Page 1 of Lavender and Honey

Chapter One

The bell above the door chimed softly as I flipped the "Closed" sign to "Open." Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching motes of dust that danced in the air like tiny stars. I inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of linseed oil and fresh canvas wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

"Good morning, little sanctuary," I murmured, running my fingers along a row of paint tubes. Their cool metal casings felt like old friends beneath my touch. I made my way to the counter, each step measured and deliberate. The wooden floorboards creaked softly underfoot, a gentle reminder that I was truly alone here. Just the way I liked it. As I settled onto the stool behind the register, my gaze swept across the store. Shelves lined with brushes stood at attention, their bristles catching the light. Canvases of various sizes leaned against the walls, blank and full of possibility. Everything is in its place, orderly and predictable.

"Another day, another dollar," I said to no one in particular, my voice barely above a whisper. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment before dissipating into the quiet. I pulled out my sketchbook, letting it fall open to a half finished drawing. My fingers itched to continue, to lose myself in the lines and shadows. But a nagging thought tugged at the edges of my mind.

Why do I keep talking to myself?

The question made me pause, pencil hovering above the page. It had become a habit over the past year, filling the silence with my own voice. A poor substitute for real conversation, but safer than the alternative.

"Because you're a coward, Lydia," I muttered, answering my own unspoken question. "Too scared to let anyone else in." The words stung, even though I was the one who had spoken them. I shook my head, trying to dispel the uncomfortable truth. My gaze drifted to the window, where I could see people passing by on the sidewalk outside. They moved in pairs or small groups, chatting and laughing. A stark contrast to my self-imposed isolation.

"It's better this way," I reassured myself, turning back to my sketchbook. "No expectations, no disappointments. Just me and my art." But even as I began to draw, a small part of me wondered if that was really true. If this sanctuary I'd built was actually a prison of my own making. The bell chimed again, startling me from my thoughts. A customer had entered, their scent muted by the subtle blockers I used in the store.

"Welcome," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. "Let me know if you need any help." As I watched the customer browse, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at their easy confidence. They moved through the world seemingly without fear, while I hid behind my counter and my carefully constructed walls. But isn't that what you wanted? a voice in my head whispered.Freedom from pack expectations? Anonymity in a town where no one knows your past?

I nodded to myself, trying to recapture that sense of relief I'd felt when I first arrived in Haven's Rest. This little art store was my haven, my escape from the chaos and drama of pack life. Here, I could just be Lydia, the quiet shopkeeper with paint stained fingers. No one needed to know I was an Omega, or anything else about my past.

"Excuse me," the customer's voice broke through my reverie. "Do you have any cadmium yellow?"

I smiled, grateful for the distraction. "Of course. Right this way." As I led them to the appropriate shelf, I pushed my doubts aside. This was the life I had chosen, and for now, it was enough. The rows of paint tubes and racks of brushes stood guard around me, sentinels protecting the peace I'd fought so hard to find.

The morning went by quicker than I expected, it was lunch. Today during the hour I lock up for lunch, I am going to the market. I had heard customers talking about it and giving recommendations multiple times. I also wanted to do something spontaneous. I usually kept to the store and home... nothing else.

As I arrived, my fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, knuckles whitening as I navigated through the sea of bodies. This market was definitely bigger than I expected it to be. I walked more into the busy market trying to take everything in.

"Fresh peaches! Get your sweet summer peaches here!" A vendor's booming voice made me flinch. I ducked my head, adjusting my scarf to cover more of my face. The rich aroma of freshly baked bread mingled with the delicate scent of wildflowers, threatening to overwhelm my senses. My heart raced as I weaved through the crowd, eyes darting from stall to stall.

"Where is that tea vendor?" I muttered to myself, scanning the colorful awnings. A group of laughing teenagers jostled past me, their carefree energy a stark reminder of my self-imposed isolation. I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden lump in my throat.

"You okay there, miss?" An elderly Beta woman touched my arm gently.

I recoiled instinctively. "Fine, thank you," I managed, forcing a tight smile.

She frowned, concern etching her weathered face. "You look a bit pale. Are you sure–"

"Really, I'm okay," I interrupted, already backing away. "Just... looking for some tea."

"Oh! You'll want Mira's stall then. Three down on the left," she offered helpfully. I nodded my thanks and hurried in the direction she'd indicated, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. Why was this so hard? It was just a simple errand, not a life or death situation. I was trying to get out more but I didn’t think it was such a good idea. As I approached Mira's stall, the enticing aroma of exotic spices and dried herbs filled the air. I allowed myself a small smile, anticipating the comfort my favorite blend would bring.

That's when I saw him. He stood behind a wooden table, his hands moving with practiced ease as he arranged jars of jewel-toned jams and loaves of crusty bread. The sunlight filtering through the market canopies caught in his chestnut hair, giving it a warm glow that reminded me of autumn leaves. I found myself transfixed, watching as he sliced a loaf for a waiting customer, his movements efficient yet graceful.

"Here you are, Mrs. Simmons," he said, his voice carrying a hint of warmth that seemed to match his appearance. "Enjoy your sourdough."

The elderly woman beamed at him. "Thank you, Elias. You're a treasure, you know that?"

He chuckled, a sound that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "You're too kind. See you next week?" As Mrs. Simmons walked away, I felt a sudden urge to disappear into the crowd. This man – Elias – had a calm presence that both drew me in and set off alarm bells in my head. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be noticing him like this.

Then it hit me – a subtle but unmistakable scent carried on the breeze. Warm, sweet, and earthy, like spiced honey. My Omega instincts stirred before I could stop them, and the realization struck me like a physical blow.

He was an Omega too. I froze, my carefully constructed walls trembling at the edges. How could this be? Another Omega, standing here in the open, interacting so freely with customers as if the world couldn't hurt him? My feet moved of their own accord, drawing me closer to his stall. The aroma of fresh bread and sweet preserves enveloped me, mingling with Elias's subtle omega scent. I found myself standing before him, my eyes fixed on a basket of pasta, unable to meet his gaze.

"Good morning," Elias said, his voice warm and inviting. I glanced up, catching the genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes. "Can I help you find something?"

My heart raced, unused to such direct interaction. I tugged at my scarf, desperately wishing I could disappear into its folds. "I..." The words stuck in my throat, foreign and clumsy. I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand rather than my growing anxiety. "The pasta. It looks fresh."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed inwardly. Of course it was fresh – everything at his stall looked impeccable. I braced myself for judgment or dismissal, but Elias's smile only grew warmer.

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