"He did." Oliver's voice was thoughtful. "That's Garrett. He sees possibility where others see problems. It's what makes him such a good contractor—and such a good packmate."
We reached the creek, and I led him to my favorite spot—a small clearing where the bank was flat and grassy, shaded by an old willow whose branches trailed in the crystal clear water of the creek like fingers on a lazy day.
"This is perfect," Oliver said, setting down the basket and surveying the spot with approval. "Absolutely perfect."
He spread the checkered cloth on the grass—red and white, classic and charming—and began unpacking the basket with methodical care. I watched, increasingly amazed, as item after item emerged: crusty bread rolls, a wheel of soft cheese, sliced meats arranged in neat spirals, a container of olives glistening with oil and herbs, fresh strawberries so red they looked painted, a bottle of wine and two actual glasses, cloth napkins, even a small vase with a single wildflower—a black-eyed Susan, cheerful and bright.
"Did you make all this?" I asked, slightly overwhelmed by the spread.
"I wish I could take credit." Oliver laughed, settling onto the blanket and patting the space beside him. "Levi handled most of the food preparation. I handled the logistics. Teamwork."
I sat down, tucking my legs beneath me, acutely aware of the small distance between us. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."
"It wasn't trouble." His blue eyes met mine, serious despite his easy tone. "Daphne, I want to be clear about something. Everything we do—the bread Levi brought, this picnic, whatever comes next—none of it is trouble. None of it is out of obligation. We want to be here. We want to spend time with you. That's the whole point."
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and watched as he poured two glasses of wine—a pale rosé that caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the willow branches.
"To new beginnings," he said, handing me a glass.
"To new beginnings," I echoed, and drank. The wine was crisp and light, with notes of strawberry and something floral I couldn't quite identify. It was perfect for a warm day, refreshing without being too sweet, and I felt some of the nervous tension ease from my shoulders as we began to eat.
The food was as good as it looked. The bread was soft inside with a crackling crust, cheese creamy and mild, and the meats were savory and perfectly seasoned. The olives were a revelation—briny and rich, infused with garlic and rosemary and something citrusy that made my taste buds sing. I found myself eating more than I'd intended.
"Levi outdid himself," I said around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
"He always does when he's motivated." Oliver's smile was fond. "And trust me, he's very motivated where you're concerned."
The words sent a flutter through my chest. "All of you seem very... invested. In this. In me."
"We are." Oliver set down his wine glass, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Which is actually what I wanted to talk to you about today. If you're open to it."
Here it was. The conversation I'd been both anticipating and dreading. "Okay."
"Levi told us you said yes to the courting." Oliver's voice was gentle but direct. "And I can't tell you how happy that made all of us. But I want to make sure we're all on the same page—you included. Courting means different things to different people, and I think it's important that we understand each other's expectations."
I nodded slowly, appreciating his straightforward approach. "That makes sense."
"So let me start by asking you: what do you want, Daphne? From this courting, from us, from whatever this might become. What does your ideal outcome look like?"
The question was so direct, so simple, and yet I found myself struggling to answer. What did I want? I'd spent so long not wanting anything that the question felt foreign, like being asked to describe a color I'd never seen.
"I don't know," I finally admitted. "I'm not trying to be difficult—I genuinely don't know. I've never... I've never let myself think about what I want. Not like this."
"Then let's break it down." Oliver's tone was patient, unhurried. "What are you hoping for right now, in this moment? Not forever, not long-term. Just... what feels right today?"
That was easier. "Connection," I said slowly, the word crystallizing as I spoke it. "I want to feel connected to people. To not be so alone anymore." I paused, gathering courage. "I want to know you. All of you. Not just the surface stuff, but the real things. Who you are when no one's watching. What makes you laugh, what keeps you up at night."
Oliver's expression softened. "We want that too. That's exactly what courting is supposed to be—a chance to know each other deeply, authentically. No masks, no performances."
"How does it work?" I asked, the practical part of my brain finally engaging. "I mean, there are four of you and one of me. How do you... share? How do you decide who spends time with me when?"
"That's part of what I wanted to discuss." Oliver shifted, turning to face me more fully. "Every pack does it differently. Some have rigid schedules, specific days assigned to each alpha. Others are more fluid, letting things develop organically." He paused. "We've always leaned toward the latter, but we also recognize that you're new to this. If the more structured approach would make you more comfortable, we can create it."
I considered this, turning it over in my mind. "I think... I think I'd like some structure at first? Not rigid, but... a framework. So I know what to expect."
"That's completely reasonable." Oliver nodded approvingly. "Here's what we were thinking, if you're open to it. Each of us would like to take you on a date. Individual time, one-on-one, so you can get to know us separately before we start spending more time together as a group. Does that sound okay?"
"That sounds..." I hesitated, searching for the right word. "Overwhelming. But also good. A good overwhelming."
