Micah
The fog was almost completely dissipated by the time I pulled back into our driveway. I sat in the truck for a moment after cutting the engine, my hands still gripping the steering wheel, replaying the conversation with Daphne in my mind.
She'd said yes. Well, not yes exactly—more like "I want to try," which coming from someone as guarded as she is, it was practically a declaration. I'd gone there prepared to assess, to calculate, to determine if this was actually viable or just Garrett's wishful thinking manifesting as pack delusion. What I hadn't been prepared for was the way her fear had felt like a mirror of my own. Different circumstances, different wounds, but the same fundamental terror underneath—of being unchosen, of not being enough, of building something only to watch it crumble.
I climbed out of the truck, the bread wrapper still clutched in my hand. She'd eaten half of it during our conversation, piece by piece, probably not even realizing she was doing it. That felt significant somehow, like her guard had lowered enough to accept comfort even in such a small form.
The front door opened before I reached it, and Garrett stood there with an expression that was trying very hard to be casual and failing completely. Behind him, I could see Levi hovering in the hallway, and I caught a glimpse of Oliver's broad shoulders in the kitchen doorway.
"Well?" Garrett asked, and there was so much hope in that single word it made my chest tight.
"Let me get inside first," I said, brushing past him. "And maybe some coffee. I've been up since five."
"Coffee's fresh," Levi called from the kitchen. "And I made bacon. You know, in case you wanted to ease into this conversation with food and caffeine."
I couldn't help but smile at that. Levi always defaulted to feeding people when he was anxious. It was one of his more endearing quirks, even if it meant we'd all probably gain ten pounds by the time this courtship either succeeded or crashed and burned.
The kitchen was warm and smelled like breakfast—bacon, coffee, something sweet baking in the oven. Oliver was leaning against the counter with his own mug, his blue eyes sharp and assessing as I entered. Garrett followed me in, practically vibrating with barely contained questions.
"Sit," Oliver gestured to the kitchen table. "Before Garrett explodes from the suspense."
"I'm not going to explode," Garrett protested, as he sat down, bouncing his knee under the table in that tell-tale sign of agitation.
Levi poured me coffee—black, two sugars, exactly how I liked it—and set it in front of me along with a plate of bacon and what looked like fresh scones. "Blueberry," he said, nodding at the scones. "Just came out."
"You stress-bake," I observed, taking a grateful sip of coffee. "We all knew I was just going to talk to her, right? Not conduct an inquisition."
"You conduct inquisitions when you assess things," Garrett said, his voice tight as he ran a hand through his hair in obvious anxiety. "It's your process. So tell us—did she pass? Are we doing this?"
I set down my coffee and looked at the three of them—my pack, my chosen family, the people who'd seen me at my worst and stayed anyway. They deserved honesty, even when the honesty was complicated.
"She's terrified," I said finally. "Absolutely, bone-deep terrified of letting anyone in. She's got walls that make medieval fortresses look like picket fences, and trust issues that could fill a psychology textbook."
Garrett's face fell, hope dimming like a blown candle. "So that's a no."
"I wasn't finished." I grabbed a piece of bacon, needing something to do with my hands. "She's also exactly what you said she was, Garrett. Strong. Resilient. Smart as hell. She's built an entire life system that's completely self-sufficient—the garden, the preserves, the market stall, all of it. She's someone who looked at being abandoned and decided to become un-abandonable."
"That's not a word," Levi murmured, but he was listening intently.
"Should be." I took another sip of coffee, organizing my thoughts of the gossip I had heard from town and what I learned when talking to her today. "Here's what I learned: Daphne doesn't trust easily because people have given her every reason not to. I know for some reason she was in an orphanage and adopted. She finally found people who chose her—really chose her—and then they died. Their biological kids sold off everythingand left her with nothing but money and more abandonment issues."
Oliver's expression darkened. "Christ."
"Yeah." I broke off a piece of scone, the blueberries still warm and bursting with flavor. Levi had outdone himself. "So when I asked her what she was afraid of, she didn't even hesitate. Losing everything, again. Being chosen and then unchosen. Being found wanting."
"But she agreed to try?" Garrett asked, hope creeping back into his voice. "You haven’t said if she agreed?"
"She did." I met his eyes directly. "After I told her it would be hard. That she'd probably panic and push us away. That we'd mess up and there'd be misunderstandings and hurt feelings. I didn't sell her a fairy tale, Garrett. I gave her the truth—that this would be complicated and difficult and require work from everyone involved."
"And she still said yes?" Levi looked genuinely surprised.
"She said she wanted to try." I corrected. "Which, from someone like her, someone who's spent five years building walls specifically to avoid trying, is basically a leap of faith. She's coming to dinner on Wednesday."
The kitchen erupted. Garrett's face lit up like sunrise, Levi let out a whoop and actually fist-pumped the air, and even Oliver cracked a genuine smile that softened his usually stern features.
"Wednesday," Garrett repeated, like he needed to confirm he'd heard correctly. "She's coming here. To pack dinner."
"That's what I said." I watched their reactions with a mixture of satisfaction and concern. "But we need to talk about expectations. All of us."
