The morning after Viola's visit dawned clear and bright, the kind of day that seemed to shimmer with possibility. I woke earlier than usual, my body apparently deciding that sleep was less important than whatever restless energy was thrumming through my veins.
I went through my morning routine with more care than usual, though I told myself it meant nothing. Shower, dress, coffee. I found myself reaching for a nicer blouse and actually running a brush through my hair instead of just pulling it back in my usual messy braid. I even put on a touch of lip balm, something I almost never bothered with.
It's just a normal day, I told myself firmly. Just because Levi came by yesterday doesn't mean anyone else will show up today. My heart wasn't listening to logic though. My heart was remembering Levi's words—the others will want to spend time with you too—and wondering. Hoping. Terrified and excited in equal measure.
I was in the garden by seven, trying to burn off nervous energy through physical labor. The tomatoes needed staking,the beans needed picking, and there was always weeding to be done. I lost myself in the familiar rhythm of it, my hands moving through soil and leaves while my mind wandered through everything that had changed in the past few days.
The courting. I'd said yes to the courting. I still couldn't believe I’d said yes to the courting.
The thought still felt surreal, like something that had happened to someone else. The old Daphne—the one who had spent five years building walls and convincing herself that alone was safe—would never have agreed to such a thing. But I wasn't that Daphne anymore. Or maybe I was, but I was also becoming someone new. Someone who could accept help when it was offered. Someone who could let people in.
Someone who could hope.
I was elbow-deep in bean plants, my basket already half-full of green pods, when I heard the vehicle approaching. My heart did its familiar stutter, but this time, the fear was quieter, overshadowed by anticipation. I straightened up, shading my eyes against the late morning sun, and watched as a black truck rounded the bend and pulled up near my gate.
Oliver.
Even from a distance, I recognized his silhouette. Broad shoulders, dark hair, that particular way he held himself—confident without being arrogant, commanding without demanding. He climbed out of the truck and reached into the back seat, emerging with a large wicker basket that looked like something out of a storybook.
"Good morning," he called, his deep voice carrying across the space between us. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
I pulled off my gardening gloves, suddenly aware of the dirt on my knees and the sweat on my forehead. "No, I was just... working."
"I can see that." He walked toward me with that unhurried stride, his blue eyes taking in the garden with obvious appreciation. Today he wore a simple white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms, and dark jeans that fit him well. He looked less like the intimidating pack alpha and more like a man enjoying a beautiful day. "Your garden is even more impressive up close. Levi wasn't exaggerating."
"Levi talked about my garden?" I asked, titling my head in curiosity.
"Levi talked about everything." Oliver's smile was warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made him look younger, more approachable. "He came home yesterday practically floating. Said you'd agreed to the courting, said you'd had coffee on your back porch, said your garden was a masterpiece and your cabin was warm and you were..." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Extraordinary. His word, not mine. Though I happen to agree with it."
Heat crept up my neck at the praise. "He's being generous."
"He's being honest." Oliver stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell him—pine and woodsmoke and something deeper, richer, like aged rum and leather. It was a scent that made me think of fireplaces and old books, of safety and strength. "Which brings me to why I'm here."
He lifted the wicker basket slightly, and I caught a glimpse of a checkered cloth peeking out from beneath the lid. "I thought perhaps a picnic might be in order. It's a beautiful day, you have that lovely creek on your property, and I have far too much food for one person." His eyes met mine, steady and warm. "If you're amenable, of course. No pressure."
A picnic. With Oliver. The head alpha of the pack that was courting me.
The old Daphne would have made an excuse. Would have cited work that needed doing, or claimed she'd already eaten, orfound any number of ways to politely decline. But I was trying not to be the old Daphne anymore. I was trying to say yes to things, even when they scared me.
"I'd like that," I heard myself say. "Just let me wash my hands?"
Oliver's smile widened, and something in my chest responded to it—a flutter, a warmth, a loosening of tension I hadn't realized I was holding. "Take your time. I'll wait."
I hurried inside, my heart beating faster than the short walk warranted. In the bathroom, I scrubbed the dirt from my hands and splashed cool water on my face, studying my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed—from the sun, I told myself, not from the thought of spending the afternoon with Oliver—and my hair was escaping its braid in wispy tendrils around my face. I looked slightly wild, slightly undone.
I looked, I realized with a start, like someone who was alive. I changed into a clean pair of jeans and kept the green blouse, then rejoined Oliver on the porch. He was leaning against the railing, gazing out at the garden with an expression of genuine contentment.
"Ready?" he asked smile on his lips.
"Ready." I nodded. We walked together down the gentle slope toward the creek, the wicker basket swinging between us. The late morning sun was warm on my shoulders, the air sweet with the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth, and I found myself relaxing despite the nervous energy still humming beneath my skin.
"This is a beautiful property," Oliver said as we walked. "How did you find it?"
"Luck, mostly." I stepped over a root, my feet finding the familiar path automatically. "I was looking for something isolated. Something I could make my own. The realtor thought I was crazy—the cabin was practically falling apart, and the landhadn't been worked in years. But the price was right, and I could see the potential."
"Garrett said something similar about the Henderson property. That everyone thought he was crazy for wanting it. But he wanted it because it used to belong to his grandfather and that was all he cared about.” He told me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he talked about his packmate.
"I remember." I smiled at the memory of Garrett's words, relayed through Levi. "He said he saw a foundation worth building on."
