Page 2 of Lavender and Honey

"It certainly is," he replied, his tone light and encouraging. "Made it just this morning, actually. Do you cook much?"

I shook my head slightly, my fingers tracing the edge of the table. "Not really," I admitted softly. "I'm not very good at it. I do manage to get by though." Something people tell me as an Omega I should be good at. I shake the thoughts away before I could go back down that rabbit hole. I should leave, should run back to the safety of my art store. But something about Elias's presence kept me rooted to the spot, caught between curiosity and caution.

Elias's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he gently picked up one of the pasta bundles. "Well, this is perfect for beginners," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. "It's fresh tagliatelle. Cooks in just a few minutes." He held it out, inviting me to examine it closer. "We've also got a basil pesto that pairs perfectly. Want to give it a try?"

My heart fluttered, caught between the instinct to flee and an unexpected desire to stay. I hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Sure," I whispered, surprised by my own acquiescence. As Elias turned to retrieve the pesto, my eyes roamed over the colorful array of jars lining his table. One in particular caught my attention, its deep purple contents shimmering in the morning light.

"And maybe..." I started, my voice barely audible above the market's bustle. I cleared my throat and tried again. "This, too?" I pointed to the jar labeled 'Blackberry Lavender Jam.'

Why am I doing this? I never linger at market stalls, never engage in casual conversation. Yet here I was, buying pasta I'd likely burn and jam I didn't need. All because this Omega's gentle demeanor had somehow slipped past my carefully constructed defenses.

Elias's face lit up at my selection. "Excellent choice," he said, reaching for the jar. "The lavender adds such a unique depth tothe blackberries. It's lovely on toast, but I like to use it in baking, too."

I found myself oddly captivated by the way his hands moved, confident and graceful as he wrapped my purchases. The scent of spiced honey drifted towards me again, and I fought the urge to lean closer.

Elias's hands paused in the middle of wrapping, and he glanced up at me with a warm smile. "You new around here? I don't think I've seen you at the market before."

My heart rate spiked. I tightened my grip on my scarf, the soft fabric a comforting shield against the world. "Not new," I said quickly, fumbling in my pocket for the cash I'd brought. My fingers trembled slightly as I handed it over. "Just... I keep to myself." Why did I say that? I could have just nodded and left. Now he'll ask more questions. I should go.Now.

Elias didn't press. His hazel eyes softened with understanding, and he simply nodded as he carefully counted out my change. "I get that," he said softly. "Sometimes the quiet is nice." The gentleness in his voice made something twist in my chest. I wanted to flee, to retreat to the safety of my art store. But another part of me, a part I thought I'd buried long ago, yearned to stay, to bask in the warmth of his presence for just a moment longer.

I swallowed hard, desperately searching for something to say that wouldn't reveal too much. "Your jams... they're beautiful," I managed, gesturing weakly at the jars. "Like little paintings."

Elias's face lit up, his smile revealing a hint of dimples. "Thank you," he said, genuine pleasure coloring his voice. "I love playing with colors and flavors. It's a bit like art, I suppose." He handed me my change, and I quickly stuffed it into my pocket, my fingers clumsy. As I did, Elias continued, his tone casual but warm, "Sometimes it's nice to just do your own thing, you know? Find what makes you happy and stick with it."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His words resonated more than I wanted to admit.

"I'm Elias, by the way," he added, extending his hand, officially introducing himself to me. I stared at it, frozen. Giving him my name felt dangerous, like opening a door I wouldn't be able to close. But his easy demeanor, the lack of pressure in his gaze, made it hard to resist. My heart raced as I weighed my options. Just leave, a part of me screamed. But another voice, quieter but insistent, whispered: Maybe it's okay. Just this once.

"Lydia," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't take his hand, but I met his eyes for a brief moment. "I'm Lydia."

Elias's smile widened, a faint dimple appearing in his left cheek. The sight of it made my stomach flutter unexpectedly.

"Nice to meet you, Lydia," he said, his voice warm and genuine. He gestured at the array of jars and loaves before him. "If you ever need more pasta or jam, or even fresh baked bread, my pack's here every Saturday."

The word "pack" hit me like a shock of cold water. My muscles tensed, and I fought the urge to take a step back. Memories I'd tried so hard to bury threatened to surface, bringing with them a familiar ache of betrayal and loss.

Stay calm, I told myself. He doesn't know. He can't know.

I forced my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression, even as my heart raced. "Thanks," I managed, my voice sounding strained to my own ears. "I'll keep that in mind."

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, seeking comfort in its familiar texture. I turned to leave, eager to escape the bustling market and return to the solitude of my art store. The weight of the pasta and jam in my hands anchored me to reality, reminding me why I'd ventured out in the first place.

"Hey," Elias called out, his voice cutting through the market chatter. I paused mid-step, my body tensing. "You paint, don't you?" The question hit me like a splash of cold water. My heartbegan to race, and I slowly turned back to face him. How could he possibly know that?

"What makes you say that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tightened around my purchases, knuckles turning white with the effort to keep my hands from shaking.

Elias leaned forward slightly, his hazel eyes twinkling with curiosity. The scent of spiced honey intensified, threatening to overwhelm my senses. I fought the urge to step back, to put more distance between us. Why did he have to notice? I thought, panic rising in my chest. Why couldn't I just be invisible, like I'd been for so long?

Elias's gaze dropped to my hands, and he gestured with a gentle nod. "You've got paint on your fingers," he explained, his voice warm and intrigued. "And the way you looked at the jars, like you're picking colors for a palette. It just... clicked."

My heart sank as I glanced down at my hands. Sure enough, tiny flecks of blue and yellow clung stubbornly to my skin, betraying my secret passion. How could I have been so careless? I cursed myself silently, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I usually didn’t let anyone figure out any details about me when I went out. I had been stalked by one too many alphas.

"I..." I started, my voice catching. The urge to flee intensified, but something in Elias's open expression held me in place. "I dabble," I admitted reluctantly, my words barely audible over the market's bustle.

Elias's smile widened, and I caught a whiff of excitement in his scent. "That's amazing," he said, leaning in slightly. "What kind of—"

"It's nothing, really," I interrupted, desperate to change the subject. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my scarf, seeking comfort in its familiar texture. "Just a hobby."

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