Page 142 of Lavender and Honey

My heart lurches, my breath catching on the thought of what comes after this week.

Lucian forges ahead, not seeing or maybe choosing not to see the small fear that dances around my heart. "Could it be full time?" he wonders, letting the question fill the space between what I want and what I think I can have.

I scramble to keep up, to bridge the distance with the only truth I know for sure. "My lease..." I say, hesitating. The words are clumsy with the need not to disappoint. "There’s still three months left. But if I give notice," I rush to explain, "maybe we can work it out."

I imagine telling the landlord, picture the text in my mind: I'm moving in with my pack. The certainty is as shaky as my hand would be, typing it. With enough time, with enough faith, with enough of everything I thought I had to go without.

Soren leans back, a lazy grin on his lips. "Seems like a lifetime," he muses, like he's always known where this was going, like they all have.

Finn’s words are slower, but they travel just as far. "It's not that long," he says. "If you're sure."

They watch me, the weight of their attention steady and reassuring.

"I'm sure," I say, finding the belief I need in the faces around me. The fear is still there, but so is the hope.

Lucian lifts his hand in a gesture so open I don’t know how it can hold so much of both. "We’ll handle moving your things later," he suggests, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, as if it’s not just my belongings but my entire life we’re talking about.

He keeps going, the forward motion a comfort. "We can even clear out a room," he offers, "so you'll have space of your own."

It should be frightening, the speed of it, the lack of any other options but this. Instead, it feels like light after a long, hard storm. The warmth that comes when there is nothing left to do but dry yourself off and start again. I think I can, even after everything. Especially after everything.

"Thank you," I say, the words weak with too much meaning. "For everything."

Finn shakes his head, his smile as gentle as the voice that follows it. "You don’t owe us anything," he insists, and his words chip away at the thin shell of reserve I thought would hold me together. "We love you."

His simple declaration hits harder than anything else tonight, anything else in weeks. Maybe years. I feel it in my heart, in the way it stutters and skips, the way it keeps going even when it’s too full to do anything else.

Soren’s hand finds my knee, his fingers a light reminder that the rest of me has to follow. "Not news, Lydia," he teases, but I hear the sincerity beneath his mischief. "We’ve been saying it since day one."

"Not in so many words," I protest, though the heat in my face makes it hard to argue.

Elias pulls me back to him, soft and insistent, the way his love has been all along. "Well, then," he says, "it's about time you heard it."

They pile on, a mess of affection and belonging, each new word more outrageous and wonderful than the last. I don’t stand a chance against it, not against them, not against this feeling that sweeps me under and keeps me afloat at the same time.

Chapter Eighty

The key is stiff in the lock, as if it remembers the days when I hardly used it at all. This place doesn’t feel like mine anymore, and I know why. The past few days have shifted everything, and I see it now in the morning light—the hollow where my heart used to be when I lived alone. This emptiness should be alarming, but it isn’t. I smile softly as I water my plants, a last, affectionate ritual before packing. The windows are half open, letting in the sweet scent of a town that is more home to me now than this space.

Looking around I took a deep breath looking around one more time as I set down the watering can before I make my way into my bedroom. The sheets are tucked neat and tight; no hint of urgency or abandon remains here. I start pulling open drawers, laying clothes and books and trinkets on the bed. I picture the room I will share with them, the way my scent and theirs will mingle in the corners. Lucian, Elias, Finn, and Soren. Their names flutter through me, rearranging everything I thought Iknew about the life I wanted. This was never going to be enough. They know me more intimately than anyone has ever tried, more than I've ever allowed.

I start packing the boxes, a strange mixture of sadness and hopefulness making my movements slow. Taping shut one life and opening another. When I lift the boxes, I imagine their weight as a kind of ballast—enough to keep me steady as I step into something new.

The apartment was furnished when I moved in, so only my personal belongings needed to go with me. That will make the moving process easier at least. Most of what I own is art supplies, which would take a whole box or two.

I quickly made work of going through my things, and before I know it, it had been hours. As I took a break, I glanced at the clock and saw it was about noon, which would be around when Avery had her lunch break at work.

I dig out the phone, a small smile on my face at the thought of telling her how things have progressed. I scrolled down and clicked her name, and held the phone to my ear as the phone started to ring.

My heart beats a little faster as I listen to the phone ring once, twice, three times. Just when I think it might go to voicemail, there's a click and Avery's breathless voice comes through.

"Lydia? Oh my god, I was just thinking about you! Tell me everything—wait, are you okay? You haven't called in days, and your shop's been closed, and I was starting to get worried."

I can't help but smile at the rush of words. This is why I've always loved Avery—her immediate, unfiltered concern wrapped in enthusiastic curiosity.

"I'm fine," I say, settling onto the edge of my bed. "More than fine, actually. A lot has happened." I quickly went through what had happened to me since I last talked to her, and when I was done the other side of the phone was quiet.

“Avery?” I called out, not knowing why she was so silent before I heard her sigh on the other end of the phone.

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