Page 79 of Lavender and Honey

Soren chuckles, returning to his stool at the island. "And there they go again," he says to me with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "This is why we can never have nice dinner parties. These two argue about the proper way to boil water."

"There is a proper way," Elias insists, turning back to his sauce with feigned indignation. "Just because some people can't be bothered to learn it—"

"Oh, here we go," Finn groans, but his eyes sparkle with fondness as he retakes his position at the cutting board. He gestures for me to join him, sliding a clean knife and a cucumber my way. "Rescue me from this culinary lecture, Lydia. Show me your vegetable-chopping prowess."

I move to stand beside him, appreciating the way he's given me a task, something concrete to focus on while I adjust to this new dynamic. As I take up the knife, I notice the subtle shifts in the room—the way they all position themselves to maintain a respectful distance while still keeping me in their sight lines, the way their eyes flicker to me when they think I'm not looking.

Despite their careful casualness, I'm acutely aware of how my scent affects them. Soren's usual lounging posture has a new tension to it, his movements more controlled than his typical restless energy would suggest. Finn stands slightly straighter beside me, his breathing measured and deep. Elias moves through his cooking routine with hyperawareness, his body angling toward me even when his attention is on the stove. And Lucian, who has positioned himself against the counter where he can see all of us, watches with the focused attention of a guardian, his steel-gray eyes rarely leaving me for long.

It should make me uncomfortable, this heightened awareness. Instead, I find it oddly affirming. My scent—my true self—matters to them. It affects them. After so long hiding behind chemical barriers, there's a strange power in being seen, really seen, for who I am.

"So," Soren says, swirling the wine in his glass, "how was your day, Lydia?”

The question is so normal, so deliberately ordinary, that I can't help but smile. "I ended up opening the store for a little bit because Mrs. Hernadez called me on Sunday asking me to see if I would be willing to open for a little bit ," I reply, slicing the cucumber into thin, even rounds. “ Mrs. Hernandez's granddaughter is apparently showing real talent with watercolors. She needed more supplies for a project of some kind. ."

"That's the one who did the landscape of the town square?" Finn asks, proving he's been listening to my stories all along.

I nod, pleased that he remembered. "She's only twelve, but she has a wonderful eye for color."

"Takes one to know one," Elias chimes in from the stove, glancing over his shoulder with a warm smile. "You should mentor her, Lydia. Share your expertise."

The suggestion catches me off guard. "I'm not sure I'd be any good at teaching," I admit, focusing intently on my cucumber slices.

"Nonsense," Lucian says, his voice carrying that quiet authority that brooks no argument. "You'd be an excellent teacher. Patient, knowledgeable, insightful."

I look up, meeting his steady gaze. "You think so?"

"I know so," he replies simply, and the confidence in his voice makes something unfurl in my chest, a tentative belief in myself that I've rarely allowed.

"Maybe," I concede, and am rewarded with approving smiles from all four men.The conversation flows from there, meandering through topics both significant and trivial. Soren regales us with a story about a customer at the market who insisted on sampling every single one of Elias's preserves before buying the exact one Elias had recommended in the first place. Finn mentions progress on a new woodcarving project, his eyes lighting up as he describes the way the grain of the wood dictates the final shape. Lucian, in his quiet way, shares news about a community garden project he's helping to organize.

All the while, I continue chopping vegetables for the salad, my movements growing more relaxed as the initial intensity of the moment fades. My scent still permeates the kitchen, but it's becoming part of the background now, blending with the aromas of cooking food and the men's own unique essences. The nervous flutter in my stomach has settled into a pleasant warmth that spreads through my limbs.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel completely present in my own skin. Not hiding, not apologizing, just... being. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once, this new vulnerability. But as I glance around at these four men—at the careful consideration in their eyes, the genuine joy in theirsmiles—I think that maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk after all.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The tension in the kitchen slowly dissolves like sugar in hot tea, leaving behind a sweetness that catches me off guard. My lavender scent lingers in the air, no longer the shocking declaration it was moments ago, but simply another note in the complex harmony of this shared space. I stand with knife in hand, the cucumber half-sliced before me, acutely aware of how domestic this moment is—how far removed from the careful isolation I've maintained for so long.

"Perfect slices," Finn murmurs beside me, his arm occasionally brushing mine as he works on quartering cherry tomatoes. Each brief contact sends a ripple of awareness through me, but the panic I might have expected doesn't materialize. Instead, there's a strange comfort in his proximity, in the steady rhythm of his movements.

From the stove, Elias turns and flashes me a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Lydia, would you like to helpme taste-test the sauce? I think it needs... something, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

I set down my knife, wiping my hands on a nearby towel. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to judge your culinary creations," I demur, but my feet are already carrying me toward him.

"Nonsense," Elias says, lifting a wooden spoon to his lips and blowing gently to cool the rich, red sauce. "Everyone's qualified to know what tastes good to them." He offers me the spoon, his hazel eyes warm with encouragement.

I lean forward, aware of four sets of eyes tracking my movement. The sauce is velvety and complex, a burst of tomato underscored by garlic and herbs, with a hint of sweetness balancing the acidity. I close my eyes involuntarily, savoring the flavor.

"It's delicious," I say, opening my eyes to find Elias watching me with an intensity that makes my cheeks warm. "But maybe a touch more salt? And something bright—lemon zest, perhaps?"

Elias's face lights up like I've presented him with some precious gift rather than a simple suggestion. "Yes! That's exactly it. The acid from the lemon will cut through the richness." He turns to the counter, reaching for a small bowl of yellow fruit. "I knew I set these out for a reason."

"Our Omega has quite the palate," Soren comments from his perch, raising his wine glass in a mock toast. "Better watch out, Elias. You might have competition in the kitchen."

Our Omega. The casual possessive makes something flutter in my chest—not fear, but a strange, tentative pleasure. I duck my head, focusing on the lemon Elias is now zesting directly into the pot.

"Hardly," I murmur. "I can barely boil water without having to start over."

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