Page 77 of Lavender and Honey

"Thank you," I reply, warmth creeping into my cheeks. Compliments still feel foreign on my skin, especially from him—the most reserved of the four. "I thought it was appropriate, given... well." I gesture vaguely at myself, not quite ready to name what I've done.

His lips curve into a knowing smile. "Very appropriate," he agrees, never once mentioning my scent directly. His consideration makes something in my chest unfurl, a tight bud finally allowing itself to bloom.We begin walking through the house, Lucian's hand shifting to rest gently at the small of my back. The touch is proprietary yet respectful, guiding rather than controlling. The hallway opens into a spacious living area I've seen before—comfortable couches arranged around a stone fireplace, bookshelves lining one wall, large windows overlooking the property. Everything speaks of comfort and permanence, a home built for togetherness.

"Everyone's in the kitchen," Lucian explains, though the sound of Soren's unmistakable laughter already tells me as much. "Elias insisted on cooking, of course. He's been planning the menu for days."

"I hope he didn't go to too much trouble," I say, though the thought of Elias cooking specifically for me sends a pleasant warmth through my veins.

"For you?" Lucian's smile deepens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Nothing is too much trouble. You should have seen him this morning, debating between three different pasta recipes as if the fate of the world hung in the balance."

This draws a laugh from me, the sound rising easily to my lips. "That sounds like Elias."

"Indeed." Lucian's hand shifts slightly higher on my back, a gentle pressure that makes my skin tingle even through my sweater. "How have you been since we last saw you? The store keeping you busy?"

The question is ordinary, a simple opening for conversation, yet it feels like a lifeline—normal talk to steady me in this abnormal moment. I grasp it gratefully.

"Busy enough," I reply. "I got a shipment of new watercolor sets that have been popular. And I've been working on some pieces of my own." This last admission comes more easily than it once would have. My art is no longer a secret to be guarded, at least not from these men.

"I'd love to see them sometime," Lucian says, the simple statement heavy with sincerity. "If you're comfortable sharing, of course.

I nod, the idea less frightening than it would have been weeks ago. "I think I'd like that. They're not finished yet, but... soon, maybe."

We pause at a corner where the hallway turns toward the kitchen. The sounds of activity grow louder—Elias givinginstructions, Finn's deep voice responding, the clatter of cookware. Anxiety flutters in my stomach, butterflies with razor wings. In a moment, I'll be walking into a room with three more men who will immediately notice my unblocked scent.

Lucian seems to sense my hesitation. He stops, turning to face me fully. His steel-gray eyes search mine, piercing yet gentle. "You know," he says softly, "we can wait. If you need a moment."

The consideration in his voice nearly undoes me. How long has it been since someone truly saw my fear and acknowledged it without judgment? "I'm okay," I say, and I'm surprised to find I mean it. "Just... a little nervous."

"That's understandable." His hands come up to rest lightly on my shoulders, the weight comforting. "But remember, Lydia—it's just us. The same men who've been getting to know you all this time. Nothing has changed."

Except everything has changed. I've spent so long hiding this part of myself that revealing it feels like stepping naked into a blizzard. Yet his calm confidence steadies me. "I know," I say, meeting his gaze. "Thank you."

Lucian's eyes soften further. His thumbs trace small, soothing circles over the tops of my shoulders. "You never have to thank me for respecting your boundaries, Lydia. That's the bare minimum you deserve." He pauses, head tilting slightly. "Though I will say... your full natural scent is lovely."

The compliment, finally spoken aloud, sends heat rushing to my face. "Oh," I breathe, the single syllable barely audible.

"Like lavender after a summer rain," he continues, his voice dropping lower. "Delicate but distinct. Perfect. I know your blockers had worn off a little bit last time you were here…but to fully get to smell your scent is very different. "

I duck my head, overwhelmed by the simple praise. "I—thank you."

"Now I'm making you uncomfortable," he says, a hint of regret coloring his tone. "Forgive me."

"No," I say quickly, looking back up at him. "It's not that. I'm just... not used to it. To being seen—smelled—like this."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Well," he says gently, "thank you for trusting us enough to let us see you. It means more than you know."

The sincerity in his voice catches in my chest like a hook, tugging at something deep and tender. "I'm trying," I admit. "To trust. It doesn't come easily."

"The best things rarely do." His hands slide from my shoulders down my arms, a brief caress before he steps back, creating space between us. "Ready to continue?"

I nod, drawing strength from his steady presence. As we resume walking, the hallway opens up to reveal the kitchen at last—a large, warm space with gleaming countertops and modern appliances that somehow still manages to feel homey. The smells intensify—garlic and herbs, the yeasty aroma of fresh bread, something sweet bubbling on the stove.

And there they are: Elias at the stove, his back to us as he stirs something in a large pot; Finn chopping vegetables at a cutting board, his movements precise and methodical; Soren perched on a stool at the island, a glass of red wine in his hand as he regales them with some story, his hands gesturing dramatically in the air.

None of them have noticed us yet, and for a precious moment, I get to observe them uninhibited—these men who have, somehow, carved spaces for themselves in my carefully guarded heart. The ease between them speaks of years of shared life, of trust built through countless moments large and small. They move around each other with the unconscious grace of people who know exactly where the others will be.

It's beautiful. It's terrifying. It's everything I've both feared and longed for.

Lucian's hand finds the small of my back again, a gentle nudge forward. "Shall we?" he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

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