Page 88 of Lavender and Honey

Something passes between them—a look, a subtle shift in posture—that speaks of shared satisfaction, of a goal achieved. Lucian's answering growl deepens slightly, a sound that should be intimidating but instead wraps around me like a protective cloak.

"We're glad," he says simply, the words weighted with sincerity.

Soren wriggles closer, his perpetual energy somehow contained but still present even on the edge of sleep. "Does this mean you'll stay for breakfast?”

The casual question, deliberately lightening the moment, makes me smile. "I suppose I could be persuaded," I reply, grateful for the shift away from my emotional vulnerability.

"Excellent," Soren declares, settling back with a satisfied expression. "I expect blueberry pancakes Elias. With that vanilla thing you do to the syrup."

Elias rolls his eyes, though his smile remains. "Anything else, your highness? Perhaps gold-dusted strawberries?"

"Now that you mention it..."

"Go to sleep, Soren," Finn interrupts, his tone fond despite the exasperation in his words.

"Spoilsport," Soren mumbles, but he's still smiling as he nestles deeper into the nest. The easy banter washes over me, comforting in its familiarity. My initial embarrassment has faded, replaced by a tentative acceptance. If they don't mind my purring—if they welcome it, even—perhaps I don't need to be so mortified by this instinctual expression of contentment.

I let myself relax back into the soft bedding, conscious of Lucian's warmth behind me and Elias's steady presence at my side. My purring continues, a gentle vibration that seems to synchronize with Lucian's soothing growl. The sound fills the nest, mingling with the quiet breathing of five people on the edge of sleep.

As my eyes grow heavy once more, I find myself studying each of them through drowsy lids. Elias, his features softened by the dim light, all gentle curves and warm colors. His kindness has been a constant since that first day at the market, drawing me out of my shell with patient determination. The way he looks at me—like I'm something precious, something worth waiting for—makes my heart ache in the best possible way.

Lucian, strong and steady behind me, his protective presence a wall between me and any potential threat. He notices everything, anticipates needs before they're voiced, ensures thesafety of those in his care with quiet efficiency. His rare smiles, all the more valuable for their scarcity, have begun to feel like achievements, like prizes to be treasured.

Finn, solid and grounding, his quiet nature balanced by surprising depths of passion when discussing his art or the stars. The way he shares his knowledge without condescension, the careful attention he pays to details others might miss, the gentle strength in his hands when he works with wood or guides me through an unfamiliar dance.

Soren, vibrant and unpredictable, bringing laughter into spaces that might otherwise be too serious. His playful teasing never carries an edge, his boundless energy tempered by surprising sensitivity when it matters most. The nickname he gave me—Lavender girl—spoken with such affection it transforms what could be diminutive into something like endearment.

Four men, so different from each other yet forming a cohesive whole, a system in perfect balance. And somehow, impossibly, they've made space for me within that balance. Not disrupting it, but enhancing it, as if there had been a Lydia-shaped hole in their lives that I've unknowingly filled.nThe realization steals what little breath I have left. My purring falters for a moment as the truth crashes over me like a wave breaking against the shore.

I love them.

Not just one of them—though each, in his own way, has carved a space in my heart. But all of them, together, this strange and wonderful pack that has shown me what it means to be seen, to be valued, to be cherished exactly as I am.

The thought should terrify me. A year ago—a month ago, even—it would have sent me running, retreating behind the walls I've built so carefully around my heart. But here, now, surrounded by their warmth and their scents and the gentle sounds oftheir breathing, I can't find the fear that has been my constant companion for so long.

Instead, there's only a quiet certainty, a rightness that settles into my bones like it's always belonged there. I love them. Perhaps I have since that first day with Elias at the market, when something in me recognized something in him—a possibility, a future I hadn't allowed myself to imagine.

My purring resumes, stronger now, filling the quiet room with tangible contentment. Elias's eyes, half-closed with approaching sleep, meet mine briefly. His lips curve into a smile that seems to say he understands, that he feels it too. He doesn't speak, doesn't need to. His scent tells me everything—honey-warm and sweet with affection, with something deeper that mirrors the feeling expanding in my own chest.

Lucian's arm drapes carefully over my waist, a weight that anchors rather than restrains. His growl has softened to a barely audible rumble, but I feel it against my back, a counterpoint to my purring that creates a harmony between us.

Finn's breathing has evened out, suggesting he's already drifting toward sleep, but his hand rests near mine on the blankets, close enough that I could touch him if I wanted to. The proximity is comforting, offering connection without demand.

Soren is the last one I see before my eyes grow too heavy to keep open. His usual manic energy has quieted, replaced by a rare stillness that makes him look younger, more vulnerable. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted in early sleep. Even at rest, there's something vibrant about him, like a firefly caught in a jar—dimmed but still glowing.

I let my eyes close fully, surrendering to the pull of sleep that tugs at my consciousness. The purr continues to rise from my chest, a lullaby singing me toward dreams. My last coherent thought before sleep claims me is simple, clear, and no longer frightening:

I love them, and I am home.

Chapter Fifty-Three

The realization hits me like a physical blow as I stand in my kitchen, mug of tea forgotten between my hands. The warmth seeps through the ceramic and into my fingers, but it's nothing compared to the heat blooming in my chest—an uncomfortable, insistent pressure that expands with each heartbeat. I've felt it building for weeks now, this unnamed tension whenever I'm with them, whenever I think of them. And now, staring at the text message lighting up my phone—just a simple"Good morning, Lavender girl"from Soren—I finally have a name for it. Love. I'm in love with them. All four of them.

"That's not possible," I whisper to my empty apartment, but the words fall flat against the morning silence.

I set my mug down with trembling fingers, tea sloshing over the rim and staining the counter. I don't move to wipe it away. How can this be happening? Two months ago, I barely spoke to anyone outside of necessary interactions at my shop. Twomonths ago, I was safely ensconced in my carefully constructed solitude, walls built high and strong around my heart. And now...

Now I wake each morning with their scents lingering in my memory. I catch myself smiling at nothing when I remember Elias's laughter or the way Finn's eyes crinkle at the corners when he's truly happy. I've memorized the exact shade of purple in Soren's irises and the particular timbre of Lucian's voice when he speaks only to me. I've slept in their nest, worn their clothes, let my guard down in ways I swore I never would again. And somewhere along the way, without my permission, my heart decided to lay itself bare before them.

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