Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Levi
The rain was coming down harder by the time I pulled up to the Henderson property—our property now, I reminded myself with a grin.
After weeks of back-and-forth trips, living out of hotel rooms and the half-finished cabin, it still felt surreal that we were actually here.
Permanently. All four of us under one roof, trying to turn this overgrown mess into something resembling home.
I grabbed my grocery bags and made a run for the covered porch, getting soaked anyway. The front door swung open before I could reach for the handle, and Micah stood there with a towel, his sharp green eyes assessing me with amusement.
"You look like a drowned rat," he observed, his cocky smirk firmly in place.
"Thanks for the observation, genius." I took the towel gratefully, rubbing it over my wet hair. "You could've held the door open earlier, you know."
"Where's the fun in that?" He stepped aside to let me in, and I noticed he'd changed since this morning—gone were the work clothes, replaced by joggers and a fitted black t-shirt that showed off his runner's build.
His caramel brown hair was freshly trimmed on the shaved side, the design sharp and clean.
He must have hit the barber in town while I was at the store.
"New cut looks good," I said, setting my bags on the kitchen counter.
The kitchen was still a work in progress—new cabinets installed but not all painted, countertops temporarily covered with plywood until the stone we'd ordered arrived.
But it was functional, which was more than could be said for most of the house when we'd first arrived.
"Had to look presentable for the locals," Micah replied, running a hand over the longer hair on top. "Can't have people thinking we're a pack of savages just because we're renovating a dump."
"It's not a dump anymore," Garrett's voice came from the living room, slightly defensive. He appeared in the doorway, sawdust still clinging to his shirt. He'd been working on the built-in bookshelves all morning. "It's a work in progress."
"A work in progress that still doesn't have hot water in two of the bathrooms," Micah pointed out with a roll of his eyes.
"That's on the list for next week." Garrett grabbed a beer from the fridge—one of the few appliances that actually worked properly—and leaned against the counter. "How'd the supply run go, Levi?"
I started unpacking the groceries, pulling out the ingredients for the stir-fry I'd planned for dinner. "Got everything we needed. Mrs. Morrison says the lumber order will be ready to pick up tomorrow."
"Good. We need it for the deck repairs. Though I can’t wait until everything is set up so we can get our own supplies and not rely on others." Garrett took a long drink, watching me with those too-observant eyes. "Anything else interesting happen in town?"
I tried to keep my expression neutral as I put away the soy sauce and rice noodles. "Ran into someone at Morrison's. Quite literally, actually. Nearly knocked her over in the baking aisle."
Micah's smirk widened. "Her?"
"Daphne," I said, giving up on pretending it wasn't significant. "Our mysterious neighbor."
Garrett straightened immediately, beer forgotten. "You met Daphne?"
"Met, collided with, had an entire conversation with." I pulled out my phone, showing them the notes I'd taken. "She gave me sourdough advice. Very detailed sourdough advice."
"Let me see that." Garrett crossed the kitchen in two strides, practically snatching my phone. His eyes scanned the notes, and something in his expression softened. "She told you about temperature consistency. And feeding ratios by weight."
"Is that significant?" Micah asked, moving closer to read over Garrett's shoulder.
"It means she actually talked to him," Garrett said quietly. "Really talked, not just polite small talk. She doesn't seem to do that with people."
I leaned against the counter, studying my packmate.
Garrett had been talking about Daphne almost since he laid eyes on her—the woman who lived alone on the neighboring property, who kept to herself but had the most incredible garden he'd ever seen.
At first, I'd thought it was just casual interest, the kind of attention you pay to any neighbor.
But the more he talked, the more I realized it was something deeper.
"She's... interesting," I said carefully. "Guarded as hell, but interesting. Tried to pay for her own groceries even after I offered."
"Of course she did." Garrett handed my phone back. "What else did she say?"
"Not much. We talked about baking, she mentioned her adoptive parents taught her. Got prickly when I tried to buy her groceries, then softened a bit when I backed off." I paused, remembering the look in her eyes. "She's been hurt, hasn't she? That's not just normal introversion."
"Yeah," Garrett said quietly. "I get that sense too. Like she's waiting for people to prove they're not trustworthy."
