“Drive safe,” Oliver said, his voice gentle as he stepped back into the halo of that golden light. I could almost smell the faint tang of woodsmoke and fresh-baked bread drifting from the open door behind him. “Text when you get home so we know you made it okay.”
“I will,” I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. “Thank you, Oliver. For tonight. For all of it.” The words felt too small for everything I wanted to express, but they carried all the gratitude swelling in my chest.
He returned my gaze with a soft, genuine smile in the dim glow. “Anytime, Daphne. Literally anytime.”
I shifted into reverse and felt the truck’s tires negotiate the uneven stones, as I k-turned toleave down the drive. In the rearview mirror, Oliver stood on the porch—backlit by the farmhouse’s embrace—watching me go until I slid out of view.
The road to my cabin was short, my thoughts tumbled through the evening’s moments: the rich aroma of food cooking, the way their laughter had woven me, how they’d rallied around me when I spoke of Trinity—listening without pity, assuming I belonged, treating me as someone worth protecting.
A surge of panic fluttered in my gut—what if this all crumbled? But beneath it, a warmer current pulsed: the memory of genuine smiles, of stories exchanged over crooked mugs, of kindness offered without condition. That warmth felt like home.
One step at a time, everyone had said. Tonight had been one leap.
When I arrived, I sat in the idling truck for a long moment, staring at my cabin’s weathered wooden siding and flickering porch light. It looked unchanged—my sanctuary of solitude—but I felt different: something inside me had cracked just enough to let more than moonlight in.
Hope, hope was beginning to trickle in those newly opened cracks..
I opened my phone and tapped out a message to Oliver:Made it home safe. Thank you again for tonight.
His reply was almost instantaneous:Sleep well. We’ll talk soon about Trinity. And Daphne? Tonight was just the beginning. We will start really courting you now…If you let us in.
I stared at those words—an unspoken promise and a gentle question dancing in the glow of my screen.If you’ll let us in.
Stepping out of the truck, I felt the night air press around me, cool against my skin. The porch light cast a warm pool at my feet as I crossed the threshold into my cabin—into the familiar hush that had once felt like safety but now felt newly spacious, as if it could hold more than just my walls of solitude.
I realized then, trembling with both fear and excitement, that I wanted to say yes. Terrified I might stumble, scarred I might retreat, convinced I might fail—but I wanted to try. Tonight had been a very, very good step indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Levi
The taillights of Daphne's truck disappeared around the bend, swallowed by the darkness of the tree-lined road, and I stood there on the porch long after the rumble of her engine faded. The night air was thick with the scent of pine and the lingering sweetness of Mrs. Chen's apple pie, but underneath it all, I could still catch traces of her—that delicate blend of honeysuckle and fresh earth that had wrapped around my senses the moment she'd walked through our door.
Oliver's hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and grounding. "She'll be okay."
"I know." But the words felt hollow, even to my own ears. Because the truth was, I didn't know. None of us did. Trinity's dead plant and that vicious note?—
Some things aren’t meant to grow. Know your place.
—played on repeat in my mind, each word a shard of glass I wanted to shield Daphne from.
"Come inside," Garrett said from the doorway, his voice carrying that steady calm that made him the rock of our pack. "We need to talk. All of us."
I took one last look at the empty road, at the darkness that had swallowed Daphne whole, and turned back toward the warmth of the house. The kitchen still smelled like dinner—the rosemary from my focaccia, the char of perfectly grilled steaks, the sweetness of wine and candlelight. The atmosphere had shifted, the earlier ease of our meal replaced by something heavier, more urgent.
Micah sat at the table, his green eyes sharp and calculating in a way that told me he was already three steps ahead, planning contingencies and strategies. The dead plant sat in front of him like evidence at a crime scene—which, I supposed, it was. Oliver took his usual position at the head of the table, his presence filling the room the way it always did, commanding without demanding.
Garrett settled into the chair beside me, and I found myself grateful for his proximity. Sometimes, when the protective instincts ran too hot, having him nearby helped me remember to breathe.
"So," Oliver began, his voice low and measured. "Trinity."
The name landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples of tension through all of us. I'd dealt with Trinity before—we all had. The woman was a hurricane of entitlement and desperation, convinced that persistence would eventually wear down our resistance. But this... this was different. This was targeted. Malicious.
"She's escalating," Micah said, stating what we all knew. His finger traced the edge of the note through the plastic bag we'd sealed it in. "The confrontation at the market was public humiliation, designed to isolate Daphne socially. The package is private intimidation—psychological. Classic stalker behavior."
"She's not a stalker," I heard myself say, though the words tasted wrong even as I spoke them. "She's just?—"
"What?" Garrett cut in, an edge to his voice I rarely heard. "Persistent? Dedicated? Levi, she sent a dead plant to our potential omega. A plant that looked like it had been deliberately killed. That's not persistence. That's a threat."
