Page 74 of Lavender and Honey

I laugh, a soft, breathless sound. "Probably the same thing you do to me," I admit, surprising myself with my honesty.

Soren pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine. Whatever he sees there makes him smile, a genuine expression that transforms his features from merely handsome to breathtaking.

"I should go," he says, though he makes no move to step away. "Before I talk myself into asking for another kiss." The thought sends a thrill through me, but I know he's right. I've already opened myself up more tonight than I have in years. Best not to push too far, too fast.

"You should," I agree, reluctantly letting my hands drop from his shoulders. "Thank you again for tonight. For everything."

Soren takes a step back, his smile turning playful once more. "Thank you for trusting me, Lavender girl. Sweet dreams." He leans in for one more quick, chaste kiss before turning and walking back down the path.

I watch him go, my fingers coming up to touch my lips, still tingling from his kiss. Only when he's mounted his motorcycle and driven away with a final wave do I turn to unlock my door, my hands trembling slightly with the aftermath of emotion.

Inside my apartment, I lean against the closed door, a smile I can't suppress spreading across my face. The silence that greets me—once a comfort, a relief from the demands of the outside world—now feels empty in comparison to the vibrant energy of the evening.

I drop my keys on the small table by the door, shrugging off my jacket before making my way to the couch. My body aches pleasantly from the dancing, and I can still feel the phantomsensation of Soren's arms around me, the gentle pressure of his lips against mine. The ping of my phone startles me from my reverie. I fish it from my pocket, my heart doing a funny little leap when I see Soren's name on the screen.

"Made it home safe. Just wanted to let you know I'll be dreaming of you tonight, Lavender girl. Thanks for making my evening perfect. See you soon. x"

I read the message twice, three times, a warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the temperature of my apartment. The simple intimacy of it, the casual affection, makes me feel both vulnerable and strangely powerful.

Curling my legs beneath me, I type out a response: "Thank you for a wonderful evening. I had no idea line dancing could be so much fun. Dream sweet dreams."

I pause, my thumb hovering over the send button, then add:"I'll be dreaming of you too. x"

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then set the phone aside, my cheeks warm but my heart lighter than it's been in years. The night stretches before me, the promise of dreams filled with dancing and laughter and the taste of cinnamon on my lips.

Who would have thought that I, Lydia, who'd spent so long guarding myself against any kind of attachment, would be sitting here now, floating on a cloud of emotion I'd denied myself for so long? That I'd be looking forward to seeing not just Soren, but all four of them again, with an eagerness that should frighten me but somehow doesn't?

I close my eyes, letting the memories of the evening wash over me—the dance, the game of pool, the conversations that somehow managed to feel both casual and deeply intimate. The way Soren looked at me, like I was fascinating, like I mattered. The way he held me, secure but never constraining. The kiss that still lingers on my lips like a promise. For the first time in longerthan I can remember, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and no walls around my heart.

Chapter Forty-Five

The morning sunlight streams through the windows of my shop, casting long golden fingers across the wooden floor. I move through my opening routine with practiced ease, though my body protests slightly from last night's dancing. The memory of Soren's arms around me, of his lips against mine, surfaces unbidden, and I catch myself smiling at nothing in particular as I arrange a display of new watercolor sets. A dangerous habit, this smiling—it invites questions, connections, exactly the things I've spent a year avoiding. Yet somehow, this morning, I can't bring myself to care.

My fingertips graze the edge of a cobalt blue paint tube, and suddenly I'm back at the dance hall, Soren's fingers interlaced with mine as he guided me through steps that my body somehow remembered. The sensation is so vivid that for a moment I almost forget where I am, lost in the echo of music only I can hear.

The bell above the door chimes, startling me back to the present. I smooth my expression, though the lingering warmth in my cheeks betrays me. It's Mrs. Hernandez, one of my regulars, who was here to pick up a special order of brushes for her granddaughter.

"Good morning," I call, my voice steadier than I feel. "I have your order ready."

She approaches the counter, her keen eyes missing nothing. "Good morning, Lydia. My, don't you look bright today! Something good happen?"

I busy myself with retrieving her package from beneath the counter, buying time to compose a neutral response. "Just had a good night's sleep," I lie, not meeting her gaze. The truth—that I danced until my feet ached and then kissed an Alpha on my doorstep—feels too raw, too private to share.

Mrs. Hernandez makes a noncommittal sound that says she doesn't believe me for a second but is too polite to push. We complete the transaction with pleasant small talk, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she leaves, taking her knowing looks with her.

The morning passes in a pleasant blur of routine tasks and occasional customers. I'm reorganizing a shelf of sketchbooks when the bell chimes again. Turning, I expect to see another customer, but instead I'm confronted with an explosion of colors and scents—wildflowers of every variety, arranged in a beautiful bouquet and carried by a delivery person whose face is partially obscured by the lush arrangement.

"Delivery for Lydia?" the young beta woman calls, peering around the blooms.

I freeze, my hands stilling on the sketchbook I'd been about to shelve. "That's... me," I manage, my voice suddenly small.

She smiles, crossing the shop to place the bouquet on my counter. "Someone must really like you," she says with a wink,holding out a digital pad for me to sign. "It's not every day we get an order for this many wildflowers in one arrangement."

My signature is shaky as I scrawl it across the screen, my mind racing. Who would send me flowers? The answer flashes immediately in my mind—not who, but which ones? Was it Elias, with his warm smiles and gentle touches? Lucian, with his quiet intensity? Finn, whose steady presence had grounded me beneath the stars? Or Soren, whose kiss still tingles on my lips?

"Thank you," I murmur as she hands me a small envelope that accompanied the flowers.

"Enjoy!" she says cheerfully, before heading back out into the sunshine. Alone again, I approach the bouquet as if it might bite. The flowers are stunning—not the formal, stiff arrangements I associate with florists, but a wild, natural collection that looks as though someone wandered through a meadow gathering the most beautiful blooms they found. Daisies and black-eyed susans mingle with sprigs of lavender and delicate ferns, creating a symphony of textures and colors. The scent is intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and earth that makes me think of summer meadows and open skies.

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