Honeysuckle and Rum (Cozy Omegaverse Romance #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Daphne

The first thing I noticed when I opened the front door was the smell.

The fresh, green scent of pine and earth, mixed with the crispness of the morning air.

A scent that had become as familiar to me as my own skin over the past five years.

The cabin was quiet, the way I liked it.

The birds were singing, the trees swayed slightly in the early spring breeze, and for a moment, I thought about going back to bed.

But that wasn’t an option. Not today.

Today, I had a market to prepare for. Tomorrow was the beginning of the weekend market so I had things to do.

I stepped out onto the porch, pausing to stretch and inhale the peace around me.

I had no need for company, or for anything more than what this cabin, this land, gave me.

My hands ran over the rough wood of the railing as I glanced at the garden behind me—rows of leafy greens, budding herbs, and flowers in every color I could imagine.

All my work, all my effort, and it was all for me.

I didn’t care about anything outside this haven.

Grabbing the basket I’d left by the door the night before,I got to work picking the herbs. Lavender, rosemary, sage... The scent of them filled the air and mingled with the surrounding forest. For a while, it was just me and the world I’d created. No expectations, no pressure.

Then, just as I was reaching for the last bundle of basil, I heard a truck rumbling down the road. My heart skipped a beat. The sound was so out of place in this quiet little corner of the world, and for a moment, I held my breath, hoping it would pass by without stopping.

But no such luck.

The truck came to a halt just beyond my gate, its tires kicking up dust as it parked.

I glanced up, trying to ignore the uneasy flutter in my chest. There was no reason for me to be on edge.

After all, I lived out here alone for a reason—because I liked it that way.

Still, I couldn’t deny the flicker of curiosity that bubbled inside me.

A man stepped out of the truck, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a flannel shirt that strained against the muscles of his chest. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his jaw had the kind of scruff that probably came from a week of not bothering with a razor.

But it was the way he carried himself—confident, yet relaxed—that caught my attention.

I could tell he wasn’t from around here.

At least, not from my little corner of the world.

I watched as he walked toward the truck bed, pulling out what looked like some kind of large equipment, then pausing to glance around.

I quickly averted my eyes, returning to the basil, trying to pretend I hadn’t noticed the newcomer. He’d probably just be passing through, I reasoned. Maybe a contractor or someone working on the roads. This was rural land, after all. People showed up from time to time for all sorts of reasons.

That’s when I heard the voice.

“Morning!” The shout was cheery, a little too loud for my liking.

I didn’t immediately respond, my heart picking up pace at the unexpected greeting. But after a moment of hesitation, I gave a small wave in return. “Morning.”

I glanced up just enough to see him smile back, his expression easy, almost amused. But there was something else in his eyes—something that felt far too knowing for someone I didn’t recognize.

“I’m Garrett,” he said, taking a step toward me, clearly not in a rush. “You live here?”

I blinked, a little thrown off by his casual approach. I wasn’t exactly used to strangers making small talk with me, especially out here. “Yeah,” I said, my voice a little quieter than usual. “I do.”

He seemed to take the one-word response in stride, his smile widening. “This place looks amazing,” he said, looking past me at the garden. “Is that all your work?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have this conversation. “It is. Just the basics. Herbs, flowers, vegetables.”

His gaze flicked down to the basket in my hands. “You sell any of it?” he asked, voice casual but interested.

“Market day’s tomorrow,” I replied, hoping that would end the conversation. I wasn’t a fan of sharing too much with strangers. There was a reason I lived out here, and it wasn’t for small talk.

"Out at Haven's Rest or do you go over to Lake Vera area?" Garrett said, leaning against his truck. "I've been looking for some local produce. New to the area."

I felt my shoulders tense at the mention of the area names.

Of course he would know about the local markets—that meant he wasn't just passing through.

My grip tightened on the basket handle as I processed this information.

New to the area. That could mean anything from a few weeks to a few months, and either way, it suggested he might be sticking around.

"Haven's Rest," I said, keeping my voice neutral. The last thing I wanted was to encourage more questions about my routine or my business.

Garrett's eyes lit up at the mention of Haven's Rest, and I couldn’t help but feel a small, unwelcome flicker of irritation. I didn’t know why I was reacting this way—there was nothing particularly off about his tone or demeanor.

It was just that feeling. The one I couldn’t shake, the sudden unease that crept up my spine like a shadow.

It wasn’t him, I told myself. It was me.

“Well, I’ll have to stop by tomorrow then,” he said with a grin, as if he’d already made up his mind. “I’ve been looking for something more local than what the grocery store has to offer.”

I nodded slowly, hoping he’d take the hint.

But then, to my surprise, Garrett didn’t leave.

Instead, he just stood there, smiling like he was waiting for something, as if my small, quiet life wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be.

My stomach churned in discomfort. The openness of his gaze, the way he seemed entirely unbothered by my reluctance—it was like he was too comfortable, too natural in a place where strangers didn’t linger.

I glanced at my basket, pretending to rearrange the herbs. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do,” I said, trying to avoid looking at him directly.

Garrett didn’t move. “I’m actually setting up a place nearby. Thought I’d introduce myself before I got started—neighbors should know each other, right?”

Neighbors. I hadn’t had a neighbor in five years. Not in the way most people thought of it. But Garrett was making it clear that he wasn’t just another transient passing through; he was settling.

