Viola went very still, her sandwich frozen halfway to her mouth. "Yes?"
"I said yes." The sandwich hit the plate with a soft thump as Viola's hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes went wide, then even wider, the next thing I know, she was out of her chair and pulling me into a hug so fierce it nearly knocked me off my seat. I had to stand up to avoid being flattened under her exuberance.
"Oh my God," she squeaked into my hair. "Oh my God, Daphne. You said yes? You actually said yes?"
"I actually said yes." The words felt strange and wonderful, spoken aloud to someone else. Making them more real. "This morning. Levi came by with bread, and we talked, and I... I said yes."
Viola pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions—joy, disbelief, pride, something that looked suspiciously like tears. "I am so proud of you," she said, her voice thick. "Do you understand that? I am so incredibly proud of you."
"Viola—" I started but was cut off.
"No, let me say this." She shook me gently, affectionately. "Five years. Five years you've been hiding in this cabin,convincing yourself that alone was the same as safe. And now you're taking this massive, terrifying leap, and you're doing it even though you're scared, and that's..." She sniffed, blinking rapidly. "That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."
The tears I'd been fighting since this morning spilled over once more, tracking down my cheeks in warm trails. "I'm terrified," I admitted. "Like, genuinely terrified. What if I mess this up? What if I can't be what they need? What if?—"
"What if it works?" Viola interrupted gently. "What if they're exactly what you need? What if you're exactly what they need? What if this is the beginning of something beautiful?"
I laughed, the sound watery and broken. "When did you become such an optimist?"
"I've always been an optimist. You just never let me close enough to show you." She released my shoulders but didn't move away, her eyes warm and steady. "Now. Sit down. Eat more of that sandwich. And tell me everything about this morning with Levi, because I am living vicariously through you and I need details."
We settled back into our chairs, and I found myself talking more freely than I had in years. I told her about hearing the truck and thinking it was Trinity, about the relief that had flooded me when I'd seen Levi's familiar form. About the bread, golden and perfect, still warm from his oven. About Mabel the sourdough starter and the way he'd flexed his arm in mock seriousness when I'd called him adorable.
Viola listened with rapt attention, interrupting occasionally to ask questions or make comments that ranged from insightful to utterly ridiculous.
"Wait, wait, wait," she said at one point, holding up her hand. "He named his sourdough starter? And the other guys give him grief about it?"
"Apparently." I laughed, a smile curving at the corner of my lips.
"That is the most precious thing I've ever heard." She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "A big, strong Alpha who tenderly cares for his fermented flour baby. I'm deceased. I'm actually deceased."
I snorted, nearly choking on my lemonade. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm romantic," she corrected. "There's a difference. Now keep going. You were on the back porch, holding hands..."
"I didn't say we were holding hands." I told her, taking a sip of my drink.
"You didn't have to. I could hear it in your voice." She grinned, unrepentant. "So you were on the back porch, holding hands, gazing at your beautiful garden, and then what? Did he kiss you? Please tell me he kissed you."
"He didn't kiss me." I felt heat creep up my neck at the thought. "It wasn't... it wasn't like that. It was just talking. Getting to know each other. He told me about his brother, and I told him about my mother, and it was heavy and real, yet somehow light? Like we could talk about hard things without drowning in them."
Viola nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "That's important. Being able to hold space for the hard stuff without losing the joy. Not everyone can do that."
"He can." I said it with more certainty than I'd expected. "They all can, I think. At dinner, when I told them about Trinity, they didn't make me feel weak for being scared. They just... accepted it. Accepted me. All the messy, complicated, scared parts."
"Because they see you." Viola's voice was gentle. "The real you, not the mask you show everyone else. That's what makes them different from all the people who left before. They're notinterested in some idealized version of you. They want the whole package—thorns, walls, and everything in between."
The words landed somewhere deep, resonating with everything Levi had said earlier.You fit with us. Like a piece we didn't know was missing.
"It's terrifying," I admitted. "Being seen like that. Part of me keeps waiting for them to realize they've made a mistake."
"That part of you is going to be waiting a long time." Viola reached for the small box she'd set aside earlier, sliding it across the table toward me. "Because from what I can tell, those men know exactly what they want. And what they want is you."
I looked at the box—plain white cardboard, unassuming—and then back at her. "What's this?"
"Dessert." She grinned. "Open it."
I lifted the lid and felt my breath catch. Inside, nestled on a bed of wax paper, were six perfect chocolate truffles. They were works of art—some dusted with cocoa powder, others drizzled with white chocolate, one rolled in crushed pistachios, another topped with a tiny crystallized violet.
