My breath caught. When had he gotten so close? When had I let him? We were standing barely a foot apart now, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, close enough that his scent was all I could smell, filling my lungs with each breath.
"What if taking that risk means losing everything again?" The question escaped before I could trap it, raw and vulnerable and terrifying in its honesty.
"What if not taking it means never gaining anything in the first place?" His voice was soft, gentle, but there was an intensity in his gaze that held me captive. "Daphne, I'm not asking you to dismantle your walls or abandon your independence. I'm just asking you to consider that maybe—maybe—letting a few people past those walls wouldn't destroy what you've built. It might actually make it stronger."
I wanted to argue. Every instinct screamed at me to deflect, to redirect, to rebuild the professional distance between us. But standing here in his grandfather's orchard, surrounded by trees that had survived decades of neglect and were being carefully brought back to life, I couldn't find the words to deny what he was offering.
Not commitment. No demands. Just possibility.
"I don't know how," I whispered finally. "I've spent five years building these walls. I don't know how to just... stop."
"Then don't stop all at once." Garrett lifted his hand slowly, giving me time to step away if I wanted. When I didn't, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch feather-light and achingly gentle. "Just maybe... lower them a little. Let us get to know you. Let yourself get to know us. No pressure, no expectations beyond basic friendship."
His hand dropped back to his side, and I almost—almost—reached for it. The urge startled me with its intensity.
"Basic friendship," I repeated, testing the words. "That's all?"
"For now. For as long as you need." His smile was small, but genuine. "I meant what I said before, Daphne. I'll take whatever you're willing to give. Even if that's just occasional apple tree consultations and arguments about proper pruning techniques."
A surprised laugh bubbled up, breaking the tension. "We haven't argued about pruning techniques yet."
"Give it time." His eyes crinkled with humor. "Levi says I'm stubborn."
"Levi seems to have opinions about everything," I said thinking of the man I met yesterday, but there was no heat in it.
"He does. You'll get used to it." Garrett picked up the loppers again, moving to the next branch I'd marked. "If you stick around long enough, that is."
If I stuck around. The phrase hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. Not when, not assuming, but if—leaving the choice squarely in my hands, where it belonged.
I should have felt pressured. Should have felt that familiar tightness in my chest that came whenever people wanted things from me. But instead, I felt... lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, these men understood something fundamental that others hadn't—that I needed to be the one to choose.
"Tell me more about the pack," I heard myself say as we continued working. "How does it actually work, four Alphas living together?"
Garrett's face lit up with obvious pleasure at my interest, and for the next hour, as we pruned and talked, he painted a picture of his pack that was nothing like what I'd imagined. There was structure, yes—Oliver as head Alpha, his word final in disputes. But there was also democracy, discussion, genuine care for each member's needs and opinions.
Levi handled the business side, the logistics and finances. Micah was strategic, always thinking three steps ahead. Garrett himself was the steady one, the mediator, the one who kept everyone grounded when tensions ran high.
"It's not always easy," he admitted as he made another cut. "Four dominant personalities means four strong opinions. We've had our share of arguments, times when compromise felt impossible. But we always come back to the same foundation—we chose this. We chose each other. And that choice is worth fighting for."
As the afternoon sun slanted lower through the trees, casting everything in golden light, I realized something startling. I'd been here for hours. Hours of working side by side with Garrett, talking, sharing things I never shared with anyone, and I hadn't once felt the urge to escape.
My guard was still there—I could feel it, a familiar weight in my chest. But it had lowered, just slightly, just enough to let in a little light. A little possibility.
"I think that's enough for today," I said finally, stepping back to survey our work. The feeling of exhaustion already going over me as I glanced back at the trees. They looked better already, They'd need another session in a few weeks to address the finer details, but the heavy work was done. "The trees will thank you come harvest time."
"Will you come back?" Garrett asked, and there was such hope in his voice that it made my heart clench. "In a few weeks, to finish the work?"
I should say no. Should make up an excuse, maintain distance, protect myself. But looking at him standing there in his grandfather's orchard, dirt under his nails and hope in his eyes, I found I didn't want to say no.
"Yes," I said simply. "I'll come back."
The smile that spread across his face was worth every ounce of fear the admission cost me.
As I packed up my tools and prepared to leave, Garrett walked me back to my truck. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that made everything feel slightly unreal, like we were suspended in a moment outside normal time.
"Thank you," he said as I loaded the last of my equipment. "For today. For the trees, for the conversation, for... all of it."
"You're welcome." I paused with my hand on the truck door, gathering courage. "And Garrett? Thank you too. For understanding. For not pushing."