That unsettling feeling in my chest crept back. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much. Maybe because I’d spent so much time building my solitude, it felt like an invasion. But it didn’t matter. It was his decision to stay, not mine. I didn’t owe him anything.

“I guess,” I muttered. “Well, you’re welcome to come by the market tomorrow.”

A flicker of amusement passed across his face. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He climbed back into his truck, but not before giving me one last wave.

The engine roared to life, and I watched as he drove further down the road, disappearing around the bend that led to what used to be the old Henderson property.

My chest tightened. That land had been empty for years—overgrown and forgotten.

If Garrett was setting up there, it meant I'd be seeing a lot more of him.

I stood there for a long moment after the dust settled, my basket of herbs forgotten in my hands. The morning air that had felt so perfect just minutes ago now seemed too still, too quiet. Like something had shifted in the balance of my carefully constructed world.

I shook my head, trying to dismiss the feeling. People moved to rural areas all the time. It didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't mean anything for me.

But as I walked back toward the cabin, I couldn't shake the sense that something about this morning—about Garrett—had changed things.

The way he'd looked at me, like he was reading something I hadn't meant to share.

The casual confidence in his voice when he'd mentioned stopping by the market, as if he'd already decided we'd be seeing each other again.

I climbed the porch steps and paused at the door, turning back to look down the road where his truck had disappeared.

The Henderson property. I'd walked past it countless times over the years, watching the old farmhouse slowly surrender to the encroaching forest. Garrett would have his work cut out for him if he planned to make anything of that place.

The thought should have been neutral, maybe even sympathetic. Instead, it left me with an uncomfortable tightness in my throat.

I pushed through the front door and set the basket on the kitchen counter, but my usual morning routine felt disrupted.

The kitchen felt colder than it should have—though maybe that was just me.

I went about my morning chores like always, boiling water for tea, sorting the herbs I'd gathered, making notes for tomorrow’s market in the little spiral notebook I kept by the back window.

But the usual rhythm, the comfort in repetition, felt just a little… off.

I didn’t like it.

I didn’t like him. Not really. Or maybe I didn’t like what he represented. That easy smile and slow swagger. That way of looking like he belonged—even though he didn’t.

Not here. Not in my quiet.

I tried to push the thoughts away as I poured the hot water over a mix of lemon balm and mint, letting the steam rise to my face like a calming gesture.

I’d done so well—so well staying disconnected, keeping my world small, tidy, safe.

I didn’t need anyone’s help. Especially not a flannel-wearing, suspiciously charming “neighbor” who apparently had no trouble showing up unannounced and making himself comfortable.

But even as I sat at the kitchen table and took the first sip of tea, my eyes drifted to the window. To the curve in the road where his truck had vanished. Something about the way he’d looked at me had felt too… attentive. Like he’d known I wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion and had done it anyway.

That kind of boldness didn’t usually bode well for me.

Still, Garrett didn’t strike me as dangerous.

At least not in the traditional sense. No, his danger was subtler.

Warmer. The kind of threat that worked its way under your skin before you even noticed you were reacting.

The kind that saw you—your cracks, your boundaries—and leaned on them just enough to make them crack.

And I wasn’t interested in cracking or breaking.

I grabbed my satchel from the hook near the door and stuffed it with my market list, a pair of gloves, and the last jar of honey I’d been meaning to trade. If I sat still any longer, I’d start second-guessing every thought in my head. Better to keep moving. That was always the answer.

I stepped back out into the morning, letting the door click shut behind me, and made my way to the little greenhouse on the far side of the garden. The scent of damp earth and tomato vines greeted me the second I pulled the door open. In there, at least, the world still made sense.

I knelt beside the seed trays and let the soil crumble between my fingers.

The greenhouse had always been my sanctuary.

No unexpected conversations, no curious eyes.

Just the rhythm of planting, tending, harvesting.

Just life doing what it was meant to do.

It didn’t ask questions. It didn’t look at me like it already had answers.I brushed the dirt from my palms and moved to check the irrigation line, the drip of water ticking like a steady clock.

Predictable. Reassuring. I stayed in the greenhouse until the sun climbed higher, losing myself in the familiar tasks.

Transplanting seedlings. Checking for pests.

Adjusting the ventilation. When I finally emerged, the morning had warmed enough that I could work outside without a jacket.

The rest of the day passed in its usual pattern. I harvested what I needed for tomorrow's market, bundled the herbs with twine, arranged everything in wooden crates that I'd stack in the back of my old pickup. The routine soothed the restless feeling Garrett had stirred up, at least partially.

But as evening approached and I sat on the porch with a cup of chamomile tea, my gaze kept drifting down the road. No sign of another truck. No sounds of construction or clearing from the Henderson place. Maybe he'd just been looking. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

The thought should have relieved me, yet I found myself, oddly disappointed.

By the time I went to bed that night, I'd convinced myself that the encounter was nothing more than a blip in my otherwise smooth routine. Just a stranger passing through my space, briefly disrupting the quiet before moving on. It happened sometimes, even out here. Nothing to dwell on.

But as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of his easy smile kept returning.

The way he'd looked at me, like we shared something I hadn't agreed to.

I rolled over, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape.

This was exactly why I preferred my solitude.

People were exhausting, even in small doses.

Especially the ones who seemed determined to be friendly.

I fell asleep eventually, but my dreams were restless—filled with unfamiliar footsteps on my porch and shadows moving at the edge of my garden.