Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Garrett
By the time Daphne disappeared down the street, I was still standing there, watching the sway of her hair in the sunlight until she turned the corner and was gone.
I let out a slow, frustrated breath and ran a hand through my hair.
The market noise seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the faint hum of my own thoughts—thoughts I wasn’t entirely comfortable having.
Oliver was watching me, arms crossed, eyes sharp and calculating. I knew that look. He didn’t have to say a word for me to know what he was thinking.
“What?” I said finally, rubbing the back of my neck. The tension from earlier still clung to me like static.
Oliver’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Is she the one you mentioned?” His tone was casual, but I could hear the edge beneath it—the interest, the curiosity, the warning.
“The woman you said might be a good fit for us? The one you couldn’t stop talking about since we moved in? ”
I let out a low laugh, part exhale, part deflection. “You make it sound like I’ve been obsessing.”
“Maybe not obsessing,” he said, stepping closer, “but I’ve known you long enough to recognize when something—or someone—gets under your skin.”
I glanced toward the direction Daphne had gone again, even though there was no sign of her. The crowd had begun to disperse, people returning to their stalls and small-town chatter like nothing monumental had just happened. But it had—at least for me.
“Maybe,” I admitted finally, my voice quieter than before. “There’s something about her.”
Oliver’s eyebrow lifted. “Something like what?”
I hesitated. How did I explain it? Daphne wasn’t like anyone I’d met before.
Most Omegas I’d encountered wore their emotions like perfume—sweet, obvious, impossible to ignore.
But Daphne… she was quiet fire. The kind that burned steady and deep.
She didn’t chase attention, didn’t soften her words to please anyone.
There was a sharpness to her, an independence that drew me like a magnet.
“She’s grounded,” I said finally. “Strong. Doesn’t bend just because someone else wants her to. It’s rare.”
Oliver chuckled under his breath. “Fierce, you mean.”
“Yeah,” I said with a grin. “That too.”
He studied me for a long moment, the corner of his mouth tilting in thought. “Fierceness can be good. It can also be difficult. Especially for someone like her, who’s probably used to doing everything on her own.”
I leaned against the edge of a wooden stall, crossing my arms. “That’s part of what makes her… interesting. She’s not looking for someone to fix her or save her. Hell, I doubt she even wants anyone around.”
“And that’s appealing to you?” Oliver asked, his tone more curious than judgmental.
I shrugged, glancing out toward the market square again.
“Maybe I’ve just had enough of the ones who cling.
I want someone who looks me in the eye and sees me for who I am—not my family name, not the pack, not what I can offer.
” I paused, exhaling slowly. “Daphne didn’t even flinch when she found out we moved in nearby.
She wasn’t impressed or intimidated. She just…
existed. Like my presence didn’t shift her world at all. ”
Oliver gave a low hum of understanding. “That’s rare.”
“It is,” I said. “And I respect it.”
For a while, we stood there, the silence stretching comfortably between us.
Around us, the market resumed its rhythm—vendors chatting, children laughing, the smell of baked bread wafting from the nearby bakery.
But my focus stayed on that one thought, looping over and over: She didn’t ask for any of this.
Trinity’s outburst had been unnecessary, cruel even.
She’d lashed out because she couldn’t control what she wanted, and I hated that Daphne had gotten caught in the crossfire.
The look on her face when Trinity called her a “bitch” would stick with me for a long time—the shock, the flicker of hurt she tried to hide, the instinctive retreat. She didn’t deserve that.
“Trinity’s not going to let this go,” Oliver said after a moment, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “You know how she gets when she feels slighted.”
I let out a long breath. “Yeah. I’ll handle it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Handle it how?”
“However I have to,” I replied, my jaw tightening. “But I don’t want Daphne dragged into it again. She didn’t sign up for this mess.”
Oliver’s gaze softened slightly. “She handled herself well, though. You saw the way she spoke up. Not many Omegas would’ve stood their ground like that in front of a crowd.”
I nodded. “Yeah, she’s tougher than she looks.”
The corner of Oliver’s mouth lifted. “Toughness we can work with. Fear, not so much.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’re already thinking about her as a potential pack member, aren’t you?”
He tilted his head, half-smiling. “You’re not?”
I didn’t answer. The truth was, the idea had crossed my mind more than once—though it was ridiculous.
I barely knew her. Still, there was something instinctive about it.
Something primal that stirred beneath my skin every time I looked at her.
The thought of her joining us didn’t feel forced. It felt… right.
“I just think she deserves to be left alone until she decides otherwise,” I said at last. “She’s built something peaceful out there. If we push too hard, we’ll scare her off.”
Oliver nodded slowly. “Then we won’t push. We’ll tread carefully. Let her come to us.”
“Good,” I said, grateful that he understood. “Because if we mess this up, she’ll bolt—and I doubt she’s the kind of woman who gives second chances.”
For a while, neither of us spoke. The crowd thinned, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
I could still smell the lingering sweetness of Daphne’s herbs on my hands from where I’d bought that jar of blackberry jam.
The scent was faint but grounding. I hadn’t realized until that moment how much her presence had imprinted itself on me—in her voice, her stubborn posture, the way she seemed to belong so completely to the earth she tended.
Oliver clapped a hand on my shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts. “Go home,” he said. “Cool off. I’ll talk to the others tonight. We’ll figure out what to do about Trinity.”
I nodded absently. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
As I walked toward my truck, I wasn’t thinking about Trinity. My thoughts were filled with Daphne—the way her eyes had caught the light, that guarded tone in her voice, the quiet defiance that lived in every movement she made. I wanted to understand her. To know what she was running from—or who.
The drive back toward the Henderson property was slow, the road winding between pines and wildflowers.
The land was old here—peaceful, untouched in a way that made me feel like I was trespassing on something sacred.
My new home was still half-wild, the cabin weathered and in need of repairs, but I saw potential.
Not just for the land—for me too. Maybe this was the kind of place where I could breathe again.
When I passed the turnoff to Daphne’s cabin, I slowed instinctively. Her truck wasn’t visible from the road, but I could see the faint smoke from her chimney curling into the sky. She was home. The sight eased something tight in my chest.
I parked at my own property and sat there for a long moment, staring at the overgrown field stretching out before me.
My hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers drumming lightly as I tried to steady my thoughts.
I hadn’t planned on being drawn to anyone when I came here.
I just wanted quiet. A reset. But somehow, the quiet had led me straight to her—and I wasn’t sure if that was fate or trouble.
Maybe both.
As the sun dipped below the treeline, I got out of the truck and stretched, the scent of fresh-cut pine still hanging faintly in the air from yesterday’s work.
My muscles ached from the long day, but my mind was restless.
I kept thinking about Wednesday morning, when I was supposed to stop by Daphne’s property for “agricultural advice.” I hadn’t expected her to agree when I asked, but the memory of her soft “Wednesday” replayed like a song I couldn’t forget.
I smiled to myself, kicking at a loose stone on the dirt path. “Wednesday, huh?” I murmured. “Guess I better bring good coffee.”
Because for some reason, the thought of disappointing her—of seeing that guarded expression turn cold again—bothered me more than I wanted to admit.