Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Daphne
The evening was settling in, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold, when I heard the third vehicle of the day coming down my road.
I was sitting on the porch with a cup of tea, trying to process everything Viola had said, when the now-familiar sound of a truck engine broke through my thoughts.
Not Viola's sedan. Not Micah's darker truck from this morning. This was Garrett's blue pickup, and my heart did that stupid flutter thing it had been doing lately whenever I thought about any of them. I set down my tea, my hands suddenly unsteady, and watched as he pulled up near the porch.
He climbed out carrying something wrapped in cloth—similar to what Micah had brought this morning with the bread. For a moment, he just stood there by his truck, like he was giving me the chance to tell him to leave if I wanted. The consideration in that simple gesture made my chest ache.
"Hey," he called out, his voice warm and a little uncertain. "I know you've probably had enough visitors for one day. I can leave this and go if you want."
I should tell him to leave. Should protect what little energy I had left after the emotional gauntlet of today. But something about the way the setting sun caught in his dark hair, the way he held himself with that patient stillness I was starting to associate with him, made me want him to stay.
"You're already here," I said, standing slowly. "Might as well come up."
His smile was like sunrise—slow, warm, transforming his whole face. He climbed the porch steps, and I caught his scent on the evening breeze—cedar and something distinctly him that made my Omega instincts hum with interest.
"Levi sent this," he said, offering me the cloth-wrapped bundle. "He wanted to thank you for the sourdough advice. Apparently, the second loaf came out even better than the first."
I unwrapped it carefully, revealing what looked like cinnamon rolls, still slightly warm and smelling absolutely incredible. My stomach reminded me that I'd barely eaten today, too caught up in emotional conversations to think about food.
"He didn't have to do that," I said quietly, but I was already imagining how good these would taste with my morning coffee.
"He wanted to." Garrett leaned against the porch railing, putting himself at a comfortable distance—close enough to talk, far enough to not crowd. "Plus, I think he's trying to show off now that he's figured out the bread thing. You've created a monster."
Despite myself, I felt a smile tug at my lips. "A monster who bakes. Terrifying."
"The most dangerous kind." His eyes crinkled with humor, but then his expression grew more serious. "How are you doing? I heard Micah came by this morning. And that Viola was here this afternoon."
Of course he'd heard. Small town, gossip moving at the speed of light. I should have been annoyed by the lack of privacy, but instead, I found myself oddly grateful that he'd checked in rather than just assuming I was fine.
"I'm..." I paused, trying to find the right word. Exhausted? Overwhelmed? Confused? "...processing."
"That's fair." He didn't push, didn't demand details. Just accepted my answer with a nod. "Did you eat dinner?"
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Dinner. Did you eat?" He gestured to the cinnamon rolls. "Because if you haven't, I could throw together something quick. Or we could just eat these and call it a meal. I'm not judging either way."
The casual offer, the easy way he suggested taking care of me without making it a big deal, made my throat tight. "I... I was going to make soup earlier. Never finished it."
"Want help finishing it?" He pushed off from the railing, moving slowly like he was still giving me the chance to refuse. "Or I can just keep you company while you cook. Or leave you alone entirely. Your call, Daphne."
Three options. He was always doing that—giving me choices, making sure I had control over the situation. It should have felt patronizing, but instead, it just felt... safe.
"Help would be good," I heard myself say, though I didn’t know where that came from. Maybe because his scent and just energy around him made me feel better, "The vegetables are already chopped."
His smile was reward enough for my bravery. "Lead the way."
We moved inside, and I was suddenly hyperaware of how intimate this was—letting someone into my kitchen, into my space, during the vulnerable evening hours. The cabin felt smaller with him in it, but not in a claustrophobic way. More like he filled up the empty spaces I'd gotten too used to.
"What kind of soup were we making?" he asked, washing his hands at my sink like he belonged there.
"Just vegetable. Nothing fancy." I pulled out the pot I'd abandoned earlier, along with the cutting board of half-prepared ingredients. "I'm not... I'm not good at fancy."
