"What about Trinity?" I inquired, needing to redirect, needing to think about something other than the anxious anticipation building in my chest. "Do we tell Daphne we know about the confrontation?"
Oliver considered this, his Alpha instincts visibly engaged. "We let her tell us if she wants to. She stood her ground, that's her victory to share or keep private. What we don't do is pretend we don't care. If she brings it up, we acknowledge it. Tell her we're proud of her. Make sure she knows the documentation is continuing."
"If Trinity tries something Friday night?" The question had been nagging at me, a worst-case scenario I couldn't quite dismiss. "She’s figured out where Daphne lives from sending that package. Might try to follow us."
"Then she deals with all of us." Garrett's voice had gone hard, protective. "I don't care if it's your date, Micah. If Trinity shows up, pack comes first. We shut it down together." I nodded, grateful. This was what pack meant—no one faced anythingalone. Whatever happened with Trinity, whatever challenges lay ahead with Daphne, we'd handle it as a unit. The thought settled something in my chest that had been restless since I'd heard about the store confrontation.
"Alright." I pushed back from the table, gathering my dishes. "I need to do a final check of the viewing site, make sure there's nothing that might trip her up in the dark. And I should probably review my constellation notes."
"Of course you should." Levi's voice was fond despite the teasing. "Go on, Professor Romance. Go prepare your lesson plan." I flipped him off as I headed for the door, but I was smiling. Professor Romance. It wasn't entirely inaccurate.
Outside, the morning sun was burning off the last of the mist, painting everything in shades of gold and green. I breathed in deeply, pine and earth and the faint sweetness of wildflowers from the field behind the house. This land was becoming home in a way I hadn't expected, putting down roots despite my usual resistance to permanence. Friday night, I'd be sharing it with Daphne. Showing her the stars, yes, but also showing her this, the life we were building, the future we were hoping she'd want to be part of.
I just had to not mess it up.
The viewing site was at the highest point of the property, a small clearing that offered an unobstructed view of the sky in every direction. I'd spent hours here over the past weeks, mapping the positions of the stars, timing the moonrise and moonset, and identifying the darkest windows for optimal viewing. Tonight's conditions would be nearly perfect, a new moon, clear skies, low humidity. The Perseids wouldn't reach their absolute peak until next week, but the pre-peak activity should still be impressive.
I walked the perimeter of the clearing, checking for rocks or roots that might cause a stumble in the darkness. Thegrass was soft here, well-maintained from Garrett's occasional mowing, and I made a mental note to bring extra padding for the blankets. Daphne would be lying on her back, staring up at the sky. I wanted her comfortable, relaxed, able to focus on the wonder above rather than the ground beneath.
Wonder. That was what I wanted to give her. The sense of something vast and beautiful and utterly indifferent to human problems. Sometimes perspective helped, knowing that the light hitting your eyes had traveled millions of years to reach you, that the universe was so immense that all our fears and failures were cosmically insignificant. It could be comforting, that insignificance. Freeing.
I hoped Daphne would see it that way, that she wouldn't find my passion for astronomy boring or pedantic. I Hoped the careful planning would come across as thoughtful rather than obsessive.
Hope. There was that word again. I was doing a lot of it lately.
My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out expecting another text from Daphne. Instead, it was Oliver.
Morrison just called. Trinity's been asking around town about our property…where exactly we are, what roads lead here. Wanted you to know.
The warmth that had been building in my chest cooled abruptly. Trinity was escalating, just as we'd predicted. Not deterred by Daphne's pushback, but motivated by it. Calculating her next move.
I typed back:Noted. We'll be vigilant Friday. If she shows up, we handle it together.
Oliver's response was immediate:Damn right we will.
I pocketed my phone and looked up at the sky—bright blue now, with wisps of cloud drifting lazily across. In twelve hours, it would be dark, filled with stars and streaking meteors andinfinite possibility. Daphne would be here beside me, wrapped in blankets, watching the universe perform its ancient dance.
If Trinity tried to ruin it, she'd find out exactly what happened when you threatened something a pack had decided to protect. I headed back toward the house, my mind already running through contingencies and backup plans. That was who I was, the analyst, the planner, the one who thought three steps ahead. But underneath all that calculation was something simpler, something that had nothing to do with strategy or logic.
I wanted this to work. I wanted Daphne to see the stars and feel the same awe I did. I wanted her to feel safe with me, comfortable,chosen. I wanted to be the kind of Alpha who could give her everything she deserved—not through grand gestures or smooth words, but through steady presence and honest devotion.
Two more days. Then I'd get my chance to show her exactly what that looked like.
Friday couldn't come fast enough.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Daphne
The afternoon sun slanted through my kitchen window, painting golden stripes across the worn wooden table where I sat surrounded by chaos. Fabric swatches in varying shades of green and cream. A half-empty cup of tea gone cold hours ago. The old star chart, carefully unfolded and weighted down at the corners with smooth river stones I'd collected years ago. And me, staring at my closet's contents spread across every available surface, trying to figure out what a person wore to watch meteors with a man who made her heart race just by existing.
In less than four hours, Micah would be here for our Friday date night of startgazing.
I picked up a soft cable-knit sweater, forest green, warm enough for the cool night but not so bulky I'd feel like a shapeless blob. I held it against myself, trying to see my reflection in the darkened window of the oven. Ridiculous. I was being absolutely ridiculous. It was stargazing, not a formal event. He'd told me to dress warmly and wear comfortable shoes. That was it. Simpleinstructions that my anxious brain had somehow transformed into an impossible puzzle.
The sweater went into the "maybe" pile, which was significantly larger than the "yes" pile and roughly equal to the "absolutely not" pile. I'd been like this all day. Unable to focus, unable to settle, my thoughts circling back to tonight with the persistence of moths around a flame. I'd weeded the garden twice—the same section, because I'd forgotten I'd already done it. I'd reorganized my dried herb storage by alphabetical order, then by color, then back to alphabetical because the color system made no logical sense. I'd baked bread I didn't need and made soup I probably wouldn't eat.
Nervous energy with nowhere to go.
