Chapter 45 #2
"We stocked the storage section," Levi chimed in, bouncing past me to throw open a cabinet. "Potting soil, different mixtures for different plants—Micah researched the optimal compositions. And look!" He pulled open a drawer with a flourish. "Seeds!"
I moved closer, looking down at the contents of the drawer.
Inside, arranged in precise alphabetical order, were seed packets.
Dozens of them. Tomatoes, Cherokee Purple, Brandywine, Green Zebra, all the varieties I'd mentioned wanting to try.
But also peppers and herbs and flowers, rare cultivars and unusual specimens, a treasure trove of potential wrapped in paper envelopes.
"How did you know?" I whispered. "About the tomatoes? I only mentioned them once, in passing..."
"We listen," Oliver said simply. He'd come to stand behind me, close but not touching, his presence a warmth along my spine.
"We pay attention. That's what a pack does.
" I turned to face him, this man who had orchestrated all of this, who had coordinated his pack to build something beautiful for a woman who had spent most of her life convinced she didn't deserve beautiful things.
"Why?" The word came out cracked, splintered with emotion. "Why would you do all this?"
"Because you deserve it." His voice was fierce, certain. "Because you've spent your whole life growing things for other people, and we wanted you to have a space that was just for you."
"I don't know what to say," I admitted, my voice thick. "Thank you doesn't feel like enough."
"You don't have to say anything." Oliver reached out to brush a tear from my cheek. "Just let us love you. That's all we're asking."
Levi made a sound of protest. "Okay but also she could say she loves us back. That would be nice. Just putting it out there."
"Levi," Garrett warned, giving the other alpha a stern look.
"What? I'm just being honest!" Levi protested but his smile was big on his face.
I laughed, the sound wet and overwhelmed. "I do love you," I said, looking at Levi first, then letting my gaze travel to each of them in turn. "All of you. I thought I'd already made that clear."
"You did," Oliver assured me. "Levi just likes hearing it."
"I really do," Levi agreed shamelessly. "Say it again."
"I love you," I repeated, and then I was being pulled into a group hug, four sets of arms wrapping around me in a tangle of warmth and affection. We stood like that for a long moment, the five of us tangled together in the afternoon light streaming through the greenhouse glass.
"Thank you," I whispered into the tangle of bodies. "For not giving up on me. For being patient. For building me a greenhouse even when you didn't know if I'd ever let myself have it."
"We would have waited forever," Oliver said against my hair. "As long as it took."
"Good thing you didn't have to," Garrett rumbled, and I felt rather than heard the satisfaction in his voice.
"I'm never moving," Levi declared. "We live in this greenhouse now. All five of us. Forever."
"That seems impractical," Micah observed, but he didn't let go either.
Eventually, we untangled ourselves—reluctantly, with much protest from Levi, and they gave me a proper tour.
Every detail had been considered. The cedar shelving, chosen for its natural resistance to rot.
The adjustable fixtures that could accommodate plants of any size.
The corner dedicated to seed starting, with heat mats and grow lights and a misting system.
The small refrigeration unit for storing seeds and bulbs over winter.
By the time the tour was complete, the afternoon had faded into early evening. Levi had wandered off to start dinner, dragging Micah with him despite protests about optimal stirring techniques. Garrett had gone to check on something in the main house, leaving Oliver and me alone in the greenhouse.
We sat on the bay window bench together, watching the sun sink toward the horizon through the glass. His arm was around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.
"There's something I want to talk to you about," Oliver said finally, his voice careful. "Not now, necessarily. But... soon."
I lifted my head to look at him. "That sounds ominous."
"It's not. At least, I hope it's not." He shifted slightly, and I could feel the tension in his body—nervousness, I realized, which was unusual for Oliver. "It's about... the next step. For us. For the pack."
My heart stuttered. "The next step?"
"Marking," he said quietly. "Mating. Making this official in every way." His green eyes found mine, earnest and vulnerable. "I'm not asking for an answer now. I'm not even really asking the question yet. I just... I want you to think about it. When you're ready."
Marking. Mating. The words sent a shiver through me—not fear, exactly, but something close to it. The weight of permanence, of a bond that couldn't be undone.
"I..." I started, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say.
"You don't have to say anything," Oliver said quickly. "I meant what I said—I'm not looking for an answer. I just wanted to put it on the table. So you know it's something we want, something we've talked about." He paused. "Something we've wanted for a while, if I'm being honest."
"All of you?" I asked, looking at him with a shy look as my heart was beating so fast I thought it would come out of my chest.
"All of us." His thumb traced circles on my shoulder. "But there's no rush. No timeline. No pressure. When you're ready—if you're ever ready—we'll be here."
I was quiet for a long moment, letting the words settle.
Marking. Mating. Being theirs in every possible way, bound together by more than just words and feelings.
It should have terrified me. A month ago, it would have sent me running.
But sitting here in the greenhouse they'd built for me, surrounded by evidence of their love and care and patience. ..
"I'll think about it," I said finally. "I can't promise anything yet. But I'll think about it."
Oliver's smile was like the sun coming out. "That's all I'm asking." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Take all the time you need."
"And if I decide I'm not ready? If I need more time, or if I'm never—" I asked, hesitantly. I didn’t know when I would be ready, but I wanted to be.
"Then that's okay too," he interrupted gently.
"You're a pack, Daphne. With or without a mark.
That's not going to change." I searched his face for any sign of disappointment, any flicker of pressure beneath the words.
There was none. Just steady warmth and a patience that still amazed me, even after everything.
"Okay," I said softly. "I'll think about it." He pulled me closer, and I let myself sink into his warmth, watching the last of the sunlight paint the greenhouse gold.