I drew in a ragged breath. “Mostly words. But when Viola mentioned the package I got, Trinity flat-out denied knowing anything—though it was clear she recognized what Viola described.”
Four pairs of eyes locked onto me, each burning with concern and fury.
“Package?” Micah’s question was a hushed hiss.
I nodded toward my canvas satchel, propped against the doorframe like a silent witness. “I brought it. It’swhat I wanted to talk to you about.”
Oliver rose in a single fluid movement and retrieved the bag. Back at the table, he unzipped it and pulled out a small, unadorned box and a stack of glossy photographs. Under the kitchen’s warm illumination, the dead plant—its leaves brittle, veins blackened—looked almost malevolent, a stark antithesis to the flourishing life we’d been savoring mere moments ago.
“When did this arrive?” Oliver’s voice was a low rumble, controlled anger flickering beneath the surface.
“Tuesday morning,” I said, shivering despite the kitchen’s warmth. “Courier drop-off. No return address. The note read, ‘Some things aren’t meant to grow. Know your place.’”
Garrett’s growl deepened, more beast than man now. Levi went deathly still, the tension in his stance promising a ferocity barely contained. Micah leaned over the photographs, his analytical gaze already mapping our next move.
Oliver laid the photos and the dead sprig on the table as evidence in a trial. “This is a threat,” he declared, the weight of his Alpha authority filling the room. “Harassment, intimidation—entirely unacceptable.”
“I documented everything,” I said, nodding toward the printouts. “Viola insisted. In case it escalates.”
Micah's head snapped up, his green eyes narrowing to predatory slits. "In case? Daphne, this is already escalationing. The market scene was public humiliation in broad daylight. This—" he jabbed a finger at the withered plant, its blackened leaves curling like tiny claws, "—is targeted, personal intimidation. Trinity's not going to stop until someone makes her."
"That's what Viola said too," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the refrigerator. The weight of their concern pressed against my chest like a physical thing, making each breath shallow. "But I don't know what to do about it. It's not like I can prove she sent it."
"We'll handle it," Oliver declared, his shoulders squaring, his tone carrying the unmistakable timbre of an Alpha who expected to be obeyed, resonant and unyielding. "Trinity needs to understand that harassing you means dealing with our entire pack. And if she continues, we'll involve law enforcement."
"I don't want to cause problems for you," I protested, fingers twisting the edge of my napkin into a tight spiral. The cotton wrinkled beneath my nervous touch even as warmth bloomed inmy chest at their protection. "Your business, your reputation in town?—"
"Are not more important than your safety," Garrett interrupted, surging forward until his forearms pressed against the polished edge of the table. The veins along his muscular forearms stood out in stark relief, and his scent—pine and something darker, more primal—intensified. "Nothing is more important than that, Daphne. Nothing."
The ferocity in his voice, mirrored in all their expressions—Micah's razor-sharp focus, Levi's coiled stillness, Oliver's unwavering certainty—made my throat constrict with an emotion so foreign I couldn't name it. They barely knew me, this woman who'd been hiding in the shadows of her garden for years, and yet here they were, a wall of Alpha protection against someone who'd been desperately trying to capture their attention for months.
"Why?" The question escaped like a breath I'd been holding too long. "Why do you care this much? Trinity's right about one thing—I'm nobody. Just someone who grows vegetables and keeps to herself. Why risk your standing in the community for me?"
The silence that followed felt charged, like the electric heaviness before a thunderstorm. The kitchen lights caught the steam still rising from the cooling pie, creating a golden halo above the table. Then Oliver spoke, his voice quiet but with a warm certainty.
"Because you're not nobody. You're someone who's been hurt and who decided to build something beautiful anyway. Someone who's scared but shows up despite the fear. Someone who treats others with kindness even when she's been shown cruelty." He paused, his sapphire eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness. "And because from the moment we met you, every single one of us felt it—thisrecognition that you were supposed to be part of our lives. That our pack wasn't complete without you."
My breath caught in my throat, hot tears burning behind my eyes. I wanted to deny it, to deflect, to retreat behind the walls I'd so carefully constructed. But the truth in his words, reflected in all their faces—each unique yet unified in purpose—was as undeniable.
"I don't know how to do this," I whispered, my voice catching like fabric on a thorn. "How to let people care about me. How to trust that you won't change your minds when you realize how much work I am."
"Then we'll figure it out together," Levi responded, his voice as gentle as morning mist but with the underlying firmness of bedrock. "Nobody expects you to have all the answers, Daphne. We just want you to be willing to try. We want to court you, get to know you, and just have you in our lives."
"I am trying," I managed, wiping at the hot tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. "I'm here, aren't I? Even though every instinct told me to cancel and hide among my tomato vines and bean poles until winter."
"And that's incredibly brave," Garrett murmured, reaching across the polished maple table to cover my trembling hand with his. His palm was warm and rough, callused from splitting wood and fixing fences, the ridges of his fingerprints pressing into my skin like a promise. The contact sent a cascade of electricity up my arm and across my collarbone. "Braver than you probably realize."
I stared at our joined hands, at the way his tanned fingers completely engulfed my pale ones, at the stark contrast between his strength and my fragility. The simple comfort of the gesture made my throat tighten. When was the last time someone had held my hand just to offer support? When had I last let them?
"As for Trinity," Micah interjected, his voice slicing through the moment with surgical precision. He straightened the silverware beside his plate into perfect parallel lines. "We need a plan. She's not going to back off just because we ask nicely. She's obsessed, and obsessed people do unpredictable, dangerous things."
"I'll talk to my father and yours as well, Garrett," Oliver decided, his jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle twitched beneath the shadow of evening stubble. "Garetts dad, Old man Jack…He knows everyone in town, including Sheriff Morrison with his ridiculous handlebar mustache. We'll make sure there's a record of this, so if anything else happens, there's already a pattern documented."
"And I'll talk to the other vendors at the market," Levi added, his long fingers wrapping around his water glass. "Make sure they know to keep an eye out. If Trinity shows up and starts harassing Daphne again, there'll be witnesses.”
"I can handle the business angle," Micah offered, his slate-gray eyes narrowing with calculation. "Make sure our contracts and reputation are solid, so Trinity can't damage them with her poisonous gossip or lies."
They were organizing, planning, protecting—creating a fortress of care around me with their words—not because I'd asked them to, but because they'd decided I was worth protecting. The realization bloomed in my chest like one of my night-blooming jasmine flowers, unfurling with a complex fragrance of gratitude, fear, and something that felt dangerously, wonderfully close to hope.
