"Always," he promised. "Whatever pace you need, Daphne. We're not going anywhere."
I drove home as the sun dipped below the horizon, my hands steady on the wheel but my mind racing. Garrett's scent still clung to my clothes, a reminder of how close we'd stood, how natural it had felt. His words echoed in my mind—about surviving versus thriving, about orchards and packs, about choices and risks.
I'd spent five years building a life that couldn't hurt me, couldn't leave me, couldn't disappoint me. But maybe, just maybe, I'd also built a life that couldn't surprise me with joy, couldn't offer unexpected connections, couldn't grow beyond what I'd carefully controlled.
As I pulled up to my cabin, I caught myself looking back down the road toward the Henderson property. Toward Garrett and his pack, toward possibility and risk that those men could be to me in the future.
I wasn't ready to dismantle my walls and I might never be fully ready to either. But perhaps... perhaps I could open a window or two. Let in some air and light, see what grew in the space. After all, even the most self-sufficient garden occasionallybenefited from a little outside help. The trees had taught me that today.
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to learn what else they could teach me.
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne
Sunday morning arrived with the kind of crisp clarity that made everything feel sharper—the birdsong louder, the colors more vivid, the weight of my thoughts harder to ignore. I'd woken before dawn out of habit, my body clock attuned to market days after five years of routine. But this morning felt different somehow, charged with an energy I couldn't quite name.
Or maybe I just didn't want to name it.
I moved through my morning preparations with practiced efficiency—loading the truck with crates of fresh vegetables, bundles of herbs tied with twine, jars of preserves that caught the early light like jewels. Everything was organized exactly as always, each item placed with care to prevent shifting during the drive. My hands knew the work so well I barely had to think about it.
Which left my mind free to wander back to Friday afternoon. To Garrett's orchard and his grandfather's trees. To the way his scent had wrapped around me like a warm blanket. To themoment he'd brushed my hair back, his touch so gentle it had made my chest ache. To the fact that I'd agreed to come back.
"Stop it," I muttered to myself, securing the last bungee cord with more force than necessary. "It was just a neighborly consultation. Nothing more."
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Something had shifted on Friday, some wall inside me had cracked just enough to let in a sliver of light. And now I couldn't seem to stop thinking about what else might slip through that crack if I wasn't careful.
The drive to Haven's Rest was quiet, the roads still mostly empty in the early morning. I kept my windows cracked despite the chill, breathing in the scent of pine and damp earth, trying to ground myself in the familiar. This was just another market day. Same routine, same stall, same carefully maintained distance from everyone around me.
Except now everyone in town thought I was being courted by a pack of Alphas.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel at the thought. Thanks to Trinity's public meltdown and Oliver's improvised declaration, the entire town had apparently decided my carefully constructed solitude was under siege. Lynn had called twice more since Thursday, fishing for information with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Mrs. Morrison had given me knowing looks when I'd picked up supplies yesterday. Even Eleanor, who usually respected my privacy, had made pointed comments about "new developments."
"There are no developments," I'd told her firmly. "Just neighbors being neighborly."
She'd smiled like she didn't believe me. Like she knew something I didn't. Or maybe like she knew something I wasn't ready to admit.
The market square was already bustling when I arrived, vendors setting up their stalls under the morning light. I parked in my usual spot—far corner, good visibility, easy escape route—and started unloading. The routine of it settled my nerves somewhat. This I knew how to do. This was safe, predictable, mine.
"Morning, Daphne!" Eleanor called from her stall two spaces over, already arranging her needlework displays. "Beautiful day for it!"
"Morning," I replied, keeping my response brief but not unfriendly. I could feel her watching me as I worked, curiosity radiating from her like heat. But she didn't push, didn't pry. Eleanor understood boundaries, which was why I'd allowed something resembling friendship to develop between us over the years.
I arranged my display with the same care I always did—lavender bundles up front to catch the eye, vegetables organized by color behind them, preserves along the back edge where people would have to step closer to examine them. It was a system that worked, that drew people in without overwhelming them. Professional. Controlled. Exactly how I liked it.
"Heard you've been busy," Eleanor said casually, adjusting a display of embroidered dish towels. Too casually.
I didn't look up from arranging my herb bundles. "No busier than usual."
"Really? Because Lynn mentioned seeing you at Morrison's with one of those new Alphas. The blond one—Levi, I think his name is?" I could hear her voice brimming with curiosity making me want to curl up into myself or a glare in return.
My jaw tightened. Of course Lynn had mentioned it. Lynn mentioned everything to everyone. "I ran into him in the baking aisle. Literally. It was an accident."
"And you gave him baking advice?" Eleanor's tone was light, but I could hear the question underneath. Since when do you talk to strangers?
"He asked. I answered. That's all." I moved to the vegetables, straightening rows that didn't need straightening.
"Hmm." Eleanor was quiet for a moment, then added, "Must be strange, having new neighbors so close after all these years alone."
