Chapter 30 #2
"Oliver mentioned that you see potential in broken things. That's why you bought the Henderson property—because you saw what it could become, not what it was." I hesitated, unsure how to phrase the rest. "Is that... is that what you see in me? A project? Something to fix?"
Garrett turned to face me fully, his expression serious. "No. Absolutely not."
"Then what—" I started but he cut me off quickly.
"Daphne." He said my name with weight, with intention.
"You're not a project. You're not something to be fixed or renovated or improved.
When I look at you, I don't see broken—I see strong.
I see someone who built something beautiful from nothing, who survived things that would have destroyed most people, who is still standing despite everything the world has thrown at her. "
"But you said—" I started but he didn’t let me continue.
"I said I see potential. That's not the same as seeing something broken.
" He took a step closer, his blue eyes intent on mine.
"Potential means possibility. Room to grow, not because you're lacking, but because you're alive.
We all have potential, Daphne. Me, Oliver, Micah, Levi—we're all still becoming who we're meant to be.
That's not weakness. That's being human. "
The words settled into me, challenging the narrative I'd built about myself for so long.
The idea that I was damaged, insufficient, something to be tolerated rather than chosen.
Garrett was offering a different story—one where my struggles were strength, where my survival was something to be admired, not pitied.
"I don't know how to believe that," I admitted quietly, brushing some of the loose strands of hair out of my face.
"You don't have to believe it yet." His voice was patient, certain. "You just have to be willing to consider it. The belief comes later, with time and evidence. And we plan to give you plenty of both."
We resumed hiking, the trail growing steeper as we approached the summit.
My legs burned with the effort, my breath coming harder, but there was something satisfying about the physical challenge—the way it occupied my body and freed my mind.
Garrett stayed close, offering a hand over the rougher patches, pointing out interesting plants and rock formations, keeping up a comfortable stream of conversation that required nothing from me but presence.
He told me about the renovation project—the challenges they'd faced with the old farmhouse, the victories they'd celebrated, the vision they were working toward.
His voice came alive when he talked about construction, about taking something worn and neglected and transforming it into something beautiful and functional.
"The bones of the house are good," he said as we climbed over a boulder blocking the path. "That's what matters. You can fix almost anything if the foundation is solid. I am trying to make it look like what my grandfather had it before it was sold."
"Is that a metaphor?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
He laughed, reaching back to help me over the rock. "Maybe. I tend to see the world in construction terms. Everything's either being built or falling apart, and most things are doing both at the same time."
"That's surprisingly philosophical for a contractor." I told him with a soft laugh.
"Hey, we contain multitudes." His grin was infectious, and I found myself smiling back despite the burn in my calves. "Almost there. Just around this bend."
The trail opened onto a rocky outcropping, and I gasped.
The view from the halfway point had been beautiful, but this—this was something else entirely.
We were above the treeline here, standing on exposed granite that dropped away into a vast panorama of forest and valley and distant peaks.
The sky stretched endlessly above us, impossibly blue, and the wind carried the scent of pine and wild things.
"Oh," I breathed, my eyes widening as I looked around. "Oh, Garrett."
"Worth the climb?" He asked, grin on his face as he looked at me with amusement.
"Worth everything." I turned slowly, trying to take it all in, feeling impossibly small and impossibly connected at the same time.
This was what I'd been missing, hiding in my cabin, convinced that safety was more important than living.
This wildness, this beauty, this reminder that the world was vast and full of wonders I hadn't yet discovered.
Garrett spread a blanket on a flat section of rock and began unpacking lunch—sandwiches wrapped in paper, fruit, cheese, bottles of water and a thermos of what smelled like soup.
He worked with quiet efficiency, creating a small feast while I stood at the edge of the outcropping, still overwhelmed by the view.
"Come eat," he called eventually. "The view isn't going anywhere.
" I settled onto the blanket beside him, accepting the sandwich he offered—turkey and avocado on fresh bread, simple but delicious.
The soup was tomato basil, still warm from the thermos, and I cradled the cup in my hands, letting the heat seep into my fingers.
"Thank you for bringing me here," I said between bites. "I didn't know I needed this."
"Sometimes we don't know what we need until someone shows us." Garrett stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands, his face turned toward the sun. "I've been wanting to share this place with someone for a long time. Someone who would appreciate it the way it deserves."
"You haven't brought anyone else here?" I hummed taking another a bite of the sandwich.
"The guys, sure. But not..." He paused, something flickering in his expression.
"Not someone I was interested in. Not someone who mattered the way you do.
" The words hung in the air between us, weighted with meaning.
I set down my soup, suddenly aware of how close we were sitting, how easy it would be to reach out and touch him.
"Garrett..." I whispered feeling overwhelmed.
"You don't have to say anything." His voice was gentle.
"I'm not trying to pressure you or move too fast. I just want you to know—this isn't casual for me.
None of us are pursuing you because you're convenient or available or good enough for now.
We're pursuing you because we see something real. Something lasting."
"I'm scared," I admitted, though I felt like I kept admitting this to them. I wasn’t used to telling people my fears. I took a deep breath as I continued. "Of feeling this much. Of wanting things I spent years convincing myself I couldn't have."
"I know." He sat up, turning to face me, his blue eyes soft with understanding. "And it's okay to be scared. Fear doesn't mean stop—it just means pay attention. You're walking into unknown territory. That's always frightening."
"How do you make it sound so simple?" I muttered, though he heard me as he gave me a soft look as I shifted and glanced away.
"It's not simple." He laughed quietly. "It's terrifying, actually.
Letting someone see the real you, risking rejection, hoping that what you're building won't collapse—there's nothing simple about any of it.
But the alternative..." He shook his head.
"The alternative is staying small. Playing it safe. Never knowing what might have been."
