Page 109 of Lavender and Honey

"Stick around long enough and you'll witness plenty of pack drama over desserts," Elias says, his tone light but his eyes serious as they hold mine. "We're not perfect, Lydia. We argue and tease and sometimes drive each other crazy. But we're real. This—" he gestures to the nest, to the space between us, "—is real."

The simple declaration catches me off-guard, answering a question I hadn't realized was still lurking beneath my surface thoughts. Is this real? Or am I setting myself up for another disappointment, another rejection, another reason to run? Elias's steady gaze offers no easy answers, only the quiet assurance that whatever happens, he'll be honest with me.

"Thank you," I whisper, unable to fully articulate what I'm thanking him for. For the comfort, for the honesty, for clearing his schedule to be with me? For all of it, perhaps.

He understands anyway, his smile warming. "You're welcome. Now, how about we start this day properly? We can stay right here if you want, or..." He lets the sentence hang, offering me the choice without pressure.

I consider for a moment, taking stock of my body, my emotions. The thought of facing the world still feels daunting, but the panic has receded to a manageable level. And there's a quiet warmth spreading through my chest at the realization that Elias has arranged his entire day around me, that he's willing to stay in this nest for as long as I need.

"Maybe just a little longer," I decide, settling back into the comfortable hollow my body has made in the nest. "If you really don't mind."

Elias's smile widens as he nestles beside me, his arm returning to its place around my waist. "I don't mind at all." His purrresumes, a soothing rumble that vibrates between us. "Take all the time you need, Lydia. We've got nowhere else to be."

Elias shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "How about we move to the living room nest?" he suggests, stretching his arms above his head in a languid motion that reminds me of a contented cat. "It's a bit more open, and we could watch TV or read or... whatever you feel up to."

The suggestion hangs in the air between us, an offering with no strings attached. I study his face, looking for any hint of boredom or restlessness that might indicate he's tiring of our quiet cocoon. I find none, only the same patient warmth that's been there since I woke. His hazel eyes hold mine, neither demanding nor retreating, simply present in a way few people have ever been with me.

"That sounds nice," I admit, my voice still filled with exhaustion.

Elias hears it too, his expression softening further. "It is nice. And there's a Lydia-sized space in it, if you're interested." The offer is casual, but the implications ripple beneath the surface—this isn't just about today, about this moment. It's about a potential future, one where I might regularly occupy that space he's describing.

My heart gives a peculiar flutter at the thought, not entirely unpleasant but certainly unsettling. I tuck it away for later examination and focus on the immediate question at hand. Do I want to move to the living room nest? Part of me wants to stay right here, hidden away from the world in this safe, enclosed space where only Elias can see me. But another part, one I've been carefully nurturing since I fled my parents' house, craves more than just safety—it craves life, engagement, forward motion.

"Sure," I decide, pushing myself up to sit. "A change of scenery might be good."

Elias beams as if I've given him some precious gift rather than simply agreed to move to another room. "Excellent. Any preference for how we spend the morning? TV? Books? I could get my guitar if you'd like some music."

The image of Elias playing guitar for me, his fingers dancing over the strings as I listen, sends another of those strange flutters through my chest. I push it aside, focusing on the question. What do I want to do today? The idea of sitting still, of having nothing to occupy my hands or mind, makes me vaguely anxious. My thoughts will inevitably circle back to my mother, to the confrontation in my shop, to all the questions and fears I'm not ready to face.

"I think..." I hesitate, unsure how to articulate what I need without sounding demanding or ungrateful. "I just want to relax but also... keep my mind occupied? If that makes sense."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling awkward. "When I'm upset or stressed, I usually paint or work on the shop inventory—something to keep my hands busy and my thoughts... not on the problem." I grimace slightly. "I'm not very good at just sitting with difficult emotions."

Instead of the judgment I half-expect, Elias's expression fills with understanding. "I get that completely," he says, nodding. "Finn's the same way—he disappears to his workshop when he's processing something difficult. Comes out covered in sawdust but always in a better headspace." His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. "So something active but not too demanding. Something that gives your hands something to do while your mind can wander or rest as needed."

The way he immediately understands, immediately starts seeking a solution rather than questioning my coping mechanism, loosens another knot of tension I didn't realize I was carrying. I nod gratefully. "Exactly. But I don't expect you tohave anything like that here. I can just read or watch TV, really. That's fine too."

Elias studies me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze, to fill the silence with unnecessary words. Finally, his face brightens with what looks like inspiration.

"Actually," he says slowly, "I might have the perfect thing. How do you feel about plants?"

The question is so unexpected that I blink in surprise. "Plants? I... like them, I suppose? I have a few succulents in my apartment that have somehow survived my inattention."

Elias grins, clearly pleased with whatever idea has struck him. "We have a greenhouse out back," he explains, his hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks. "Nothing massive, but big enough for herbs and some vegetables, a few flowers. It needs some tending—deadheading, pruning, maybe repotting a few things that have outgrown their homes." His eyes meet mine, hopeful and bright. "It's peaceful work. Good for the hands and heart, Finn says. And the scents—rosemary, mint, lavender—" He pauses, a slight smirk playing at his lips at the mention of lavender, my own natural scent. "—they're grounding. Helps clear the head."

As he speaks, I can almost smell those herbs, can imagine the warm, humid air of a greenhouse, the feel of soil beneath my fingernails, the simple satisfaction of helping things grow. It sounds perfect—physical enough to keep my hands occupied, mindful enough to be absorbing, but not so complex that I can't do it in my current emotional state.

"That sounds... really nice, actually," I admit, a small smile forming on my lips. "I've always wanted to try gardening, but my apartment doesn't get enough sunlight for much beyond those hardy succulents."

Elias's answering smile is brilliant, lighting up his entire face. "Perfect! We can head out there after breakfast. Nothing complicated—I'll show you what needs doing, and you can help as much or as little as you feel up to." His enthusiasm is contagious, making the idea of facing the day suddenly seem less daunting. "The greenhouse is Finn's domain primarily, but he's been teaching me. It's where we grow a lot of the herbs and edible flowers I use in my breads and preserves."

The thought of being part of that cycle—helping tend the plants that will eventually become ingredients in Elias's creations—holds an unexpected appeal. It feels like participating in something larger than myself, something cyclical and nurturing.

"I'd like that," I say, my voice stronger now, more certain. "I might not be very good at it, but I'd like to try."

"You don't have to be good at it," Elias assures me, reaching out to squeeze my hand briefly. "That's not the point. It's just about being present, connecting with something living and growing." His eyes hold mine, earnest and warm. "Sometimes the best healing happens when we stop trying so hard and just let our hands do something simple and good."

There's wisdom in his words that resonates with something deep inside me. How long has it been since I've done something purely for the experience, without worrying about the outcome? Since I've allowed myself to be a beginner, to learn without pressure or expectations?

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