Dad: Proud of you, son. Your mother would be too. Not just for finding someone worth caring about, but for building a pack that's ready to welcome her. That's the hard part.
I smiled, typing back:Thanks, Dad. Hope we don't screw this up.
His response was immediate:You won't. You've got your mother's heart and my stubbornness. Between the two, you'll figure it out.
I pocketed my phone and took one last look around the transformed space. Clean, welcoming, ready for tomorrow. Just like us. As ready as we'd ever be.
I climbed the stairs to my room, the house settling into the nighttime quiet around me. Through the walls, I could hear the familiar sounds of my pack—Garrett's shower running, Micah's music playing softly, Levi moving around his room.
Home.
And tomorrow, maybe, just maybe, it would become Daphne's home too.
One step at a time.
Just like we'd all been telling her. Just like she'd been trying to believe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Daphne
Wednesday morning arrived with the kind of crisp, clear sky that promised a perfect day—which only made my stomach twist harder with nerves. I'd barely slept, my mind spinning through every possible scenario for tonight. What if I said the wrong thing? What if Trinity's threat was just the beginning of something worse?
I forced myself through my morning routine—coffee, breakfast I could barely taste, a quick check of the garden that did nothing to settle my racing thoughts. By the time my phone buzzed with a text from Viola, I was already considering canceling everything and hiding in my greenhouse for the rest of the week.
Viola: Morning! Meet me at The Willow Tree Café in an hour? We need to talk. And by talk, I mean I'm buying you coffee and possibly saving you from a fashion disaster tonight.
Despite my anxiety, I felt a small smile tug at my lips. Viola had texted me last night to confirm plans, though I'd been too nervous to fully process what she'd suggested. Somethingabout making sure I had the right outfit for dinner, though I'd protested that my usual clothes were fine.
Me: You don't have to do this.
Viola: I know I don't HAVE to. I WANT to. That's what friends do, remember? One hour. Don't make me come drag you out of your garden.
I stared at the message, at this woman who kept showing up, kept insisting on friendship, kept refusing to let me retreat into my comfortable isolation. Part of me wanted to refuse, to insist I could handle everything myself. But a larger part…the part that was terrified about tonight—desperately wanted the support.
Me: Okay. One hour.
Her response was immediate:YES! See you soon!
I looked down at what I was wearing—old jeans with dirt stains on the knees, a faded t-shirt that had seen better days, my work boots. Definitely not café-appropriate. With a sigh, I headed upstairs to change into something that wouldn't make me look like I'd just crawled out of a garden bed.
The drive into Haven's Rest felt surreal. Just a few days ago, trips to town had been purely functional—market days, supply runs, brief interactions before retreating to my sanctuary. Now I was meeting a friend for coffee. Actually meeting someone by choice, not necessity.
The Willow Tree Café sat on Main Street, a cozy little place with big windows and tables scattered both inside and out. I'd passed it countless times but never stopped in—it always seemed too social, too much like the kind of place where people lingered and chatted and connected. Exactly the kind of thing I'd been avoiding.
I parked and sat in my truck for a moment, gathering courage. Through the window, I could see Viola already inside, sitting at a corner table with two mugs in front of her. She lookedup, caught sight of me, and waved with such genuine enthusiasm that I couldn't help but wave back.
One step at a time.
I climbed out and headed inside, the little bell above the door chiming to announce my arrival. The café smelled incredible—fresh coffee, baking pastries, something cinnamon and sweet that made my stomach remind me I'd barely eaten breakfast. The space was warm and inviting, with exposed brick walls, hanging plants, and mismatched furniture that somehow worked together perfectly.
"There you are!" Viola stood as I approached, pulling me into a quick hug before I could protest. "I got you a vanilla latte—Mrs. Crane said it's what you ordered the one time you came in here three years ago. Impressive memory, right?"
I blinked, accepting the mug she pushed into my hands. "I came here three years ago?"
"Apparently. Mrs. Crane remembers everyone." Viola settled back into her seat, gesturing for me to sit across from her. "She also said you looked 'like a skittish deer' and left before finishing your coffee. Her words, not mine."
Heat crept into my cheeks. "I was having a bad day."
