Page 78 of Lavender and Honey

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the mingled scents of food and pack and my own unleashed lavender. "Yes," I whisper, gathering my courage like scattered beads on a string.

We step into the kitchen together, the change in flooring—hardwood to tile—making our footsteps echo slightly. Soren notices us first, his animated storytelling faltering mid-sentence as his purple eyes land on me. His nostrils flare visibly, and something flashes across his face—surprise followed quickly by delight.

"Well, look who's finally here," he says, his voice carrying a hint of awe beneath the teasing tone.

At his words, both Elias and Finn turn. The kitchen falls instantly, utterly silent. Three pairs of eyes widen almost comically as my unblocked scent reaches them, hanging in the air like a confession. Elias's spoon freezes halfway to his lips, and Finn's knife stills against the cutting board.

For one endless moment, no one moves. No one speaks. We exist in a bubble of suspended time, my heart pounding so loudly I'm certain they can all hear it. My scent—my true, unfiltered self—fills the space between us, impossible to ignore, impossible to take back.

The air crackles with unspoken recognition, with the weight of what I've chosen to share. Their expressions shift in subtle ways—eyes darkening, postures straightening, faces softening. I feel naked beneath their gaze, exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothing and everything to do with the invisible barrier I've lowered between us.

My hand finds Lucian's where it rests at my side, fingers gripping his like a lifeline as I stand at the edge of this new precipice, waiting to fall or fly.

Chapter Forty-Seven

The moment stretches, elastic and taut with possibility. My lavender scent hangs in the air between us, unmistakable now without the chemical mask of blockers to dilute it. I watch as it affects each of them differently—Soren's pupils dilating until the purple of his irises is nearly eclipsed, Finn's hands tightening around the knife handle until his knuckles pale, Elias's lips parting slightly as if to better taste the air. None of them move, as if breaking the stillness might shatter something precious and new.

Lucian's cough slices through the silence, sharp and deliberate. My fingers still grip his, and I fee,l rather than see him straighten beside me, his presence a steady anchor in the moment of quiet chaos.

"As you can see," he says, his voice carrying a forced casualness that nonetheless breaks the spell, "Lydia has arrived." The simple statement acts as a release valve. Soren is the first to recover, sliding from his stool with fluid graceand approaching me with that familiar, mischievous grin that somehow seems brighter now, more genuine.

"About time," he says, stopping just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes never leave mine, though I see how his nostrils flare subtly with each breath. "We were beginning to think you'd stood us up."

"Traffic," I lie, the word stumbling from my lips. We both know there's hardly any traffic in Haven's Rest, especially on a Monday evening, but he accepts the excuse with a nod.

"Well, you're here now," Soren says, then leans in to press a light kiss to my cheek. The contact is brief but electric, his lips lingering a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary. When he pulls back, his eyes have darkened further, his usual playfulness temporarily submerged beneath something more primal. "And that's what matters."

Finn sets his knife down carefully, wiping his hands on a towel before approaching. His movements are measured, deliberate, as if he's consciously controlling each muscle. "Good to see you, Lydia," he says, his deep voice slightly rougher than usual. He doesn't kiss my cheek as Soren did, instead patting my head.

. The simple touch sends warmth spiraling through my body. "The stars were clear last night," he says, a seemingly random observation that nevertheless carries meaning between us—a reminder of our night beneath the cosmos. "I thought of you."

"I looked up," I tell him, a small confession that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He let his hand drop and took a step back. Only Elias remains frozen in place, the wooden spoon still suspended in his grip. His chest rises and falls with slightly too-rapid breaths, and a faint flush has crept up his neck to stain his cheeks. Of all of them, he seems the most affected, perhaps because as a fellow Omega, he's more attuned to the nuances of my scent.

"Elias?" Lucian prompts gently, a hint of concern in his tone.

The sound of his name seems to snap Elias from his trance. He sets the spoon down with a clatter and crosses the kitchen in quick strides. "Lydia," he breathes, stopping just short of touching me. "You're—" He cuts himself off, swallowing visibly.

I know what he was about to say. You're not wearing blockers. You're letting us smell you. You're trusting us. Instead, he simply smiles, the expression transforming his face with a joy so pure it makes my heart stutter.

"You're here," he finishes, echoing Lucian's earlier greeting. "And dinner's almost ready. Perfect timing…I got too excited to wait for you to get here so most of it is done." The ordinariness of the statement, the careful way he skirts any mention of my scent, fills me with gratitude so acute it burns behind my eyes. They're all trying so hard to give me this—to accept my offering without making me uncomfortable, to let the moment be significant without drowning me in its weight.

"Something smells amazing," I say, deliberately keeping my tone light despite the double meaning that hangs unspoken.

Elias's smile widens, a flash of understanding passing between us. "Homemade pasta with a roasted garlic and herb sauce," he explains, transitioning smoothly into the safer topic of food. "And fresh bread, of course. Oh, and I made that raspberry tart you liked so much last time for dessert."

"You remembered," I murmur, touched by the small detail.

"Of course I did," Elias says simply, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to catalogue my preferences, to store them away for future reference. He reaches out finally, his fingers brushing my arm in a touch so gentle it's barely there. "Why don't you get comfortable? I just need to finish up a few things."

They're all being so careful, I realize. Treating me like something delicate and precious, giving me the space to retreat if this becomes too much. The consideration warms me fromwithin, easing the last tendrils of anxiety that had coiled around my spine.

"Actually," I say, surprising myself, "I'd love to help. If that's okay."

Relief flashes across Elias's face, as if I've given him exactly what he needed. "More than okay," he assures me. "You can help Finn with the salad. He's been massacring those poor tomatoes for the past ten minutes."

"I have not," Finn protests, though his lips twitch with suppressed amusement. "Some of us just don't have your culinary perfectionism."

"It's not perfectionism if you're simply doing it correctly," Elias counters, the familiar banter easing the remaining tension in the room.

---