Page 73 of Lavender and Honey

I should be afraid of such a declaration. The old me would have retreated, thrown up walls, made excuses to flee. But as we sway together on the dance floor, surrounded by strangers yet somehow perfectly isolated in our own world, I find I'm not afraid at all.

Instead, I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent—sandalwood and spice, complex and alluring—and allow myself to simply exist in this moment. With this man. In this unfamiliar but increasingly appealing new reality.

"So am I," I whisper, the admission both terrifying and liberating. And as Soren holds me closer, his heartbeat steady and strong against my cheek, I realize with startling clarity that I mean it more than I've meant anything in a very long time.

Whatever path these four men are leading me down—whatever surprises and challenges await—I want to follow it. To see where it leads. To discover not just their secrets, but perhaps, finally, my own as well.

Chapter Forty-Four

The night air whispers against my skin as Soren and I step out of the dance hall, my legs pleasantly sore from hours of movement I'd never thought myself capable of. The stars above us seem to dance in time with the music still thrumming in my veins, and I can't help but wonder if this lightheaded feeling is from the exertion or from Soren's proximity, his hand resting casually at the small of my back as if it belongs there.

"So," Soren says, his purple eyes reflecting the neon light of the dance hall sign, making them seem almost otherworldly. "Still think line dancing isn't your thing?"

I laugh, the sound escaping me with surprising ease. "I never said that. I just said I might step on your toes."

"And yet my feet remain miraculously uninjured." His smile is infectious, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that makes my heart trip over itself. "Though I wouldn't have minded a few bruised toes if it meant dancing with you."

The words send a flush of heat across my cheeks, and I'm grateful for the dim lighting of the parking lot. A year ago—hell, a month ago—such blatant flirtation would have sent me retreating behind my carefully constructed walls. Now, I find myself leaning into it, like a plant that's finally found sunlight after too long in shade.

"Well, there's always next time," I say, surprising myself with the implication that there will be a next time, that this isn't just a one-off experience.

Soren's eyebrows shoot up, his grin widening. "I'm holding you to that, Lavender girl." He hands me the motorcycle helmet, watching as I secure it. "Ready to head home?"

I nod, suddenly aware that our evening is coming to a close. A pang of something that feels dangerously like disappointment twists in my chest. I push it away, focusing instead on the practical matters of mounting the motorcycle and positioning myself behind Soren.

This time, I don't hesitate to wrap my arms around his waist, to press myself against the solid warmth of his back. His scent—sandalwood and that indefinable spice—envelops me, and I find myself breathing it in, storing the memory for later. The motorcycle roars to life beneath us, its vibration traveling through my body in a not-unpleasant way. As we pull out of the parking lot and onto the open road, I rest my cheek against Soren's shoulder blade, watching the world blur past us. The night sky stretches above, a velvet canopy pricked with stars that seem to be racing alongside us.

Time becomes fluid, marked only by the steady rhythm of Soren's breathing beneath my hands and the ever-changing landscape as we make our way back to Haven's Rest. I find myself in a strange, meditative state, present in a way I rarely am. No thoughts of tomorrow, no dwelling on the past—just this moment, this sensation of freedom and connection.

All too soon, we're turning onto my street, the familiar silhouettes of buildings bringing me back to reality. Soren slows the motorcycle to a crawl before pulling up to the curb outside my apartment building. The engine cuts off, leaving us in a silence that feels charged with unspoken things.I dismount first, removing the helmet and handing it back to him. My legs feel strangely unsteady, though whether from the vibration of the motorcycle or the proximity of the man watching me with those intense purple eyes, I couldn't say.

"I'll walk you to your door," Soren says, swinging his leg over the motorcycle with that same effortless grace that makes my breath catch. It's not a question, but there's no demand in his tone either—just a simple statement of intent that leaves room for my refusal if I wanted to give it.

I don't.

"Okay," I say, my voice coming out softer than I intended. We walk side by side up the path to my apartment, our shoulders occasionally brushing in a way that sends little sparks through me. The silence between us isn't awkward, but it's heavy with potential—like the air before a thunderstorm.

As we reach my door, I turn to face him, suddenly shy in a way I haven't been all evening. "Thank you for tonight," I say, meaning it more than I can express. "I had a wonderful time."

Soren's smile softens, losing its usual mischievous edge and becoming something more genuine, more vulnerable. "Me too," he says, taking a step closer. "Though I have to admit, I'm not quite ready for it to end."

My heart stutters against my ribs, a trapped bird seeking flight. "Oh?" I manage, hyperaware of how close he is, of the way his scent wraps around me like a physical touch.

"Mmm," he hums, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger against my cheek, warmand slightly calloused. "I was thinking maybe we could seal the evening with a proper goodnight."

I know what he's asking. It's written in the slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze drops briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, seeking permission. A year of carefully maintained distance, of avoiding any kind of intimate contact, and here I am, leaning into the touch of this Alpha who has spent the evening teaching me to dance, to let go, to trust.

"I think that could be arranged," I say, surprised by my own boldness.

Soren's smile is a slow, beautiful thing, like dawn breaking over mountains. He steps closer, one hand coming up to cup my cheek while the other settles at my waist. I can feel the heat of him, the solid presence of his body just inches from mine.

"Lydia," he murmurs, my name a caress on his lips. "May I kiss you?" In that moment, I'm struck by the care he takes with me, always asking, never assuming. Even now, with the night's worth of shared closeness between us, he still seeks my explicit consent. Something warm and tender unfurls in my chest at the realization.

"Yes," I breathe, the word barely audible even to my own ears. He closes the distance between us with aching slowness, giving me every opportunity to change my mind. When his lips finally touch mine, it's with a gentleness that makes my knees weak. The kiss is soft, questioning, a meeting of warmth and breath that sends sparks cascading through me.

My eyes flutter closed as I lean into him, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders. The kiss deepens, becoming something more heated but no less tender. Soren tastes like cinnamon and possibility, his lips fitting against mine as if they were made for this purpose. When we finally part, I'm breathless, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Soren looks equally affected, his pupils dilated, hisbreathing uneven. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

"Gods, Lydia," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

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