Chapter 56 #2
"Speaking of today," I said between bites, "I need to head to the greenhouse and harvest some vegetables. The Petersons are expecting their weekly delivery this afternoon."
The Petersons were an elderly beta couple who lived about fifteen minutes down the road.
Violet Peterson had terrible arthritis that made gardening impossible, and her husband Robert's heart condition meant he couldn't do much heavy work anymore.
When I'd started selling my excess produce at the farmer's market, Violet had approached me about regular deliveries—fresh tomatoes, squash, leafy greens, whatever was in season.
She paid me fairly, but honestly, I would have done it for free just to see her face light up when I arrived with baskets of vegetables still warm from the sun.
"I'll drive you," Garrett said immediately.
"I can drive myself. It's fifteen minutes." I told him with a grin, cause I knew what his response to that was going to be.
"I'll drive you," he repeated, in a tone that suggested this wasn't up for negotiation.
The attack had made all of them more protective, more careful, more reluctant to let me out of their sight.
It was suffocating sometimes, but I understood it.
I felt echoes of the same fear through our bonds whenever I was away from them too long.
"Fine," I conceded. "But you're helping me harvest."
"Deal." The greenhouse was Micah's masterpiece, but it had become mine too.
We found him inside, checking the moisture levels on a row of tomato plants with one of his custom sensors.
His dark hair was slightly damp from the humidity, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his expression one of intense concentration.
He looked up when we entered, and his face softened into that small, private smile he reserved just for me.
"The Roma tomatoes are ready," he said by way of greeting. "And the butternut squash. I also have a good batch of kale if Margaret wants some."
"She always wants kale. Says it's the only thing that helps her joints.
" We worked together in comfortable silence, Garrett and I harvesting while Micah directed us to the ripest specimens.
The greenhouse was warm and fragrant, filled with the green scent of growing things and the rich earth smell of healthy soil.
Sunlight filtered through the glass panels, dappling everything in gold.
By noon, we had three large baskets ready—plump tomatoes in shades of red and orange, dark green zucchini, bright yellow squash, bundles of kale and spinach and fresh herbs.
Micah added a pot of rosemary at the last minute, claiming it was "too leggy" for the greenhouse but would be perfect for Violet's kitchen windowsill.
"You just want her to make that rosemary bread again," I accused with a small smile.
"Her rosemary bread is exceptional. I'm not ashamed.
" The drive to the Petersons' place was beautiful—winding country roads lined with ancient oaks, their leaves catching the autumn sunlight like stained glass.
The air through the cracked window was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke and the particular sweetness of apples ready for harvest.
Their farmhouse was small and tidy, white clapboard with blue shutters, a wraparound porch cluttered with rocking chairs and potted plants. Violet was waiting on the porch when we pulled up, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, her weathered face creased with a smile.
"There's my girl!" she called as I climbed out of the truck.
"And you brought that handsome alpha of yours.
Robert! Robert, come see!" Robert emerged from the house, moving slowly but steadily, a dish towel over his shoulder.
He was a tall man, stooped now with age, but his eyes were bright and kind.
"Violet, let them get up the steps before you start hollering," he chided gently.
But he was smiling too. We spent a pleasant half hour on the porch, drinking the lemonade Violet insisted on serving and catching up on neighborhood gossip.
She wanted to know everything about my "arrangement"—her delicate term for my four-alpha pack—and I found myself telling her about Oliver's attempts at baking and Levi's rope swing schemes and Micah's greenhouse innovations and Garrett's six-hour soups.
"Sounds like you've found yourself a good situation," Robert said, nodding approvingly. "Pack life suits you. You look healthy. Happy."
"I am," I said, and meant it. When we finally said our goodbyes—Violet pressing a jar of her homemade apple butter into my hands despite my protests, the sun was starting to angle toward the horizon. The air had turned cooler, carrying the promise of evening.
We were loading the empty baskets back into the truck when a familiar voice called out.
"Daphne?" I turned, and my face broke into a smile. "Viola!"
She was walking up the Petersons' driveway, a canvas bag over her shoulder, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
"I was just dropping off some of Elias's honey," she explained, gesturing to the bag. "He keeps bees now. It's a whole thing." She rolled her eyes affectionately. "What are you doing here?"
"Vegetable delivery." I gestured to the empty baskets. "Violet's one of my regulars."
Viola grinned. "Small world." Garrett had finished loading the truck and was leaning against the tailgate, watching us with an expression of patient amusement. I caught his eye and he nodded slightly take your time.
"How are you?" Viola asked, her voice softening with genuine concern. "Really?"
"Good. Really good, actually." I touched my marks absently. "The trial starts next month, which is... a lot. But I'm handling it. We're handling it."
"You look happy." She studied my face with the perceptive gaze of someone who'd seen me at my worst. We'd met during those early weeks after the attack, when I was still jumping at shadows and waking up screaming.
She'd talked me through more than one panic attack. "Happier than I've ever seen you."
