I was sitting on my porch, coffee growing cold in my hands, when I heard the familiar rumble of an engine coming down my gravel road. My heart did that annoying flutter thing it had started doing whenever any of them showed up, but this time it was accompanied by a twist of anxiety that made my stomach clench.
Oliver's truck came into view, he parked and climbed out with that easy grace that made him look like he belonged everywhere he went. Today he was dressed casually, at least by his standards. Dark jeans that fit him like they'd been tailored, a soft gray shirt pushed up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms
It was his scent that hit me first, carried on the morning breeze like a greeting. Warm and rich and so distinctlyhimthat my omega practically purred in recognition. I gripped my coffee mug tighter, trying to ground myself against the wave of want that rolled through me.
"Morning," he said, stopping at the bottom of my porch steps. He didn't come up, didn't invade my space. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me with those forest-green eyes that always seemed to see too much.
"Morning." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Coffee?"
"I had some on the way over." A pause, weighted with something I couldn't quite name. "I was hoping you might come somewhere with me today."
My fingers tightened around the mug. "Oliver---"
"Not a date," he said quickly, then grimaced like the words tasted wrong. "I mean---it can be, if you want. But it doesn't have to be. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, and something loosened in my chest at the gesture. Oliver, usually so composed, so certain, he was nervous. "I had plans for us. Before. But thingschanged, and I realized maybe what you need right now isn't what I'd originally imagined."
"What did you originally imagine?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Dinner at this restaurant I know in the city. Candlelight, wine, the whole thing. Very traditional." He shrugged one shoulder. "Very not what you need right now."
"And what do I need right now?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.
Oliver's gaze held mine, steady and warm. "Space to breathe. Time to think. Somewhere beautiful where there's no pressure to be anything other than what you are." He gestured toward his truck. "There's a botanical garden about an hour from here. Thirty acres of gardens, walking paths, greenhouses. I thought maybe we could just... walk. Talk. Or not talk, if you'd rather. Just be somewhere peaceful together."
Something cracked open in my chest. He'd changed his plans. He'd seen me pulling back, seen my fear and my confusion and my desperate need for space, and instead of pushing or demanding or making it about himself, he'd pivoted. He'd found something that might actually give me what I needed instead of what he'd wanted to offer.
"I..." I started, then stopped. Tried again. "Why are you being so patient with me?" The question seemed to catch him off guard. He was quiet for a moment, considering, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with something that sounded almost like reverence.
"Because you're worth waiting for, Daphne. Because I'd rather have you comfortable and uncertain than rushed and regretful." He took a single step forward, still not touching, still giving me space. "Because I've seen what happens when people push you too fast, and I won't be one of them. Not ever."
My throat felt tight. "Give me ten minutes to change."
His smile was like sunrise breaking through clouds. "Take all the time you need."
It didn’t take long for me to change into something comfortable and we were on the road. The drive was easier than I'd expected. Oliver played soft music, -instrumental, nothing with words and didn't try to fill the silence with small talk. He just drove, one hand relaxed on the wheel, occasionally pointing out things he thought I might find interesting. A hawk circling over a field. A farmstand with hand-painted signs advertising late-season pumpkins. The way the leaves were starting to turn, gold and crimson bleeding into the edges of the green.
I felt something in my chest begin to unknot the moment we turned down the long, tree-lined drive of Thornewood Botanical Garden. , and ,. Ancient oaks arched overhead, their branches forming a natural cathedral of gold and amber leaves. Sunlight filtered through in shifting patterns, dappling the gravel road with light and shadow.
"I've never been here," I breathed, pressing closer to the window like a child seeing something magical for the first time.
"I hoped you hadn't." Oliver glanced over at me, and the softness in his expression made my heart stutter. "I wanted to show you something new." The parking lot was nearly empty, a Thursday morning in the early stages of autumn wasn't exactly peak visiting hours…which I was grateful for. Fewer people meant fewer scents, fewer distractions, fewer reasons for my omega instincts to be on high alert.
Oliver came around to open my door before I could reach the handle, offering his hand to help me down from the truck. His palm was warm and slightly calloused, and I let myself hold it for just a moment longer than necessary before pulling away. A low rumble built in his chest, not quite a growl, more like a purr of contentment and heat flooded my cheeks. He didn't comment onit, just gestured toward the entrance with a small smile playing on his lips.
"Shall we?" He asked softly. The gardens unfurled before us like a living painting. We started in the formal rose garden, though most of the blooms had faded with the coming cold, their petals scattered across the stone pathways like confetti from a forgotten celebration. There was beauty in the decay, the rose hips glowing ruby red, the thorny canes arching gracefully, the last stubborn blooms clinging to life in shades of cream and blush.
"Tell me about the pulling back," Oliver said after we'd walked in comfortable silence for several minutes. I stiffened, but he didn't press. Just kept walking, his pace unhurried, his body language open and unthreatening. Like he'd asked about the weather instead of the thing I'd been trying so hard to avoid.
"I don't know how," I admitted finally, the words coming out smaller than I'd intended.
"Then tell me about something else." He paused beside a stone bench overlooking a koi pond, the fish drifting lazily through the dark water like living jewels. "Tell me about why you couldn't sleep after your date with Levi."
I sat down heavily, watching the koi swirl and dance. Orange and white and gold, their scales catching the sunlight.
"I reorganized my entire cabin that night," I said, and the confession felt like pulling a splinter from somewhere deep. "Every closet. Every drawer. At two in the morning, like some kind of... I don't know. Like I was possessed."
Oliver settled onto the bench beside me, leaving a careful foot of space between us. "And you didn't know why."
"No." I laughed, but it came out wrong---too sharp, too brittle. "Viola had to explain it to me. Had to tell me what nesting was, like I was some kind of... like I'd never..." I couldn't finish the sentence.
