Chapter 28 #2
Viola pulled back, her hands on my shoulders, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions—joy, disbelief, pride, something that looked suspiciously like tears. "I am so proud of you," she said, her voice thick. "Do you understand that? I am so incredibly proud of you."
"Viola—" I started but was cut off.
"No, let me say this." She shook me gently, affectionately.
"Five years. Five years you've been hiding in this cabin, convincing yourself that alone was the same as safe.
And now you're taking this massive, terrifying leap, and you're doing it even though you're scared, and that's..." She sniffed, blinking rapidly.
"That's the bravest thing I've ever seen. "
The tears I'd been fighting since this morning spilled over once more, tracking down my cheeks in warm trails. "I'm terrified," I admitted. "Like, genuinely terrified. What if I mess this up? What if I can't be what they need? What if—"
"What if it works?" Viola interrupted gently. "What if they're exactly what you need? What if you're exactly what they need? What if this is the beginning of something beautiful?"
I laughed, the sound watery and broken. "When did you become such an optimist?"
"I've always been an optimist. You just never let me close enough to show you.
" She released my shoulders but didn't move away, her eyes warm and steady.
"Now. Sit down. Eat more of that sandwich.
And tell me everything about this morning with Levi, because I am living vicariously through you and I need details. "
We settled back into our chairs, and I found myself talking more freely than I had in years.
I told her about hearing the truck and thinking it was Trinity, about the relief that had flooded me when I'd seen Levi's familiar form.
About the bread, golden and perfect, still warm from his oven.
About Mabel the sourdough starter and the way he'd flexed his arm in mock seriousness when I'd called him adorable.
Viola listened with rapt attention, interrupting occasionally to ask questions or make comments that ranged from insightful to utterly ridiculous.
"Wait, wait, wait," she said at one point, holding up her hand. "He named his sourdough starter? And the other guys give him grief about it?"
"Apparently." I laughed, a smile curving at the corner of my lips.
"That is the most precious thing I've ever heard." She pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. "A big, strong Alpha who tenderly cares for his fermented flour baby. I'm deceased. I'm actually deceased."
I snorted, nearly choking on my lemonade. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm romantic," she corrected. "There's a difference. Now keep going. You were on the back porch, holding hands..."
"I didn't say we were holding hands." I told her, taking a sip of my drink.
"You didn't have to. I could hear it in your voice." She grinned, unrepentant. "So you were on the back porch, holding hands, gazing at your beautiful garden, and then what? Did he kiss you? Please tell me he kissed you."
"He didn't kiss me." I felt heat creep up my neck at the thought.
"It wasn't... it wasn't like that. It was just talking.
Getting to know each other. He told me about his brother, and I told him about my mother, and it was heavy and real, yet somehow light?
Like we could talk about hard things without drowning in them. "
Viola nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "That's important. Being able to hold space for the hard stuff without losing the joy. Not everyone can do that."
"He can." I said it with more certainty than I'd expected. "They all can, I think. At dinner, when I told them about Trinity, they didn't make me feel weak for being scared. They just... accepted it. Accepted me. All the messy, complicated, scared parts."
"Because they see you." Viola's voice was gentle. "The real you, not the mask you show everyone else. That's what makes them different from all the people who left before. They're not interested in some idealized version of you. They want the whole package—thorns, walls, and everything in between."
The words landed somewhere deep, resonating with everything Levi had said earlier. You fit with us. Like a piece we didn't know was missing.
"It's terrifying," I admitted. "Being seen like that. Part of me keeps waiting for them to realize they've made a mistake."
"That part of you is going to be waiting a long time." Viola reached for the small box she'd set aside earlier, sliding it across the table toward me. "Because from what I can tell, those men know exactly what they want. And what they want is you."
I looked at the box—plain white cardboard, unassuming—and then back at her. "What's this?"
"Dessert." She grinned. "Open it."
I lifted the lid and felt my breath catch. Inside, nestled on a bed of wax paper, were six perfect chocolate truffles. They were works of art—some dusted with cocoa powder, others drizzled with white chocolate, one rolled in crushed pistachios, another topped with a tiny crystallized violet.