"Fancy is overrated." He surveyed the vegetables with an approving nod. "This looks perfect. You want to do the cooking part, or should I?"
"You can do it." The words came out before I'd really thought about them.
Letting him take over, letting myself not be in control of every single thing—it felt strange and terrifying and oddly freeing all at once.
Garrett moved through my kitchen with surprising competence, finding the broth, the seasonings, assembling everything with the ease of someone who actually knew how to cook.
I perched on one of my kitchen chairs, watching him work, trying to reconcile all the feelings churning inside me.
"Micah said you agreed to dinner on Wednesday," Garrett said as he brought the pot to a simmer, his voice carefully neutral.
"I'm glad. But I also want to make sure you know there's no pressure.
If you show up and you need to leave after five minutes, that's okay.
If you change your mind entirely, that's okay too. "
"Everyone keeps saying that," I muttered, though there was no heat in my voice….just wonder and confusion. "That there's no pressure. But there is, isn't there? The whole town knows now. They're all watching, waiting to see what happens. That's pressure."
Garrett turned from the stove, leaning back against the counter to look at me directly. "The town's always going to talk, Daphne. That's just what small towns do. But what they think doesn't matter. What matters is what you want. What feels right to you."
"And if I don't know what I want?" The question came out smaller than I'd intended, more vulnerable. It’s true…and feels like I keep having this conversation over and over again…especially today.
"Then you take your time figuring it out." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. "We're not going anywhere. Wednesday isn't some deadline where you need to have everything figured out. It's just dinner. A chance to spend time together, see how it feels."
"Micah did an assessment this morning," I said, watching his reaction carefully. "Like I was a variable in an equation he needed to solve."
Garrett's expression flickered with something that might have been annoyance, but it was gone quickly, replaced by understanding.
"That's Micah. He needs to analyze things, break them down into components he can understand.
It's how his brain works. But I promise you, even while he was doing it, he was also just trying to get to know you. "
"He called me complicated." I said, glancing at the Alpha who seemed to have all his attention on me. If I was honest with myself, it was a bit nerve wracking.
"You are complicated." Garrett smiled slightly, and before I could open my mouth to apologize he continued, "So are we. So is this whole situation. That's not a bad thing, Daphne. Complicated means interesting. Complicated means real."
I stood, needing to move, and walked to the window overlooking my garden. The evening light made everything look softer, gentler than the harsh reality of daylight. "Viola said I've been surviving instead of living. That I've built a prison and called it safety."
Behind me, I heard Garrett's sharp intake of breath. Then his footsteps, soft on my kitchen floor, stopping a few feet behind me. Close, but not touching…though a part of me…a deep part wished he would. I quickly pushed any of those thoughts away to evaluate at a different time.
"Is that how it feels?" he asked quietly as if trying to understand every part of me. "Like a prison?"
"I don't know." I wrapped my arms around myself, staring out at the rows of vegetables I'd planted with my own hands.
"It's been my life for five years. My routine, my safety net.
But today, with Micah this morning and Viola this afternoon, and now you.
.. it's like everyone's holding up a mirror and making me look at things I've been avoiding. "
"What do you see?" His voice was gentle, careful. I appreciated it but at the same time I didn’t want people to treat me like glass. I was stronger than that…I always had to be.
"Loneliness," I whispered, giving in and giving him full honesty of my emotions, "So much loneliness I'd stopped noticing it. I thought I was content, but maybe what I am is just... numb."
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like he was giving me space to feel everything I needed to feel, to say everything I needed to say.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words catching in my throat. "Of Wednesday. Of letting you all in. Of being chosen and then—" I couldn't finish the sentence as everything was starting to get to be too much. I wasn’t used to sharing my fears and worries like this. It was all something new to me.
"Then being unchosen," Garrett finished softly, as he ran a hand through his hair. "I know, Daphne. Micah told us what you said this morning and what he found out from town gossip. About your past, about Margaret and Tom, about everyone who left."