Heat flooded my face as I hastily returned the pillow to where I'd found it. Tried to remember how the others had been positioned. But I couldn't, my mind was blank with panic, my heart racing, my hands trembling slightly as I attempted to recreate the original chaos.
"You okay in there?" Levi's voice drifted from the patio. "Did you fall in?"
"Fine!" My voice came out too high. "Just—coming!" I gave up on the pillows, leaving them in what I hoped was close to their original configuration, and fled back outside before anyone could notice what I'd done.
The evening air cooled my burning cheeks as I stepped onto the patio. Oliver looked up from where he was poking at the fire, concern flickering across his features. "Everything alright?"
"Perfect." I forced a smile, settling back into my chair. "Just took a minute to admire your place. It's really lovely."
"It's getting there." Oliver's gaze lingered on my face, searching for something I wasn't ready to show him. "Still a lot of work to do." The conversation drifted on, safer topics, easier territory—but part of my mind stayed stuck on what had happened inside. The inexplicable urge to rearrange their pillows. The deep, instinctivewrongnessof how they'd been positioned. The way my hands had moved before my brain could catch up.
What was that about? I didn't rearrange things. I didn't fuss with other people's belongings. I'd spent years cultivating a life where everything was exactly where I wanted it because I lived alone and answered to no one. Imposing that same need for order on someone else's space was... weird. Presumptuous. Possibly a little unhinged.
Maybe I was just tired. Overstimulated. It had been an intense few days—the stargazing with Micah, the market this morning, the emotional weight of everything changing so fast. Alittle weirdness was probably normal. I pushed the thought away and focused on the present. The warmth of the fire. The sound of Levi's laughter. The comfortable weight of Garrett's arm resting on the back of my chair. The way Oliver kept glancing at me like he was checking that I was still there, still real, stillhis.
The evening wound down slowly, comfortably. We moved inside when the night air grew too cold, settling onto the sofa—pillows still askew, I noticed with a guilty twinge—to watch something mindless on TV. I ended up sandwiched between Garrett and Micah, a blanket draped over my lap that I didn't remember asking for but was grateful to have.
At some point, without meaning to, I fell asleep.
I woke to voices—low, careful, clearly trying not to disturb me.
"—should just let her stay. She's exhausted."
"She has to drive home. We can't just?—"
"Can't just what? Take care of her? Because that's literally what we're supposed to be doing."
"She might not want to stay. We haven't discussed?—"
"Oliver." Levi's voice, firm but gentle. "Look at her. She's comfortable. She's safe. For once in her life, she doesn't look like she's bracing for impact. Maybe we should let her have that for a few more hours."
A pause. Then Oliver, softer: "I know. I just don't want to push her. She's already dealing with so much."
"You're not pushing. You're opening a door. She can walk through it or not." I think that was Garrett’s voice. I should announce that I was awake. Should sit up and stretch and pretend I hadn't heard any of that. I was so warm, so comfortable, wrapped in softness and surrounded by the scent of the pack, and some selfish part of me wanted to stay in this moment just a little longer.
"Daphne?" Oliver's voice, close now. "Hey. You fell asleep."
I let my eyes flutter open, feigning grogginess. "Mmm?"
"It's late. Past eleven." His hand brushed hair back from my face, the touch achingly gentle. "Do you want to head home, or...?" The question hung unfinished. An offer without pressure. A door, like Levi had said, waiting to see if I'd walk through it.
I should go home. Should maintain boundaries, keep some distance, not rush into anything I wasn't ready for. I was so tired. And so comfortable. And they were all looking at me with such hope, such careful restraint, such obvious desire to take care of me.
"I should go," I said, and watched the light dim in their eyes. "But—can we do this again? Soon?"
The hope returned, brighter than before. "Whenever you want," Oliver said. "The door's always open." They walked me to my truck in a group, unnecessary but sweet, and I let each of them hug me goodbye. Garrett's embrace was warm and lingering. Levi's was brief but fierce. Micah's was careful, almost tentative, like he still wasn't sure of his welcome. And Oliver's?—
Oliver held me like I was something precious. Something worth protecting. His face buried in my hair, his breath warm against my temple, his arms wrapped around me like he never wanted to let go.
"Drive safe," he murmured. "Text us when you get home."
"I will." I drove away with their figures growing smaller in my rearview mirror, the taste of something sweet and terrifying on my tongue.
Home, I thought. But for the first time, I wasn't sure which home I meant. My cabin, with its familiar solitude and careful boundaries? The warmth I'd just left behind, with its empty hook by the door and its crooked pillows on the sofa and its four men who were making space for me whether I was ready for it or not?
I didn't have an answer. Not yet. I was starting to think I might want to find one.
Chapter Thirty-Six
