The entryway opened into a living room that had clearly been recently cleaned—I could still smell the faint chemical scent of cleaning products beneath the more dominant pack scents. Wide-plank oak floors gleamed under soft lighting, and comfortable-looking furniture was arranged to create conversation areas without feeling crowded. Through a doorway, I could see into the kitchen where Garrett stood by the stove, Levi was slicing bread, and Micah leaned against the counter with a beer in his hand.
They all turned when I entered, and for a moment, I was pinned by four sets of eyes—grey, blue, green, and blue again—all focused entirely on me.
"Hi," I said, because what else was there to say?
"Hi," Garrett echoed, his face breaking into a smile that made him look younger, less burdened. "You look... wow."
Heat crept into my cheeks. "It's just jeans."
"It's not just jeans," Levi grinned, moving toward me with his easy confidence. "You look great. Can I take that?" He gestured to the canvas bag I was still clutching like a shield.
I hesitated, then handed it over. "There's something in there I need to show all of you. After dinner, maybe? It's... it's part of what I needed to talk about."
Oliver's expression shifted immediately, concern flickering across his features. "Is everything okay?"
"For now," I said carefully not wanting the night to start out with all this, "But you all need to know what's been happening. Just... can we eat first? I don't want to ruin the evening before it starts."
"Nothing's ruined," Micah spoke up, his green eyes sharp and assessing but not unkind. "But if something's wrong, we need to know. Whenever you're ready to tell us."
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. Oliver gestured toward the kitchen, and I followed, hyperaware of his presence behind me as we moved through the house. Everything was clean but clearly lived-in—work boots by the door, tools organized in a corner, a stack of lumber catalogs on the coffee table. This was a home being built, not a showpiece.
The kitchen was warm and smelled incredible. Garrett stood at the stove monitoring something in a pan, while Levi's focaccia sat cooling on a rack, golden-brown and studded with rosemary and sea salt. Through the window, I could see a grill on the back deck with steaks resting on a platter.
"Beer? Wine? Water?" Levi offered, moving to the refrigerator.
"Water's fine," I blinked, then felt immediately self-conscious. "Or wine, if that's what everyone else is having. I don't want to be difficult."
"You're not difficult," Oliver told me firmly. "And you can have whatever you want. That's the point."
"Wine, then," I decided, mostly because my hands needed something to hold. Levi poured me a glass of red—something that smelled rich and fruity—and I took a sip. It was good, better than the cheap stuff I occasionally bought at the store. Everything here felt elevated somehow, like they'd put thought and effort into making tonight special.
"Dinner's almost ready," Garrett grinned, glancing at me with an expression that was almost shy. "We've got steaks,roasted vegetables, focaccia, salad, and Micah promised dessert even though we all know he bought it from Mrs. Chen."
"Her pies are better than anything I could make," Micah gave a laugh without shame. "Why pretend otherwise?"
The casual banter between them was soothing, familiar in a way that eased some of my tension. This was how they were together—comfortable, honest, functioning as a unit while still being individuals. It was... nice. Really nice.
"Can I help with anything?" I asked, needing to do something with my hands besides clutch my wine glass.
"Absolutely not," Levi said firmly, raising an eyebrow at me as if telling me to disagree. "You're our guest. Your only job is to relax and let us take care of dinner."
"I'm not good at relaxing," I admitted, giving him a sheepish look as heat warmed my cheeks.
"We noticed," Micah laughed dryly, but there was warmth in his eyes. "But you can try. For tonight, at least."
Oliver guided me toward the kitchen table—a large wooden thing that looked handmade, probably by one of them—and pulled out a chair. "Sit. Talk to us. Tell us about your day."
I sat, feeling awkward and out of place but also strangely comfortable. The chair was solid beneath me, the wine glass cool in my hands, the conversation flowing around me as they finished preparing dinner. They included me without demanding I participate, asking occasional questions but not pushing when I gave brief answers. It felt like belonging, I realized with a start. This casual inclusion, this assumption that I was meant to be here. Like I was already part of something instead of constantly trying to prove I deserved a place.
"Daphne?" Garrett's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Where'd you go just now?"
I blinked, finding all four of them watching me with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. "Sorry. Just... thinking."
"Good thoughts or bad thoughts?" Levi asked, setting a basket of sliced focaccia on the table.
"Confusing thoughts," I said honestly as I glanced around me. "I'm not used to this."
"Used to what?" Oliver asked gently, taking the seat across from me. Though I had a feeling he knew what I meant but just wanted me to say it out loud.
