“I don’t deserve this,” I whispered, the words slipping out like fragile glass shards. “This level of care. This protection. I haven’t done anything to earn it.”
Garrett’s eyes softened in the warm lamplight, and he closed my trembling fingers in his rough, steady grip. “You don’t haveto earn it,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “That’s not how our pack works. You’re one of us now, whether you realize it or not. We take care of our own.”
I opened my mouth to protest—“But I’m not—”—but Oliver’s gaze cut through my doubts, sharp and unwavering.
“Aren’t you?” His tone held both challenge and compassion. “You showed up tonight despite the terror. You trusted us with Trinity’s secret. You’re here, at our table, sharing our food, letting us see your cracks. If that isn’t the start of a pack, what is?”
My throat tightened against the surge of emotion. Words tangled in my chest where gratitude, relief, and longing jostled for space. I could only remain still, clutching Garrett’s hand, tears glinting like dew on my lashes as I realized they were offering me something I’d spent five years convincing myself I didn’t need—belonging. A place. A home.
Levi cleared his throat softly, the sound like a breeze rustling through autumn leaves. “How about some pie? I think we could all use something sweet.”
I nodded, blinking back tears. Garrett released my hand, though his fingers lingered an instant longer before he withdrew. Micah stepped forward and, with gentle precision, cut thick slices from a steaming apple pie at the center of the oak table. The air filled with the comforting aroma.
Levi slid a golden slice onto my plate—the crust flaky and sunlit, the filling brimming with plump, tender apples glazed in syrup. He handed me a fork. “Mrs. Chen guards her spice blend like treasure,” he confided. “No one knows exactly what’s in it, but… it’s magical.”
I lifted the fork and tasted it. Sweet and tart apple, cinnamon and nutmeg intertwined, a whisper of cardamom lingering at the edges—all encased in buttery layers that melted on contact. Relief washed through me in gentle waves.
“This is incredible,” I managed around a mouthful, then swallowed slowly.
Oliver leaned back, closing his eyes as he savored his own slice. “Mrs. Chen’s been refining that recipe for forty years,” he said with a small smile. “She swears she’ll take her secret to the grave.”
“Smart woman,” Micah murmured, pressing his fork into another warm bite of pie. Steam curled upward from the buttery crust, fragrant with cinnamon and brown sugar. He closed his eyes in pleasure. “Keep people wanting more.”
The evening wore on. Laughter echoed off the cabinets as easily as the wine had flowed earlier. I found myself loosening up, contributing ideas, stealing glances at their animated expressions. The terror that had gripped me on the drive over receded, replaced by something soft and promising. I wasn’t sure I could call it belonging—yet—but I could almost believe it might happen.
Glancing at the clock, I was startled to see it was past nine. Three hours had vanished like minutes. My spine ached from sitting so long; my muscles reminded me of the day’s anxieties.
“I should probably go,” I said, rising reluctantly. A knot tightened in my throat at the thought of leaving this warmth.
“You’re welcome to stay longer,” Oliver offered, stepping toward me with a gentle smile. “But if you need to go, I’ll walk you to your truck.”
I nodded, feeling gratitude bloom in my chest. “Thank you,” I managed, voice thick. “For dinner, for listening, for… everything.”
Garrett rose to his feet, his broad shoulders straightening as he met my eyes. "Thank you for coming," he said, voice like warm honey. "For trusting us enough to be here."
Levi pulled me into a hug before I could step away, his muscular arms gentle but firm around my shoulders. Hesmelled like freshly baked sourdough, crushed rosemary, and that distinctive cedar-and-rain scent that clung to his skin. "Next time, you're teaching me how to make jam," he murmured, his breath stirring the fine hairs at my temple.
"Next time," I echoed, the two simple words lodging in my throat like a promise too fragile to examine.
Micah's nod was precise, military in its restraint, but his forest-green eyes softened at the corners. "We'll handle the Trinity situation," he said, each word clipped and certain. "You focus on staying safe and taking care of yourself."
Oliver's calloused hand brushed against my lower back as he guided me to the door. The worn wooden porch boards creaked beneath our feet. Night air washed over my flushed skin, pine-scented and knife-sharp with approaching autumn. Above us, stars pierced the darkness, diamond-bright without the haze of city lights.
"Tonight was..." My voice faltered, words inadequate.
"I know," Oliver murmured, the timbre of his voice vibrating in the scant inches between us. "For us too."
The crickets song pulsed from the tall grass. Wind whispered through pine needles while an owl's haunting call echoed from the distant ridge, a single mournful note.
"I meant what I said earlier." His voice dropped to a rough-edged whisper that raised goosebumps along my arms. "About you being part of our pack. We're not saying that lightly, Daphne. We're saying it because we mean it."
I tilted my head back to study him—this man with sun-weathered skin and midnight-dark eyes who'd appeared on my porch yesterday, who'd enveloped my trembling fingers in his steady grip and told me I deserved everything. The golden light spilling from the windows behind us caught on the silver threading his temples, softened the hard line of his jaw.
"I'm scared," I confessed, the admission slipping out under cover of darkness where vulnerability felt less like weakness.
"I know," he repeated, then added, his eyes never leaving mine, "But you came anyway. That's what matters."
He guided me down the gravel driveway to my truck, the souls of our shoes crunching over loose stones as I climbed into the cold metal cab and settled behind the wheel.
