Page 113 of Lavender and Honey

"Thank you for this," I say quietly, looking out at the rows of thriving plants rather than at him. "For knowing exactly what I needed without me having to explain."

Elias's shoulder presses more firmly against mine, a deliberate point of contact that somehow conveys more comfort than words could. "Sometimes the body knows what the mind is still figuring out," he says. "And sometimes what we need most is just to get our hands dirty with something that has nothing to do with our problems."

I nod, staring down at my soil-stained fingers. They're a mess, dirt embedded under my nails and in the creases of my knuckles. Normally, I'd be reaching for soap and a nail brush by now, uncomfortable with the disorder of it. But today, the sight gives me an odd sense of satisfaction—tangible proof that I've been creating rather than destroying, nurturing rather than hiding.

"What got you into gardening?" I ask, genuinely curious about this side of him I've only just discovered.

Elias leans back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "My grandmother, actually. She was the one who taught me to cook, and she believed you couldn't truly understand food unless you knew where it came from." His smile turns nostalgic. "She had this tiny vegetable garden behind her house—not fancy, just practical. But the way she tended it... like each plant was precious. She'd talk to them sometimes."

"Like you were doing with the basil earlier?" I tease, remembering Soren's comment from breakfast.

Elias's cheeks flush with color. "You caught that, huh?"

"Only a few words. Something about them being stubborn?"

He laughs, the sound echoing pleasantly in the humid air of the greenhouse. "They are! Three batches of seedlings and only half of them decided to sprout." His shoulder brushes mine again as he shifts, and this time I don't tense at the contact. "Finn thinks I'm ridiculous, but Soren's worse—he names the plants. The big rosemary bush we were pruning? That's 'Rosalind.'"

The image of Soren, with all his frenetic energy, carefully naming each plant makes me laugh. "That's... oddly sweet, actually."

"Don't tell him I told you, or he'll never let me live it down." Our chuckles fade into comfortable silence. I find myself leaning slightly against Elias, drawn to his warmth and steady presence. The quiet intimacy of the moment should frighten me—this lowering of guards, this casual physical closeness—but it doesn't. Instead, it feels like exhaling after holding my breath for too long.

The sound of the greenhouse door opening breaks the spell. We both look up to see Lucian's tall figure silhouetted against the bright midday light, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. He steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him, and for a moment he simply stands there, taking in the scene before him—Elias and me sitting close together on the bench, surrounded by greenery and the evidence of our morning's work.

Lucian's presence has always struck me as commanding, not through any deliberate show of authority but simply in the assured way he carries himself. Today is no different. He's dressed more casually than I've seen him before—dark jeans and a soft-looking gray henley that clings to his chest and shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go inexplicably dry. His steel-gray eyes sweep over us, and a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, isn't this a picturesque scene," Lucian says as he reaches us, his deep voice carrying traces of amusement. "I take it you two had fun?"

"Very much so," Elias replies, shifting to make room for Lucian on the bench. "Lydia has quite the green thumb. You should see what she did with the mint." Before I can protest this obvious exaggeration, Lucian leans down, one hand bracing against the back of the bench as he presses a kiss to Elias's cheek. Then, to my utter surprise, he turns to me.

"May I?" he asks, his voice dropping lower.

I blink, my throat goes dry, but I manage a small nod. Lucian's lips brush my cheek, warm and slightly rough, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down my spine. When he pulls back, his eyes hold mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

"Welcome home," I say, the words slipping out before I can analyze them. I freeze, horrified at my presumption. This isn't my home to welcome him to –This isn’t my home, even if I feel like it could be mine one day.

But Lucian's expression doesn't show offense or discomfort, only a quiet pleasure that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he says simply, settling onto the bench beside me. His thigh presses against mine, warm and solid. "It's good to be back. How has your day been?"

The question is directed at both of us, but his gaze remains on me, attentive and genuinely interested. Before I can formulate a response, Elias launches into an enthusiastic account of our morning activities.

"We started in the herb section – Lydia has a real knack for pruning, by the way – and then moved on to the tomato plants, which needed staking. You should have seen her, Lucian. She's got this perfect balance of being gentle with the plants but firm with the ties. Most people pull them too tight and strangle the stems, but she just..." He demonstrates with hishands, mimicking my apparently revolutionary tomato-staking technique.

I feel heat rising to my cheeks, equal parts embarrassed and pleased by his effusive praise. "It's just common sense," I demur. "You don't want to restrict growth, just provide support."

"Precisely," Elias says, as if I've articulated some profound philosophical truth rather than basic gardening knowledge.

Lucian's mouth curves into a small smile. "I see you've been thoroughly indoctrinated into Elias's plant cult. Soon you'll be having serious conversations with the basil, too."

"I do not talk to the basil," Elias protests, though the flush creeping up his neck suggests otherwise.

"The rosemary, then," Lucian corrects, his tone dry but his eyes dancing with humor. "My mistake."

I can't help it – a laugh escapes me at their familiar banter, at the mental image of dignified Elias earnestly conversing with his herbs. Lucian's smile widens at the sound, as if my laughter is a small victory he's been working toward.

"It's thyme, actually," Elias sniffs, feigning offense. "We have very stimulating discussions about proper drainage. Very intellectual."

Lucian shakes his head, turning to me with mock seriousness. "You see what I have to put up with? Next, he'll be telling you about his philosophical debates with the parsley."

"That's ridiculous," Elias says primly. "Parsley is a terrible conversationalist. All it does is complain about the sun." Another laugh bubbles up from my chest, louder this time.

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