"I've been doing that for five years." I told him, but it was more to myself.
"And how's that working out for you?" He asked, gaze burning into me making me stop and think for a minute.
The question was direct but not unkind, and I found myself laughing despite the ache in my chest. "Terribly. It's working out terribly. I've been miserable and didn't even know it."
"Then try something different." Garrett reached out, his hand covering mine on the blanket between us. His palm was warm and callused, rough with honest work. "Try letting us in. Try believing that you deserve good things. Try trusting that not everyone leaves."
His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand, and I felt the touch everywhere—in my chest, my stomach, the base of my spine. Such a small gesture, but it carried so much. Promise. Patience. The steady assurance that he meant every word.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked as I looked at the hand that hand mine with a soft and longing look
"Anything." He hummed, voice low as it almost sent shivers down my spine.
"When I first saw you—that morning you showed up at my property with your truck and your equipment—I was annoyed. I thought you were just another person invading my space, disrupting my peace." I smiled at the memory, how far away it seemed now. "I had no idea you were going to change everything."
Garrett's expression shifted, something vulnerable moving beneath his steady exterior.
"I remember that morning. You came out of your garden like some kind of nature spirit—dirt on your hands, suspicion in your eyes, absolutely zero interest in being friendly.
" His laugh was soft. "I thought you were the most real person I'd ever met.
No performance, no pretense. Just you, exactly as you were.
I went home and told Oliver I'd found something special. "
The tears I'd been fighting all morning finally spilled over, tracking down my cheeks in warm trails.
I didn't try to hide them—didn't have the energy, didn't have the walls left to maintain.
Garrett just watched me cry, his hand still holding mine, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotion.
"I'm sorry," I managed. "I don't usually—"
"Don't apologize." His voice was fierce and tender at once. "Never apologize for feeling things. For letting yourself be affected by the world. “
He shifted closer, and then his arms were around me, pulling me against his chest in an embrace that was warm and solid and utterly safe.
I buried my face in his shoulder and let myself cry—for all the years I'd spent alone, for all the walls I'd built, for the future I was only now beginning to believe might be possible.
Garrett held me through it, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back, murmuring words of comfort I couldn't quite catch but felt anyway. The mountain wind blew around us, the sun warmed our skin, and the vast world spread out below us in all its wild beauty.
When the tears finally subsided, I pulled back, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Sorry. That was a lot."
"That was honest." Garrett's voice was warm. "And I'll take honest over polite any day."
We finished lunch in comfortable quiet, the emotional intensity of the moment settling into something softer, more sustainable.
The food tasted better than it had any right to—simple flavors made extraordinary by the setting, the company, the strange and wonderful intimacy of sharing a mountaintop with someone who saw me clearly and wanted me anyway.
The hike back down was easier, gravity working in our favor, and we talked more freely now—about favorite books and movies, about childhood memories and adult dreams, about the mundane details of daily life that somehow felt significant when shared.
By the time we reached the truck, the sun was well past its peak, and I was pleasantly exhausted in a way I hadn't been in years.
The good kind of tired—the kind that came from physical exertion and emotional honesty and the expanding of boundaries I'd thought were permanent.
Garrett drove me home, and this time the silence was different. Fuller. Like we'd built something between us that didn't need words to exist. At my cabin, he walked me to the porch, his hand finding mine one last time.
"Thank you for today," he said, giving me a grin as he looked down at me. "For coming with me. For trusting me with... everything."
"Thank you for showing me that view. And for..." I gestured vaguely, encompassing the whole day. "For being patient. For not giving up when I tried to push you away."
"I'll never give up." He said it simply, like a fact of nature.
"None of us will." He leaned down then, slowly, giving me time to pull away.
I didn't. His lips brushed my cheek—soft, gentle, a mirror of Oliver's kiss but somehow entirely different.
Where Oliver's had been almost paternal, protective, Garrett's felt like a promise. A beginning.
"Micah's looking forward to Friday," he said as he pulled back. "The observatory. He's been planning it for days."
"I'm looking forward to it too." I told him softly, feeling warm and embarrassed by how these men made me feel.
"And Levi's already stress-baking about his date with you. Our kitchen looks like a flour bomb went off."
I laughed, the image too perfect. "Tell him I'm not expecting perfection. Though I am looking forward what he has planned."
"I'll tell him, but he won't listen. That's Levi—everything has to be just right when it matters." Garrett smiled, stepping back toward his truck. "Goodnight, Daphne. Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Garrett." I watched him drive away, the same as I'd watched Oliver, the same as I'd watched Levi. But this time, the watching felt different. Less like saying goodbye and more like saying see you soon.
Inside, I showered and changed into comfortable clothes, my body pleasantly sore from the hike. I made tea and sat on my back porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of fire and gold, thinking about everything that had happened.
Four dates planned. Four men learning my corners and edges. A future I was only beginning to imagine.
My phone buzzed with a text from Garrett: Made it home. Today was everything I hoped it would be. Thank you.
I typed back: Thank you for sharing that place with me. It was perfect.
Another buzz, this time from Levi: Garrett says you survived the hike! Proud of you! Can we do our date Monday?
And Micah: Confirming Friday at Seven? The meteor shower peaks at Ten, so we'll have dinner first.
And Oliver: Heard today went well. Happy for you both. Can't wait to see you again.
Four messages. Four men. Four threads weaving together into something I'd never expected.
I responded to each of them—yes to Monday, yes to Friday, thank you for everything—and then set down my phone and just breathed. Let myself feel the hope without trying to qualify it, the connection without trying to protect myself from it.
One day at a time. One date at a time. One small, terrifying, wonderful step toward belonging.
I fell asleep that night with the memory of mountaintop views and Garrett's steady presence and the growing certainty that maybe—just maybe—I'd been wrong about what was possible.