"Micah said something similar this morning." I took a sip of coffee I had left on the table, trying to warm the cold feeling in my chest. "That I'd probably panic and push them away, but they'd be there to help pick up the pieces."
"Smart Alpha." Viola leaned back in her chair. "Look, I don't know these guys personally…I have only talked to one or two of them briefly… but I've heard good things.. Old man Jack raisedhis son right, and from what I understand, the whole pack is solid. They've built a reputation in just the short time they've been here—honest work, fair dealing, respectful to everyone they meet."
“Reputations can be misleading," I said, but it sounded weak even to my ears. I knew I was just trying to make excuses to not see them again. To save myself any heartache that could come out of this situation.
"They can be. But actions over time? Those tell you who someone really is." Viola studied me carefully. "And from what I've heard, they've been nothing respectful to you. They've given you space, given you choices, not pushed when you've pulled back. That says something about their character."
I thought about Garrett in the orchard, giving me room to share at my own pace. Levi at the market, backing off when I'd insisted on paying for my own groceries. Oliver at the fountain, defending me against Trinity even though we barely knew each other. And Micah this morning, offering brutal honesty while still making it clear I had a choice.
"They've been... surprisingly patient," I admitted, though I hadn’t wanted to. I hadn’t spent a lot of time in their company…but there was something about them that made me want to be around them. I think that is one of the things that scared me the most.
"Because they see something in you worth being patient for," Viola told me, her voice firm as she talked. "Which brings me to my main point: you need to start seeing it too."
"Seeing what?" I blinked not knowing what she was getting at. I tilted my head to her trying to figure out what she could mean.
"Your own worth." She leaned forward, intensity in her eyes as she looked at me straight on. "Daphne, you're not damaged goods. You're not too difficult or too guarded or too anything.You're someone who's been through hell and came out the other side with skills, strength, and integrity. That's valuable. That's worth choosing."
The words were too much, too raw. I stood again, needing to move, to do something with the nervous energy coursing through me. "You sound like Micah."
"Good. Maybe you'll actually listen." Viola stood too, but she didn't crowd me. "I'm going to say something, and I need you to really hear it, okay?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"You're not just keeping the pack at a distance. You're keeping everyone at a distance. Me, Eleanor, Mrs. Morrison, everyone in town who's tried to be kind to you over the years. You interact, sure. You're polite, professional, even pleasant sometimes. But you never let anyone past the surface. You never let anyone actually know you."
"That's not—" I started, but she cut me off.
"When's the last time you had someone over to your house? Not for business, not as a customer, but as a friend?" She waited, and I couldn't answer. Knowing I never had people over like that. "When's the last time you accepted an invitation to a town event? Or asked someone for coffee just to chat? Or shared something personal with another person?"
"I share things," I protested weakly…though I knew I was just trying to defend myself even if I knew I had nothing to say. She was right…I just didn’t want to admit it.
"Facts, maybe. Transactions. But feelings? Fears? Dreams? When's the last time you let someone see the real you, Daphne? Not the competent gardener or the efficient vendor, but the actual person underneath?" She asked me, passion on what she was talking about clear in her voice. Her eyes were full of soft understanding but It didn’t make me feel any better to hear her words.
The silence that followed was damning. Because she was right. God, she was so right it hurt.
"I thought I was keeping myself safe," I whispered, tears gathering in my eyes but I wouldn’t let them fall. I didn’t cry in front of other people. I took a deep breath trying to keep my emotions in check, "Building a life that couldn't hurt me."
"But you aren’t living, honey. You’re just surviving." Viola moved closer, her expression softening. "And I think part of you knows it. I think that's why you're so scared of this pack—because they're offering you a chance to actually live, and that's terrifying after five years of just existing."
I sank back into my chair, my legs suddenly unable to support me. "What if I've forgotten how? What if I've been isolated so long that I don't know how to connect anymore?"
"Then you learn." Viola sat beside me, her hand covering mine on the table. "You practice. You’ll stumble through it and you’ll probably screw up a few times. But you try, Daphne. You actually try instead of hiding behind your walls and calling it self-sufficiency."
"It's easier said than done." I breathed out, my emotions everywhere. This wasn’t what I expected my day to be like.
"Everything worth doing is." She squeezed my hand gently trying to convey her emotions to me, "But you've already started. You agreed to dinner on Wednesday. You let Micah sit with you this morning. You're sitting here now, having this conversation with me instead of politely showing me the door. Those are steps, even if they feel small."
I looked at our joined hands, struck by how long it had been since I'd had this kind of simple, platonic contact. Touch that wasn't a transaction, that didn't want anything except to offer comfort and connection.
"I see you as a friend," Viola said quietly as she tightened her grip on my hands. "I have for years. But we only ever see eachother when you come into town, and even then, it's always on your terms, always controlled. You've never let me be more than an acquaintance, and I've respected that. But I want you to know that I would like to be more. To actually be your friend, if you'll let me."
The offer hung in the air between us, simple and genuine and terrifying in its openness. Here was someone asking for exactly what I'd spent five years avoiding—real connection, actual friendship, the kind that required vulnerability and trust and all the things that could end in hurt.
"I'm not good at this," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"So? I'm not great at a lot of things, but I still try." Viola said gently, as she shifted closer to me, "Nobody expects perfection, Daphne. They just want authenticity. The real you, walls and all. Because here's a secret: everyone has walls. Everyone has damage. The difference is whether you let those walls become a prison or just healthy boundaries."
I pulled my hand back slowly, needing a moment to process. "What if I hurt people? What if I'm so messed up that I end up damaging everyone who gets close?"
