Page 82 of Lavender and Honey

Something passes between them—a look, a subtle shift in posture—before Lucian speaks, his voice steady and sure. "We feel the same way," he says simply. "Having you here feels right."

"Like you've always had a place at this table," Finn adds, his green eyes sincere. "We were just waiting for you to find it."

"No pressure, though," Soren interjects, his tone lightening the moment without diminishing its significance. "We're perfectly happy to have you join us at your own pace, Lavender girl."

The nickname makes me smile through the unexpected sheen of tears. "Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for the depth of what I'm feeling, but all I can manage in the moment.

Elias's hand finds mine under the table, his fingers warm as they intertwine with my own. "Eat before it gets cold," he says gently, giving my hand a small squeeze before releasing it. "There's still dessert to come." The conversation resumes, flowing around me like a gentle river. I let it carry me, no longer fighting the current but moving with it, discovering that surrender doesn't have to mean loss. That vulnerability, in the right hands, can be its own kind of strength.

My lavender scent rises from my skin, mingling freely with theirs, no longer a secret but a declaration. Here I am, it seems to say. All of me. And their scents answer in kind—Elias's honey-warmth, Soren's spiced sandalwood, Finn's earthy pine, Lucian'srich amber. A chorus of acceptance, of welcome. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel truly seen. And in the seeing, somehow more fully myself than I've ever been.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The last morsels of Elias's raspberry tart dissolve on my tongue, leaving behind a sweet memory of summer berries and buttery crust. I set my fork down on the empty plate with a soft clink that seems to signal the end of our meal. Around the table, four pairs of eyes flicker toward me, each holding a different shade of the same affection that still feels foreign against my skin—like a sweater borrowed from someone else, comfortable but not quite mine.

"That," Soren declares, breaking the momentary silence, "was possibly the best tart I've ever had. And I'm saying that knowing it will go to Elias's head."

Elias beams, his face lit by the soft golden glow of the pendant light hanging above us. "Thank you. I used those wild blackberries that grow near the creek. They're smaller but more flavorful than the cultivated ones."

"The crust was perfect," I offer, still tasting the buttery flakes on my lips. "Exactly the right amount of sweetness to balance the tartness of the berries."

My comment earns me a look from Elias that's so full of gratitude you'd think I'd offered him the moon rather than simple praise. I'm still not used to how openly they express their emotions here, how a casual compliment can be received like a precious gift.

"So," Finn says, leaning back in his chair, his broad shoulders relaxing as he stretches slightly. "What's the plan for the rest of the evening?"

"Movie night," Lucian suggests at the exact moment Soren exclaims, "Game night!" They exchange a look across the table, Lucian's eyebrow arching in that subtle way that somehow speaks volumes, while Soren's expression turns comically affronted.

"Movies are passive," Soren argues, waving his hands with theatrical emphasis. "We've just had this amazing meal, this connection—" he gestures around the table, "—and you want to stare at a screen? Where's the interaction? The bonding experience?"

Lucian's mouth quirks at one corner. "Some of us have been interacting all day, Soren. Perhaps a quiet activity would be a nice change."

"Quiet?" Soren scoffs, pressing a hand to his chest in mock horror. "With Lydia here? Our first proper group date night? We can't waste it on just sitting around!"

My cheeks warm at being the center of his argument, though I'm not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed. Finn notices my discomfort and gently redirects.

"What would you prefer, Lydia?" he asks, his green eyes kind and attentive. "Movies or games?"

All eyes turn to me again, and I resist the urge to shrink into my chair. This is what they do, I remind myself. They ask opinions. They care about preferences. It's still jarring after years of having my thoughts dismissed or ignored.

"I..." I hesitate, weighing both options. "I haven't really done either in a while."

"All the more reason to choose games," Soren jumps in, undeterred. "Active participation. Creating memories. Laughing together."

"All the more reason for a movie," Lucian counters smoothly. "Ease back into social activities. No pressure to perform."

Elias, who has been quietly observing the debate with amusement dancing in his hazel eyes, finally joins in. "Both have their merits," he says diplomatically. "A movie allows us to relax together, maybe cuddle a bit." His eyes flick to me and away, as if checking whether the suggestion might make me uncomfortable. "Games let us interact more directly, learn more about each other."

"Exactly!" Soren latches onto the part of Elias's response that supports his position. "Lucian just wants a movie because he knows I'll crush him at Monopoly."

Lucian snorts, the sound so unexpected from his usually composed demeanor that I can't help but smile. "The last time we played Monopoly, you flipped the board when Finn bought Boardwalk."

"That was one time," Soren protests, but his eyes gleam with mischief. "And I maintain that Finn cheated."

"How does one cheat at rolling dice?" Finn asks dryly, though his lips twitch with the effort of suppressing a smile.

"I don't know, but he found a way," Soren insists, pointing an accusing finger at Finn, who merely shrugs, unperturbed by the allegation.

I watch their banter bounce back and forth, a tennis match of teasing affection. There's something mesmerizing about it, this easy way they have with each other. No barbed edges, no hidden agendas, just the comfortable ribbing of people who know each other's quirks and love them anyway.

---