"I am happy." The words felt true in a way they wouldn't have six months ago. "It's still hard sometimes. But I have them, and they have me, and... it's good. It's really good."
"I'm so glad." She reached out to squeeze my hand, her own mating marks visible on her neck—two of them, from her alphas, healed to the same silvery-pink as mine. "You deserve it. After everything."
"We should have dinner soon," I said. "You and your pack, me and mine. We keep talking about it and never doing it."
"Yes!" Her face lit up. "Lucas has been asking about you. He wants to trade tips—apparently he's trying to grow his own herbs now for some new honey infusion he's working on."
"Tell him I'm happy to help. And to bring some of that honey—Levi's been talking about it for weeks." I laughed as we hugged goodbye, and I breathed in the familiar comfort of a friend who understood.
"I like her," Garrett said as we climbed back into the truck. "She seems good for you."
"She is. She helped me a lot, those first few weeks. When I was still..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish.
"Healing," he supplied gently.
"Yeah. Healing." The drive back to the pack house was quiet, comfortable.
Garrett's hand found mine across the center console, his thumb tracing lazy patterns on my knuckles.
The sun was setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink and deep purple, and I watched the colors shift and change as we wound through the countryside.
We pulled up to the house just as the last light was fading. Levi was waiting on the porch, Duchess inexplicably in his arms despite her usual refusal to go outside.
"She was crying at the door," he explained as we approached. "I think she missed you."
Duchess meowed imperiously and struggled free, landing neatly on the porch and immediately beginning to groom herself as if the entire thing had been beneath her dignity.
"She's so weird," I said fondly.
"She's perfect," Levi corrected. "Just like her mom." The house was warm and welcoming, filled with the savory smell of something cooking. Micah was in the kitchen—pot roast, from the smell of it—and Oliver was setting the table, having apparently been released from vegetable duty.
"Violet sent apple butter," I announced, holding up the jar. "And we ran into Viola at the Petersons'. She and her pack want to do dinner soon."
"Your friend right. Her Alpha’s own the dance bar?" Levi perked up, glancing at me.
"That's the one." I laughed. Her three alpha’s were very kind so I wouldn’t mind us all getting together.
"I'm in. I'm so in. Tell her we'll host. I'll make something fancy." Levi grinned laughing when I gave he a knowing look. He wanted to show off his cooking skills.
Dinner was perfect. We ate in the dining room, all five of us crowded around a table that had become ours over the past three months.
Duchess sat in her own chair—yes, she had her own chair now; we'd all given up pretending this wasn't her house too—delicately licking gravy off her whiskers from the small portion Garrett had snuck her.
The pot roast was tender and rich, the vegetables perfectly cooked, the homemade bread Oliver had apparently been secretly practicing still warm from the oven.
The conversation flowed easily, weaving between teasing and tenderness, serious topics and silly jokes. This was what I'd never had before, this easy intimacy, this comfortable belonging, this certainty that I was wanted and loved and exactly where I was meant to be.
After dinner, we piled into the living room with cups of tea and slices of the apple pie Micah had made using Violet's apple butter.
I ended up sprawled across the couch with my head in Oliver's lap and my feet in Garrett's, while Levi sat on the floor with his back against my hip and Micah claimed the armchair closest to me.
Duchess draped herself across my stomach, purring like a small motor.
"This is nice," Levi said around a mouthful of pie. "This is really, really nice. Can we just do this forever? Just exist in this moment for eternity?"
"That's not how time works," Micah pointed out.
"Let me dream, Micah." Levi pouted sending the other alpha a look.
I smiled, warmth spreading through my chest. "We do have forever, though. That's kind of the point of mating marks."
Levi reached up to touch his own shoulder, where my mark was hidden beneath his shirt. "Yeah. We do."
Oliver's fingers were in my hair, stroking gently. "No regrets?"
"Not a single one." I looked up at him, at the silver threading through his hair, the fine lines around his blue eyes, the mouth that had kissed me awake just this morning. "You're stuck with me now. Permanently. No take-backs."
"I think we can live with that," Garrett rumbled, his hand squeezing my ankle.
"More than live with it," Micah added quietly. "Treasure it."
Duchess purred her agreement—or demanded more attention. With her, it was impossible to tell.
Later—much later—we lay together in the massive bed, all five of us tangled in a pile of limbs and contentment.
My head was on Oliver's chest, Garrett's arm was around my waist, Levi was pressed against my back, and Micah's hand rested over mine.
Duchess was curled at our feet, a warm weight that occasionally twitched in her sleep.
Three months ago, I'd been alone. Scared. Convinced I'd never belong anywhere.
Now I was mated to four men who loved me.
I had a home, a family, a future. I had a cat who tolerated my existence in exchange for treats and warm laps.
I had a friend who understood what it meant to be claimed and cherished.
The bonds pulsed softly in the back of my mind—gold and earth and sunshine and electricity, all woven together into something unbreakable.
Something perfect.
Something that was already forever.
I closed my eyes, smiled against Oliver's chest, and let myself drift off to sleep.
I was finally, completely, irrevocably home.