Page 115 of Lavender and Honey

Lucian's expression shifts, something harder flashing briefly in his eyes before he masks it. "People aren't gossiping maliciously, Lydia. They're concerned. There's a difference."

"Is there?" I challenge, meeting his gaze directly. "Either way, my business is being discussed without my knowledge or consent."

"Your well-being is what's being discussed," Lucian counters, his voice still even but with an undercurrent of firmness. "And yes, that matters to more people than you might realize. Mrs. Chen has been keeping an eye on your shop because she cares about you. The antique dealer across the street—he's been watching to make sure no one tries to break in. Even that grumpy old Beta who runs the bookstore three doors down has been redirecting your regular customers, telling them you'll be back soon and to check again next week."

The image of Haven's Rest's shop owners forming an impromptu protection detail around my small store is so unexpected that it momentarily silences me. I swallow hard, trying to process this information. People I barely know—people I've kept at arm's length for an entire year—are looking out for me?

"They're doing all that without even knowing what's happening?" I ask, my voice smaller now.

Elias smiles gently. "That's what community means, Lydia. You don't need to know all the details to help a neighbor."

"Mrs. Chen may have implied that your mother is... difficult," Lucian adds, a slight curl to his lip suggesting what he really thinks of her. "Given what she witnessed, I imagine she was being generous in her description."

Despite everything, a short laugh escapes me at that. "Difficult is one way to put it." I tap my fingers against the glass, watching condensation trail down its side. "I just... I don't like being the center of attention. Or feeling like I'm not in control of my own affairs."

"Understandable," Lucian says with a nod. "But sometimes accepting help doesn't mean surrendering control. It just means you're not alone in facing challenges."

His words echo in my mind, reminding me of similar sentiments Elias and the others have expressed since I arrived. The consistency of their message—that independence and support aren't mutually exclusive—is starting to chip away at beliefs I've held for so long they feel like part of my identity.

"So my shop is okay," I say, attempting to redirect the conversation back to practical matters. "No one's broken in, my mother hasn't done anything rash, and my customers know I'll be back eventually."

"Exactly," Lucian confirms. "Everything's secure, and Finn's been checking daily. He brought back your sketchbooks from inside your shop—they're in his workshop, if you'd like to work on them here."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture catches me off guard. They've not only protected my business but considered my need to create.

"That's... really considerate," I admit, a reluctant warmth spreading through my chest. "I was worried about falling behind."

"We know your work is important to you," Elias says simply, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to understand and accommodate what matters to me. I look between them, these two men who've inserted themselves into my life with such determination and care. The embarrassment of being discussed by the townspeople still lingers, but it's now tempered by a strange, unfamiliar feeling—something like gratitude, but bigger, more overwhelming.

"Thank you," I say finally, the words inadequate for the complex emotions swirling inside me. "For looking after the shop. And for telling me about it."

Lucian's eyes soften, the steel-gray warming to something closer to silver. "We'll always be honest with you, Lydia. Even when the truth is complicated."

Lucian leans back in his chair, "I've also arranged for some people to keep an eye on your parents at the hotel," he mentions, as if he's discussing nothing more significant than the weather forecast. I watch his fingers drum a slow, deliberate rhythm against the tabletop, each tap precise and measured, like everything else about him.

"What?" My voice catches, higher than I intended. "You're having my parents watched?"

Lucian's expression remains calm, those steel-gray eyes steady on mine. "Not in any intrusive way. Just making sure we know if they make any significant moves. It's better to be prepared than surprised."

I blink at him, trying to process this new information. The casual way he talks about surveillance, about deploying resources to monitor my mother's movements—it's both unsettling and oddly reassuring. I haven't had anyone looking out for my interests like this since Avery helped me find this town the night I left my parents’ house.

"How did you plan that out?" I ask, my head tilting slightly as I study him. "You make it sound so... simple."

A corner of Lucian's mouth lifts in what might be the beginning of a smile. "I have connections," he says, the understatement evident in his tone. "People who owe me favors."

"Connections," I repeat, turning the word over in my mind. "Just like that? You snap your fingers and people start tracking my mother's movements?" Elias makes a soft sound that might be a suppressed laugh. I glance his way, but his expression is innocent as he sips his water, eyes dancing over the rim of his glass.

Lucian's almost-smile widens a fraction. "Not quite so dramatic, but effectively, yes." He studies me for a moment, something speculative entering his gaze. "Lydia, do you actually know what I do for a living?"

The question catches me off guard. I realize with a flush of embarrassment that I've never asked. In all our interactions, the focus has been on my situation, my problems, my needs. I've barely scratched the surface of who these men are beyond their obvious devotion to each other and their unexpected interest in me.

"I... assumed you handle the pack's business affairs," I say, the words sounding lame even to my own ears. "You have that... managerial air about you.” Elias's suppressed laugh breaks free this time, a warm chuckle that makes Lucian shoot him a mock-stern look.

"Managerial air," Lucian repeats, his tone dry but his eyes lightening to the color of rain clouds before the sun breaks through. "That's one way to put it, I suppose."

I feel heat crawling up my neck, embarrassment mixing with curiosity. "So what do you do, then? If not... managing."

"I'm a lawyer," he says simply, watching for my reaction with those perceptive eyes. "Specialized in pack law and Omega rights cases." The information clicks into place with an almost audible snap, like the final piece of a puzzle I didn't know I was solving. Suddenly, so much about Lucian makes sense—his careful precision with words, his ability to read between lines, the authoritative way he carries himself even in casual settings. The suit he wore when he came to my apartment, which I'd vaguely registered as expensive and well-tailored, now seems like an obvious clue I'd somehow missed.

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