"Giuseppe's wife makes them," Viola explained. "Lucia. She's a chocolatier—trained in Belgium or Switzerland or somewhere fancy. Each one is different. The violet one has lavender in it, which made me think of you."
I picked up the lavender truffle carefully, examining its delicate beauty. The crystallized violet caught the light, purple and perfect, and I could smell the faint floral sweetness even before I took a bite.
The chocolate shell cracked between my teeth, giving way to a ganache that was impossibly smooth, richly dark, infused with the subtle, haunting flavor of lavender. It wasn't perfume-y or overwhelming—just a whisper of flowers beneath the chocolate, a garden captured in a single bite.
"Oh," I breathed. "This is..."
"I know." Viola selected a truffle of her own—one drizzled with caramel—and bit into it with obvious pleasure. "Lucia is a genius. An actual, literal genius."
We worked through the truffles slowly, savoring each one, sharing descriptions of flavors like we were wine critics at a tasting.
The pistachio was nutty and rich. The one with espresso was bold and bright, the coffee cutting through the sweetness.
The white chocolate raspberry was tangy and decadent, and the dark chocolate with sea salt was a perfect balance of bitter and sweet.
"This is nice," I said eventually, licking chocolate from my fingers in a way that would have embarrassed me in front of anyone else. "Having you here. Eating ridiculously good food. Just... talking."
Viola's expression softened. "It is nice. And Daphne? This is what friendship looks like. This is what you've been missing, hiding away in your cabin. Not just romantic connection, but this—someone to share food with, to laugh with, to process life with."
"I know." The admission came easier now, after everything that had shifted today. "I'm starting to understand that. That being alone wasn't protecting me. It was just... making me smaller."
"Well." Viola raised her glass of lemonade like a toast. "Here's to getting bigger. To taking up space. To accepting love in all its forms—romantic, platonic, and chocolate-based."
I laughed, clinking my glass against hers. "To all its forms."
We moved to the back porch after that, bringing the lemonade and the last of the truffles with us.
The afternoon sun was warm but not oppressive, filtered through the leaves of the old oak tree that shaded the western side of the cabin.
Viola curled up in the chair—the same one Levi had sat in that morning—and tucked her feet beneath her like a cat settling to sunbath.
"So what happens now?" she asked, gazing out at the garden with obvious appreciation. "With the courting, I mean. Is there, like, a schedule? A formal process? Do they take turns taking you on dates?"
"I don't think it's that structured." I settled onto the bench, drawing my knees up to my chest. "Levi said they want to spend time with me—individually and together. Get to know each other. Figure out what works."
"That sounds healthy." Viola nodded approvingly. "No pressure, no timeline. Just... exploration."
"That's what he said. No expectations except honesty and communication." I paused, turning the words over in my mind. "It sounds too good to be true, doesn't it? Like there has to be a catch somewhere."
"Or maybe it sounds exactly right, and you're just not used to things going well." Viola's voice was gentle but pointed. "Not everything good comes with hidden strings, Daphne. Sometimes people are just... kind. Just genuine. Just exactly what they seem to be."
I wanted to believe that. Wanted it so badly that the wanting felt like an ache in my chest as the anxiety picked up again. "What if I ruin it?"
"What if you don't?" Viola stated, giving me a look.
"Viola—" I said but was cut off by her.
"I'm serious." She turned to face me, her amber eyes intense.
"You keep asking 'what if' questions about disaster.
What if you mess up, what if they leave, what if it all falls apart.
But you never ask the other what ifs. What if it works?
What if they stay? What if you build something beautiful together? "
"Because the other what ifs are scarier," I admitted quietly. "If I expect disaster, I'm prepared for it. If I expect happiness and it doesn't come..."
"Then you're exactly where you are now. Alone and safe and miserable.
" Viola's voice wasn’t unkind, but it was honest. "I've watched you for years, Daphne.
Watched you go through the motions of living without actually being alive.
Since the pack showed up—you've had more light in your eyes than I've seen in all the time I've known you. "
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that the light felt borrowed, temporary, like something that could be snatched away at any moment.
"Can I tell you something?" Viola asked.
"Of course."