“A homestead?” The word echoed warmly in my mind, conjuring visions of orchards and hand-built fences.
Garrett settled back, the chair groaning under him. “That’s the plan. Not just fixing up the house—creating a self-reliant life. Gardens, orchards, a few chickens. But mostly, living off the land we love.”
I nodded, genuinely impressed. “That’s ambitious. Most talk about it but never follow through.”
Micah arched a brow. “Says the woman running a one-person homestead for five years.” His smile was teasing but respectful.
“I’ve been making it up as I go,” I admitted, cheeks warming under their approving gazes. “No grand blueprint—just responding to what needed doing.”
Oliver’s tone grew earnest. “That takes courage. You saw a vision and brought it to life.”
“Or stubbornness,” I muttered, laughter soft at my lips.
Garrett’s grey eyes glowed in the lantern light. “Nothing wrong with stubborn—it gets things done.”
We slipped into easy conversation, the last of my focaccia vanished, and the wine’s warmth eased the sharp edges of my nerves. The kitchen’s cozy glow, the savory scents, the soft murmur of friends—it coalesced into something simple and deep.
Contentment.
Levi refilled our glasses. “More wine?”
I hesitated, glancing at my half-empty glass. “I should switch to water—I still need to drive.”
Oliver’s voice dropped to a gentle invitation. “You could stay. We have a guest room. Or we can drive you home and bring you back tomorrow for your truck.”
The offer pressed against my heart with unexpected weight. Too soon, my mind warned, but the idea of staying—of waking to fresh coffee and conversation—was tempting.
“I’ll stick with water for now,” I compromised, lifting my glass. “But thank you.”
“Anytime,” Oliver said, voice unwavering. I believed him, which surprised me most of all.
Micah rose, gathering plates with practiced ease. “Dessert in a few. Give your dinner a minute to settle.”
“I’ll help,” I said, standing before I could think.
Levi pressed a hand to my shoulder. “No dishes for you—hard rule for guests.”
I opened my mouth to object.
“No buts,” Garrett said, grin widening. “Just accept that we’re taking care of you tonight. You can return the favor another time.” Their casual certainty that there would be another time sent a glow through me—hopeful and warm as I let myself savor in the feeling. It was new and if I was going to be honest, I wouldn’t mind if it stayed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Daphne
While Micah and Levi slid the last plates into the sink and brushed stray crumbs into their waiting palms, Garrett moved with calm precision to refill everyone’s glasses with water. Oliver lifted the pie out of the oven, its crust a perfect burnished gold, the latticework so precise it might have been photographed for a magazine spread. Warm currents of cinnamon, sugar, and tender baked apples curled through the kitchen, mingling with the smoky tang of dinner still lingering in the air.
“I heard you ran into Trinity today,” Micah said as he returned to the table, setting down the crumb-speckled plate with a deceptively casual tilt of his head. His voice was even, carefully neutral—but I felt the room shift as if the air had grown heavier. My good mood slipped away in an instant, replaced by the familiar taut coil of anxiety at the base of my skull. I’d known this conversation was inevitable—I’d even brought the evidence to provoke it—but now that the moment had arrived, my pulse hammered so loudly I could almost taste it.
“I did,” I whispered, eyes locked on the swirling grain of the tabletop. “At the boutique. With Viola.”
Oliver’s easy dinner-host guise dropped like a mask. His shoulders squared, his tone sharpening with authority. “What happened?”
I swallowed. The words felt sour on my tongue. “She…said I’m not pack material, that you—” I glanced at Oliver—“were only being polite. That inviting me here was a mistake.”
Garrett’s reaction was immediate: a low growl rattled his chest and his knuckles whitened as his hands curled into fists atop the wood. “Complete and utter bullshit,” he snarled.
Levi set down the last fork with a precise click, his relaxed demeanor stiffening into something fiercely protective. “What else did she say? Any threats, or was it only her venomous gossip?”
