"Fancy is overrated." He surveyed the vegetables with an approving nod. "This looks perfect. You want to do the cooking part, or should I?"
"You can do it." The words came out before I'd really thought about them. Letting him take over, letting myself not be in control of every single thing—it felt strange and terrifying and oddly freeing all at once. Garrett moved through my kitchen with surprising competence, finding the broth, the seasonings, assembling everything with the ease of someone who actually knew how to cook. I perched on one of my kitchen chairs, watching him work, trying to reconcile all the feelings churning inside me.
"Micah said you agreed to dinner on Wednesday," Garrett said as he brought the pot to a simmer, his voice carefully neutral. "I'm glad. But I also want to make sure you know there's no pressure. If you show up and you need to leave after five minutes, that's okay. If you change your mind entirely, that's okay too."
"Everyone keeps saying that," I muttered, though there was no heat in my voice….just wonder and confusion. "That there's no pressure. But there is, isn't there? The whole town knows now. They're all watching, waiting to see what happens. That's pressure."
Garrett turned from the stove, leaning back against the counter to look at me directly. "The town's always going to talk, Daphne. That's just what small towns do. But what they think doesn't matter. What matters is what you want. What feels right to you."
"And if I don't know what I want?" The question came out smaller than I'd intended, more vulnerable. It’s true…andfeels like I keep having this conversation over and over again…especially today.
"Then you take your time figuring it out." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. "We're not going anywhere. Wednesday isn't some deadline where you need to have everything figured out. It's just dinner. A chance to spend time together, see how it feels."
"Micah did an assessment this morning," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "Like I was a variable in an equation he needed to solve."
Garrett's expression flickered with something that might have been annoyance, but it was gone quickly, replaced by understanding. "That's Micah. He needs to analyze things, break them down into components he can understand. It's how his brain works. But I promise you, even while he was doing it, he was also just trying to get to know you."
"He called me complicated." I said, glancing at the Alpha who seemed to have all his attention on me. If I was honest with myself, it was a bit nerve wracking.
"You are complicated." Garrett smiled slightly, and before I could open my mouth to apologize he continued, "So are we. So is this whole situation. That's not a bad thing, Daphne. Complicated means interesting. Complicated means real."
I stood, needing to move, and walked to the window overlooking my garden. The evening light made everything look softer, gentler than the harsh reality of daylight. "Viola said I've been surviving instead of living. That I've built a prison and called it safety."
Behind me, I heard Garrett's sharp intake of breath. Then his footsteps, soft on my kitchen floor, stopping a few feet behind me. Close, but not touching…though a part of me…a deep part wished he would. I quickly pushed any of those thoughts away to evaluate at a different time.
"Is that how it feels?" he asked quietly as if trying to understand every part of me. "Like a prison?"
"I don't know." I wrapped my arms around myself, staring out at the rows of vegetables I'd planted with my own hands. "It's been my life for five years. My routine, my safety net. But today, with Micah this morning and Viola this afternoon, and now you... it's like everyone's holding up a mirror and making me look at things I've been avoiding."
"What do you see?" His voice was gentle, careful. I appreciated it but at the same time I didn’t want people to treat me like glass. I was stronger than that…I always had to be.
"Loneliness," I whispered, giving in and giving him full honesty of my emotions, "So much loneliness I'd stopped noticing it. I thought I was content, but maybe what I am is just... numb."
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like he was giving me space to feel everything I needed to feel, to say everything I needed to say.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words catching in my throat. "Of Wednesday. Of letting you all in. Of being chosen and then—" I couldn't finish the sentence as everything was starting to get to be too much. I wasn’t used to sharing my fears and worries like this. It was all something new to me.
"Then being unchosen," Garrett finished softly, as he ran a hand through his hair. "I know, Daphne. Micah told us what you said this morning and what he found out from town gossip. About your past, about Margaret and Tom, about everyone who left."
I turned to face him then, and the understanding in his eyes nearly undid me. "So you know I'm a mess. That I'm damaged and difficult and probably not worth all this effort."
"No." His voice was firm, brooking no argument. "What I know is that you're someone who survived things that wouldhave broken most people. Someone who took pain and built something beautiful anyway. That's not a mess, Daphne. That's strength."
"That's the second time today someone's called me brave," I said, my voice wavering. "I don't feel brave."
"Brave people rarely do." He took a small step closer, and I didn't step back. Saying the same words Viola had said today, making a small smile flicker on my face and disappear as he continued to talk, "They just keep moving forward anyway. And that's what you're doing. You agreed to come Wednesday even though it scares you. You let Micah sit with you this morning. You're letting me be here now, in your space, during your evening. Those are all acts of bravery."
"Or stupidity," I muttered, but there was no heat in it. Cause I really didn’t know if I was utterly stupid for getting close to people after being alone for five years.
"Sometimes they're the same thing." His smile was gentle, understanding. "Daphne, I'm not going to pretend I know exactly how you feel. My story's different from yours. But I know what it's like to be afraid of losing something precious. When my grandfather died, when we lost the Henderson property to time and neglect, it felt like losing a part of myself. I could have let that fear keep me from ever trying to rebuild anything. But I didn't. I chose to take the risk."
"And if it doesn't work?" I asked, I wanted to hear what would happen from him if things didn’t go the way we wanted them. "If I try and I fail?"
"Then you tried. That's more than most people can say." He reached out slowly, telegraphing his movement, and gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear—the same gesture Micah had made this morning, but softer somehow, more tender. "And you wouldn’t be alone in the failing. We'd be figuring it out together. That's what pack means."
The timer on the stove beeped, breaking the moment. Garrett's hand dropped, and he moved back to check the soup, giving me space to breathe, to process.
"Smells done," he said, his voice deliberately lighter as he gave me a soft smile. I didn’t say anything which made his face soften even more, "You want to eat on the porch? It's a nice evening."
