I gave her a small smile, she was right. I accepted the change and grabbed my bags quickly, feeling a bit awkward. "Thanks, Mrs. Morrison," I managed, heading for the door.
"Daphne?" Levi's voice stopped me at the threshold. I turned back reluctantly.
He was smiling, but it was different now—gentler, understanding. "For what it's worth, I think your independence is impressive."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded and pushed through the door into the cool air.
I loaded my bags into the truck bed quickly, covering them with the tarp. Through the store window, I could see Levi finishing his own transaction, talking easily with Mrs. Morrison. He caught me looking and lifted a hand in farewell, that dimpled grin flashing.
I climbed into the cab and sat there for a moment, engine running, trying to process what had just happened. Another Alpha. Another conversation that had somehow gotten past my defenses. Another crack in the walls I'd built so carefully.
And the worst part was that same traitorous warmth in my chest, the one that had appeared with Garrett and was now growing with Levi's easy humor and unexpected respect for my boundaries.
You always have a choice,he'd said. But did I? Because it felt like these Alphas were making choices for me, inserting themselves into my life whether I wanted them there or not.
Except... that wasn't quite fair. Levi had backed off when I'd insisted on paying. He'd been playful but not pushy, charming but not manipulative. And his final words—about my independence being impressive—had felt genuine.
They were all so different. Garrett with his patient intensity, Oliver with his direct authority, and now Levi with his playful sincerity. Three Alphas from the same pack, and all of them somehow managed to slip past my defenses in their own ways.
Four Alphas, I corrected myself. There was still Micah, whoever he was. The whole pack was in town now, settled permanently in the Henderson property that was so close to mine.
The rain picked up as I sat there, drops drumming against the windshield. Through the store window, I watched Levi emerge with his own bags, jogging through the rain to his truck without seeming to care that he was getting soaked. He threwhis bags in the back, then paused, looking toward where I was parked.
For a moment, we just looked at each other through the rain-streaked windows. Then he grinned, gave another wave, and climbed into his truck. I pulled out onto the road before he could, not ready for another interaction, another conversation that would make me question my carefully constructed solitude. The drive home was slow, the rain making visibility poor, and I found my thoughts drifting despite my attempts to focus on the road.
The whole pack's finally in town now. We're all here permanently.
Four Alphas, living a quarter mile away through the trees. Close enough to hear if I called for help, close enough to run into at the store, close enough to become part of my life whether I wanted them there or not.
The smart thing would be to maintain distance. To keep tomorrow’s appointment about the apple trees strictly professional. To treat any future encounters with polite but firm boundaries.
The smart thing.
But as I pulled up to my cabin and made a dash through the rain with my groceries, as I stood in my kitchen putting things away and found myself thinking about Levi's enthusiasm for sourdough and Garrett's patient interest and Oliver's protective stance at the market—I wondered if the smart thing was actually just the scared thing.
And I'd been scared for so long, I wasn't sure I knew the difference anymore.
The rain continued through the afternoon, steady and soaking. I tried to lose myself in routine—organizing my pantry with the new supplies, updating my market inventory list,planning next week's garden work. But my mind kept wandering back to the store, to bright blue eyes and dimpled smiles.
When had anyone looked at my solitude and seen strength instead of damage?
Margaret and Tom had, I supposed. But they'd been family, obligated to see the best in me. These Alphas had no such obligation. They barely knew me. Yet somehow they kept looking at me like I was worth knowing, worth respecting, worth... something.
I didn't know what to do with that.
By the time evening fell and the rain had settled into a steady drumbeat against my roof, I found myself standing at the kitchen window again, looking toward the road that led to the Henderson property. No lights were visible through the trees—they were too far for that—but I knew they were there. All four of them, settled in for the night, probably gathered around discussing their renovation plans or arguing about whose turn it was to cook dinner.
I tried to picture it—four Alphas in a domestic setting, working together as a pack. It should have felt threatening, overwhelming. Instead, it felt... warm. Safe, even.
That was dangerous thinking.
I turned away from the window and forced myself to focus on making dinner, on the simple routine of chopping vegetables and heating soup on the stove. But even as I ate alone at my table, even as I settled into my evening with a book and tea, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had fundamentally shifted today.
Another Alpha. Another connection, however small. Another thread being woven into the fabric of my carefully cultivated isolated life.
And unlike the strings I'd spent years avoiding—the ones that bound and trapped and demanded—these threads feltdifferent. Lighter somehow. Less like obligation and more like... possibility.
I didn't trust it. Couldn't trust it. Trust had been broken too many times, and the cost of being wrong was too high. As I finally climbed into bed that night, listening to the rain and thinking about dimpled grins and genuine respect and a pack of Alphas who seemed determined to see past my walls—I couldn't help but wonder.
