"Giuseppe's wife makes them," Viola explained. "Lucia. She's a chocolatier—trained in Belgium or Switzerland or somewhere fancy. Each one is different. The violet one has lavender in it, which made me think of you."
I picked up the lavender truffle carefully, examining its delicate beauty. The crystallized violet caught the light, purple and perfect, and I could smell the faint floral sweetness even before I took a bite.
The chocolate shell cracked between my teeth, giving way to a ganache that was impossibly smooth, richly dark, infused with the subtle, haunting flavor of lavender. It wasn't perfume-y or overwhelming—just a whisper of flowers beneath the chocolate, a garden captured in a single bite.
"Oh," I breathed. "This is..."
"I know." Viola selected a truffle of her own—one drizzled with caramel—and bit into it with obvious pleasure. "Lucia is a genius. An actual, literal genius."
We worked through the truffles slowly, savoring each one, sharing descriptions of flavors like we were wine critics at a tasting. The pistachio was nutty and rich. The one with espresso was bold and bright, the coffee cutting through the sweetness. The white chocolate raspberry was tangy and decadent, and the dark chocolate with sea salt was a perfect balance of bitter and sweet.
"This is nice," I said eventually, licking chocolate from my fingers in a way that would have embarrassed me in front of anyone else. "Having you here. Eating ridiculously good food. Just... talking."
Viola's expression softened. "It is nice. And Daphne? This is what friendship looks like. This is what you've been missing, hiding away in your cabin. Not just romantic connection, but this—someone to share food with, to laugh with, to process life with."
"I know." The admission came easier now, after everything that had shifted today. "I'm starting to understand that. That being alone wasn't protecting me. It was just... making me smaller."
"Well." Viola raised her glass of lemonade like a toast. "Here's to getting bigger. To taking up space. To accepting love in all its forms—romantic, platonic, and chocolate-based."
I laughed, clinking my glass against hers. "To all its forms."
We moved to the back porch after that, bringing the lemonade and the last of the truffles with us. The afternoon sun was warm but not oppressive, filtered through the leaves of the old oak tree that shaded the western side of the cabin. Viola curled up in the chair—the same one Levi had sat in thatmorning—and tucked her feet beneath her like a cat settling to sunbath.
"So what happens now?" she asked, gazing out at the garden with obvious appreciation. "With the courting, I mean. Is there, like, a schedule? A formal process? Do they take turns taking you on dates?"
"I don't think it's that structured." I settled onto the bench, drawing my knees up to my chest. "Levi said they want to spend time with me—individually and together. Get to know each other. Figure out what works."
"That sounds healthy." Viola nodded approvingly. "No pressure, no timeline. Just... exploration."
"That's what he said. No expectations except honesty and communication." I paused, turning the words over in my mind. "It sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Like there has to be a catch somewhere."
"Or maybe it sounds exactly right, and you're just not used to things going well." Viola's voice was gentle but pointed. "Not everything good comes with hidden strings, Daphne. Sometimes people are just... kind. Just genuine. Just exactly what they seem to be."
I wanted to believe that. Wanted it so badly that the wanting felt like an ache in my chest as the anxiety picked up again. "What if I ruin it?"
"What if you don't?" Viola stated, giving me a look.
"Viola—" I said but was cut off by her.
"I'm serious." She turned to face me, her amber eyes intense. "You keep asking 'what if' questions about disaster. What if you mess up, what if they leave, what if it all falls apart. But you never ask the other what ifs. What if it works? What if they stay? What if you build something beautiful together?"
"Because the other what ifs are scarier," I admitted quietly. "If I expect disaster, I'm prepared for it. If I expect happiness and it doesn't come..."
"Then you're exactly where you are now. Alone and safe and miserable." Viola's voice wasn’t unkind, but itwashonest. "I've watched you for years, Daphne. Watched you go through the motions of living without actually being alive. Since the pack showed up—you've had more light in your eyes than I've seen in all the time I've known you."
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that the light felt borrowed, temporary, like something that could be snatched away at any moment.
"Can I tell you something?" Viola asked.
"Of course."
"When I met my first mate… back when he was just this awkward guy who kept showing up at my bakery job and ordering the same croissant every single day—I was terrified too." She smiled at the memory, something soft and nostalgic in her expression. "I'd been hurt before. Badly. The kind of hurt that makes you swear off love forever, build walls, all that stuff you know too well."
I hadn't known this about her. In all our interactions, all our conversations, she'd never mentioned being hurt. "What happened?"
"I met someone in college. Thought he was the one. Turns out he was the one to teach me that some people are really, really good at pretending." She shrugged, but I could see the old pain beneath the casual gesture. "He cheated. Lied. Made me feel like I was crazy for suspecting anything. When it all came out, I was devastated. Swore I'd never trust anyone again."
"But you did. Eventually." I stated, as I shifted in my seat.