The back door opened, bringing with it a gust of rain-scented air and Oliver, soaked through despite his rain jacket. He pulled off his boots in the mudroom, calling out, "Please tell me someone made coffee. I've been dealing with Pa’s crew all morning and I need caffeine."
"Fresh pot on the counter," I called back. "How'd it go?"
Oliver emerged, water dripping from his dark hair, and headed straight for the coffee maker. "Good. They'll start on the barn foundation Monday. Pa says if we want it done before summer, we need to commit to the timeline."
"We're committed," Garrett said. "We all agreed the barn was a priority after getting the house livable."
"That's what I told him." Oliver poured himself a large mug, then noticed Garrett's expression. "What happened?"
"Levi met Daphne." Garrett said, giving Oliver a look.
Oliver's attention swung to me immediately, his blue eyes sharp with interest. "How did that go?”
"Interesting." I started prepping vegetables for dinner, needing something to do with my hands. "Ran into her at Morrison's. She's exactly like Garrett described—independent, guarded, prickly when you push but warmer when you give her space."
"She gave him baking advice," Garrett added, like this was highly significant.
"She's had experience from how her home looks. It looks more like a homestead than anything. Self sufficient. ," Micah pointed out, stealing a piece of the bell pepper I was slicing. "
"But she doesn't usually share information freely," Garrett insisted. "Not with strangers. The fact that she talked to Levi at all is notable."
Oliver settled into one of the kitchen chairs, cradling his coffee. "What's your read on her, Levi?"
I considered the question as I continued chopping. Oliver wasn't just our head Alpha in name—he had a way of cutting through bullshit and seeing the core of situations. If he was asking for my assessment, he wanted the truth.
"Smart," I said finally. "Self-sufficient to the point of being defensive about it.
She's built a life out here alone, and she's proud of that.
But there's something underneath—loneliness, maybe.
Or fear of connection. She tried to pay for thirty dollars worth of groceries like her life depended on maintaining that boundary. "
"Fear of owing people," Micah murmured, his sharp mind already analyzing. "Or fear of what strings might be attached."
"That's my read too." I glanced at Garrett. "You said she keeps to herself. Any idea why?"
"Not the full story." Garrett drummed his fingers against his beer bottle. "But Lynn mentioned something about her being adopted as a teenager, then her adoptive parents dying when she was young. She bought this property after the biological family came and sold the farm."
"So she's lost people," Oliver said quietly. "Multiple times, probably if she was adopted."
The kitchen fell silent except for the sound of rain against the windows and my knife against the cutting board.
We all understood loss in our own ways—Oliver had lost his mother to cancer when he was sixteen, Garrett's parents had the picture perfect pack marriage until two of his dads, one being his blood father, passed in a work accident, giving Garrett the inheritance of the business.
Micah's family had disowned him when he'd chosen to join our pack instead of taking over the family business.
And me? I'd watched my older brother nearly destroy himself with addiction before getting clean.
Loss shaped people. Sometimes it made them stronger, sometimes it made them cautious. Sometimes both.
"She's been through some shit," Micah said finally, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful. "You can see it in how people build walls. The height tells you how deep the hurt goes."
"Her walls are pretty damn high," I admitted. "But she let me talk to her, even laughed a couple times. And when I told her she always has a choice about our presence in her life, she seemed... I don't know. Surprised, maybe? Like that wasn't something she'd considered."
Garrett straightened. "You told her she has a choice?"
"Of course I did. She does." I looked around at my packmates. "We all know Oliver declared something at the market that probably freaked her out. If we're actually interested in pursuing this—in getting to know her as a potential packmate—we need to go at her pace, not ours."
"Agreed," Oliver said immediately. "The last thing we want is to pressure her."
"Though we are living a quarter mile away," Micah pointed out. "Pretty hard to avoid us even if she wanted to."
"Which is why we need to be respectful," Garrett said firmly. "We are meeting tomorrow to look at those apple trees. Just me, keeping it professional, giving her space."
I resumed chopping, hiding my smile. Garrett was already protective of her, defensive of her boundaries. That was a good sign—it meant whatever he felt wasn't just surface attraction. He actually cared about her comfort.