"They're historically significant! My grandfather planted them a long time ago. ."
"You're historically significant," I teased, a smirk on my lips. "And also obviously nervous."
Garrett shot me a look. "I'm not nervous."
"You reorganized your tool bag twice this morning," Oliver pointed out. "And you've been checking the weather forecast obsessively."
"I want to make sure the conditions are right for pruning." He defended himself, though I could see through our resident softy.
"Uh-huh." I grinned. "And it has nothing to do with wanting to impress a certain Omega who knows more about plants than anyone you've ever met."
Garrett's silence was telling. We worked together in a comfortable rhythm—me cooking, Garrett handling the rice, Oliver setting the table. This was familiar, the domestic routine we'd fallen into over the past few weeks. Four Alphas living together doesn’t always work, compared to traditional pack dynamics. Most Alphas were too dominant, too territorial to share space comfortably.
But we'd never been traditional in the normal sense. We'd been friends first, pack second. The hierarchy had established itself naturally—Oliver as head Alpha not because he demanded it but because we all trusted his judgment. The rest of us balanced each other out: Garrett's steadiness, my practicality, Micah's sharp strategic mind.
Adding an Omega to that dynamic would change everything. But maybe change was what we needed.
"Question," I said as I added sauce to the stir-fry. "If this does develop into something, are we all prepared for what that means? Actually courting someone together? I know Garrett grew up in a pack like this…”
"I've thought about this since I was young. My parents were two Alphas, a beta and an omega…so it isn’t too different fromwhat we are doing.," Oliver admitted. "It's not traditional, four Alphas with one Omega. But nothing about our pack has been traditional."
"It would require even more communication than we already do," Garrett added, his mind going a mile a minute from the look I could see on his face. "Making sure everyone's needs are met, that no one feels left out or overwhelmed."
"And it would require finding someone who actually wants that," I pointed out, shifting in my spot as I thought of the Omega who caught all our attention so far. "Daphne barely wants to talk to one Alpha, let alone four."
"Hence the going slow," Oliver reiterated the easy statement. "The getting to know each other first. We will just go back and forth if we keep talking about this too.”
The back door opened again, cutting off anything else Oliver was going to say as Micah reappeared in running clothes—shorts despite the cold rain, a moisture-wicking shirt that showed off his lean muscle. "I'll be back in an hour," he announced, earbuds already in place.
"You're insane," I called after him with a light laughter in my voice. He just grinned and disappeared into the rain, leaving the three of us shaking our heads.
"He's going to catch pneumonia," Garrett muttered.
"He's going to think," Oliver corrected but knew the other Alpha was just on edge with this new development and being the last one to meet Daphne. "That's what the running is for. He needs to process."
We all had our ways of processing. Oliver worked with his hands, fixing things around the property. Garrett dove into research and planning. I cooked, finding comfort in the familiar rhythms of preparing food. And Micah ran, pushing his body until his mind cleared enough to see solutions.
Dinner was ready by the time Micah returned, soaked and energized. We ate together at the half-finished table, rain still drumming against the windows, talking about renovation timelines and supply orders and the dozen other mundane details of building a life.
But underneath it all, I could feel the current of something new. The awareness that we were on the edge of a change, standing at a threshold we couldn't quite see past.
Daphne.
One woman, living alone not that far away, who'd somehow captured all our attention without even trying. Who represented possibility and complication in equal measure. The rain continued through the night, steady and soaking. And in the morning, there would be work to do, progress to make on the house and land we were claiming as ours.
Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
Friday afternoon arrived with deceptive calm—clear skies,a mild temperature, the kind of day that made everything feel possible. I spent the morning trying to convince myself this was just another neighborly meeting, nothing more significant than Mrs. Morrison asking about pests on her roses or Eleanor wanting advice on preserving herbs.
Except Mrs. Morrison and Eleanor didn't make my stomach flutter with nervous energy. They didn't make me change my shirt three times before settling on a simple navy shirt that was practical but not entirely shapeless. They didn't make me braid and re-braid my hair until I finally left my hair in a way I rarely wore, with it down and loose around my shoulders and back."It's just apple trees," I muttered to myself as I gathered my pruning tools—shears, saw, and loppers, all freshly sharpened and clean. "Professional consultation. Like you offered." But my hands were unsteady as I loaded everything into my truck, and I caught myself checking my reflection in the rearview mirror more than once during the short drive to the Henderson property….though it shouldn’t be called that anymore since it had new owners.
Garrett's property now, his and his pack's.
The truck rumbled over the rough driveway, and I had to admit they'd already made impressive progress. The overgrown brush that had choked the entrance was cleared, revealing the bones of what had once been a proper farm road. New gravel had been laid in the worst sections, and I could see fresh lumber stacked near what remained of the old barn.
And there, standing near a cluster of gnarled apple trees, was Garrett. He must have heard my approach because he turned as I parked, a smile spreading across his face that did absolutely nothing to settle my nerves. He'd dressed for work—worn jeans, boots, a faded green t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that made me very aware of how solid he was. His dark hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it, and there was dirt under his nails that suggested he'd already been working this morning.
