Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Daphne
Sunday morning arrived with the kind of crisp clarity that made everything feel sharper—the birdsong louder, the colors more vivid, the weight of my thoughts harder to ignore.
I'd woken before dawn out of habit, my body clock attuned to market days after five years of routine.
But this morning felt different somehow, charged with an energy I couldn't quite name.
Or maybe I just didn't want to name it.
I moved through my morning preparations with practiced efficiency—loading the truck with crates of fresh vegetables, bundles of herbs tied with twine, jars of preserves that caught the early light like jewels.
Everything was organized exactly as always, each item placed with care to prevent shifting during the drive.
My hands knew the work so well I barely had to think about it.
Which left my mind free to wander back to Friday afternoon.
To Garrett's orchard and his grandfather's trees.
To the way his scent had wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
To the moment he'd brushed my hair back, his touch so gentle it had made my chest ache.
To the fact that I'd agreed to come back.
"Stop it," I muttered to myself, securing the last bungee cord with more force than necessary. "It was just a neighborly consultation. Nothing more."
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. Something had shifted on Friday, some wall inside me had cracked just enough to let in a sliver of light. And now I couldn't seem to stop thinking about what else might slip through that crack if I wasn't careful.
The drive to Haven's Rest was quiet, the roads still mostly empty in the early morning.
I kept my windows cracked despite the chill, breathing in the scent of pine and damp earth, trying to ground myself in the familiar.
This was just another market day. Same routine, same stall, same carefully maintained distance from everyone around me.
Except now everyone in town thought I was being courted by a pack of Alphas.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel at the thought.
Thanks to Trinity's public meltdown and Oliver's improvised declaration, the entire town had apparently decided my carefully constructed solitude was under siege.
Lynn had called twice more since Thursday, fishing for information with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Mrs. Morrison had given me knowing looks when I'd picked up supplies yesterday.
Even Eleanor, who usually respected my privacy, had made pointed comments about "new developments. "
"There are no developments," I'd told her firmly. "Just neighbors being neighborly."
She'd smiled like she didn't believe me. Like she knew something I didn't. Or maybe like she knew something I wasn't ready to admit.
The market square was already bustling when I arrived, vendors setting up their stalls under the morning light.
I parked in my usual spot—far corner, good visibility, easy escape route—and started unloading.
The routine of it settled my nerves somewhat.
This I knew how to do. This was safe, predictable, mine.
"Morning, Daphne!" Eleanor called from her stall two spaces over, already arranging her needlework displays. "Beautiful day for it!"
"Morning," I replied, keeping my response brief but not unfriendly.
I could feel her watching me as I worked, curiosity radiating from her like heat.
But she didn't push, didn't pry. Eleanor understood boundaries, which was why I'd allowed something resembling friendship to develop between us over the years.
I arranged my display with the same care I always did—lavender bundles up front to catch the eye, vegetables organized by color behind them, preserves along the back edge where people would have to step closer to examine them.
It was a system that worked, that drew people in without overwhelming them.
Professional. Controlled. Exactly how I liked it.
"Heard you've been busy," Eleanor said casually, adjusting a display of embroidered dish towels. Too casually.
I didn't look up from arranging my herb bundles. "No busier than usual."
"Really? Because Lynn mentioned seeing you at Morrison's with one of those new Alphas. The blond one—Levi, I think his name is?" I could hear her voice brimming with curiosity making me want to curl up into myself or a glare in return.
My jaw tightened. Of course Lynn had mentioned it. Lynn mentioned everything to everyone. "I ran into him in the baking aisle. Literally. It was an accident."
"And you gave him baking advice?" Eleanor's tone was light, but I could hear the question underneath. Since when do you talk to strangers?
"He asked. I answered. That's all." I moved to the vegetables, straightening rows that didn't need straightening.
"Hmm." Eleanor was quiet for a moment, then added, "Must be strange, having new neighbors so close after all these years alone."
"It's fine." The words came out sharper than I'd intended. I took a breath, softening my tone. "They're just people, Eleanor. Neighbors. Nothing more."
"Of course," she agreed, but there was a knowing quality to her voice that made my skin prickle. "Just neighbors who happen to have declared they're courting you in front of half the town."
"That was a misunderstanding." I finally looked at her, needing her to understand. "Oliver never stated we were courting. Trinity made the assumption.”
Eleanor studied me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "And what about Garrett? I heard you went to his property. Something about apple trees?"
How did she know that? Had Garrett mentioned it in town? Or was the Haven's Rest gossip mill just that efficient?
"Professional consultation," I said firmly, almost exasperated at even having this conversation. "He needed advice on pruning old trees. I have experience with orchards. That's all it was."
"Uh-huh." Eleanor turned back to her display, but I could see the small smile on her face. "Well, for what it's worth, they seem like good men. Old man Jack raised his son right, and from what I've heard, the whole pack is solid. Could do worse for neighbors."
"I'm not looking for anything beyond neighbors," I insisted, but the words felt hollow even to my own ears.
"Sometimes the best things in life are the ones we're not looking for," Eleanor said quietly. Then, before I could respond, she brightened and called out to an early customer, leaving me alone with thoughts I didn't want to examine.
The market filled up quickly as the morning progressed, the usual Sunday crowd of locals and tourists mixing together in a comfortable chaos.
I fell into my routine—greeting customers with polite distance, answering questions about growing methods, making sales and accepting payment with the same efficiency I'd perfected over five years.
But I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every time I looked up, someone seemed to be glancing my way. Conversations would pause when I passed by other stalls. People smiled at me with a warmth that felt new, different, weighted with assumptions I hadn't invited.
They thought I was being courted. They thought I'd somehow captured the attention of four Alphas, that I was special, chosen, worth all this interest. The thought made my stomach churn with anxiety.
Because what happened when they realized I wasn't? When the pack moved on, found someone more suitable, someone less broken and guarded?
When everyone's romantic assumptions crashed against the reality of my carefully maintained solitude?
I'd be the town joke. The omega who couldn't keep what everyone thought she had. The one who'd been passed over, found wanting. Just like my mother had been. Just like I'd always feared I would be.
"Stop it," I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of my table. "You're not her. This isn't that."
"Talking to yourself now?" a sweet voice asked. "How quaint."
I looked up sharply to find Trinity standing in front of my stall, her dark hair perfect, her makeup flawless, her expression radiating false friendliness.
She was dressed like she was going to brunch at some fancy restaurant, not browsing a farmers market—designer jeans, a silk blouse, heels that had no business on the grass and gravel.
My spine straightened instinctively, every defense mechanism snapping to attention. "Can I help you with something?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can." Trinity picked up a jar of blackberry jam, examining it like it might contain poison. "I've been hearing so much about you lately. Daphne, right? The hermit who lives out past the Henderson property?"
The casual cruelty in her tone made my teeth clench. "If you're not here to buy anything—"
"I'm here to understand," she interrupted, setting down the jam with exaggerated care. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
I blinked at her, genuinely confused. "Excuse me?"
"With Oliver's pack." Trinity leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hiss that was somehow more threatening than a shout. "What game are you playing? Because I know you're not actually being courted. They wouldn't lower themselves to that.”
Around us, I could feel the market's attention shifting our way. Conversations were tapering off, people pretending to browse while clearly listening. This was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid—becoming the center of attention, the subject of drama and speculation.
"There's no game," I said quietly, trying to keep this contained. "And you're right—there's no courting. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more."
But Trinity wasn't listening. She'd gotten what she wanted—an audience—and now she was performing for them.