you want it. No pressure." My throat tightened. Such a small thing, a single hook on a wall. But it meant something. It meant they'd thought about me, planned for me, made space for me in their home before I'd even arrived.
"I..." The words stuck, tangled up with emotions I couldn't quite name. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. That was all Oliver." Levi's voice softened. "He's been thinking about you a lot. We all have, but Oliver... he's the planner. The one who thinks about logistics and futures and where everyone fits. Having a place for your jacket matters to him."
I reached out and touched the empty hook, the metal cool beneath my fingertips. It was just a hook. Just a small piece of curved metal screwed into the wall. But it felt like a promise.
"Come on," Levi said gently. "Let's go find the others before Garrett rearranges the furniture again." The kitchen was bright and warm, late afternoon sunlight streaming through windows that looked out over the backyard. Oliver stood at the counter, wiping down surfaces that already gleamed, his movements methodical and precise. He looked up when we entered, and something in his expression shifted—tension giving way to warmth, the tight line of his shoulders relaxing.
"You came," he said, and there was a note of relief in his voice that made my chest ache.
"I said I would." I told him, feeling shy again as he looked at me with such warm and intensity.
"I know. But saying and doing aren't always the same thing." He set down the cloth and crossed to me, stopping just close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "I'm glad you're here, Daphne."
"I'm glad to be here." And I meant it, I realized. Despite the nerves, despite the fear that still coiled in my stomach, I was glad.
"Micah and Garrett are out back," Oliver said, gesturing toward a door I hadn't noticed. "The grill should be ready. Are you hungry?"
"Starving," I admitted. I'd been too nervous to eat lunch, a fact my stomach was now loudly protesting.
Oliver's smile widened, something almost boyish flickering across his usually controlled features. "Good. We made enough food to feed an army. Levi insisted on multiple side dishes."
"Because sides are the best part," Levi said, already rummaging in the refrigerator. "Steak is good, but have you tried my garlic mashed potatoes? Life-changing."
"He's not wrong," Oliver admitted. "It's annoyingly one of the only things he makes well."
