Page 55 of Lavender and Honey

"Ah, but that's the best part," Elias said, his voice a soothing balm. "Cooking is an art, too. It's about intuition, feeling the ingredients... like mixing colors on a palette."

How could I resist such an analogy? My heart fluttered with a mix of nerves and curiosity. "Alright," I conceded, stepping hesitantly toward the counter where an array of colorful vegetables awaited us. "What are we making?"

"Fresh pasta," Elias announced, his enthusiasm infectious. “We’ll start with the dough, then move on to cutting it into shapes. Have you ever tried that before?”

"Never," I admitted, watching as Elias scooped flour into a mound on the clean countertop. He created a well in the center, into which he cracked eggs with a practiced ease.

"Here," he guided my hands, helping me pour olive oil into the mixture. "Now, just bring it together gently. Like coaxing a shy animal out of hiding."

I followed his instructions, my fingers cautiously working the ingredients into a cohesive ball. The dough was pliable under my touch, and I found a rhythm in the kneading, a meditative motion that eased the tension from my shoulders.

"See? You're a natural." Elias smiled, standing back to give me space.

"Maybe," I replied, allowing myself a small smile as I began to feel more at home in this unfamiliar culinary landscape.

"Trust me," he said, his confidence bolstering my own. "By the time we're done, you'll have a new appreciation for the craft." And perhaps, I thought, a new appreciation for the unexpected turns life could take— in the kitchen and beyond.

My hands, slick with olive oil and speckled with flour, moved awkwardly as I tried to emulate Elias's effortless technique. Each roll of the pasta cutter felt like a statement of my inexperience. Elias stood close, his warmth a comforting presence, while Sorenlounged in a chair by the kitchen island, a bemused expression on his face.

"Are you certain this is safe?" Soren quipped, eyeing me with playful skepticism. "Should we have a fire extinguisher on standby?"

"Ha-ha," I retorted without heat, too focused on not ruining the dough beneath my fingers. "I'm not that bad."

"Actually, she's doing quite well," Elias interjected, his voice laced with encouragement. "Besides, I've seen your attempts at cooking, Soren. The kitchen has never been in more danger than when you're 'experimenting' with recipes."

Soren chuckled, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Fair point. My culinary adventures are... let's call them avant-garde."

"Avant-garde?" Elias raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you call setting spaghetti on fire?"

"Creative expression," Soren replied with a grin. The banter eased the tightness in my chest, a reminder that despite the unfamiliarity of the situation, there was a place for levity and connection. I found myself smiling as I turned back to the task at hand, rolling out another strip of pasta.

"Okay, Lydia," Elias said, bringing the conversation back around to me. "Let's talk favorites. Favorite drink?"

"Um, chamomile tea," I said, feeling a bit mundane amongst these vibrant personalities.

"Classic and calming," Elias nodded approvingly. "And favorite color?"

"Green," I answered quickly, "like the hills around Haven's Rest in spring."

"Nature's palette," Soren chimed in from his observation post. "What about food? Other than pasta, of course."

"Strawberries," I confessed, "especially when they're just ripe, and the sweetness bursts on your tongue."

"Ah, strawberries," Elias said, a dreamy look crossing his features. "They do have a particular magic, don't they? You'll have to try my strawberry preserves sometime."

"Promises, promises," I teased, gaining confidence amidst their easy company.

"Only the best for you," Elias assured with a wink, though I could tell he actually meant it, making my heart race. As I cut the last piece of dough, I couldn't help but savor the simple joy of this moment— rolling, cutting, and laughing with two people who were quickly becoming closer to my heart.

“Thank you for teaching me.” I told him shortly, as I dusted my hands off, looking up just in time to see Lucian's tall frame fill the doorway. His gaze landed on me, surprise lifting his eyebrows before a warm smile replaced it.

"Lydia," he greeted, stepping into the room with an ease that made space seem to expand around him. "It’s great to see you here."

"Hi, Lucian," I managed, my voice steadier than I expected. The way he looked at me— like my presence brightened the room— sent a flutter through my chest.

Elias glanced over from where he was expertly dicing tomatoes and waved a knife cheerfully. "Lucian, just in time to save your dinner from becoming charcoal."

Soren snorted, suppressing a laugh. "That's rich, coming from Mr. 'I've Only Started Three Kitchen Fires.'"

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