Page 4 of Lavender and Honey

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of ripe strawberries and the sweet tang of honey. I pulled my wide brimmed hat lower, shielding my eyes from the morning sun as I stepped into the bustling market square.

"Fresh Pie! Come get your fresh pie!" a vendor called out, his booming voice carrying over the chatter of the crowd. I clutched my canvas tote bag tighter, my knuckles white against the worn fabric. My heart raced, a staccato rhythm that seemed to echo in my ears. Three weeks. It had been three weeks since I'd last set foot in this place, and yet the vibrancy of it all hit me with the same intensity as before.

A child darted past me, giggling as he chased after a bright green balloon that had escaped his grasp. "Catch it, Momma!" he squealed, his laughter infectious. I found myself smiling despite my nerves. The joy in the air was palpable, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of my art store. For days, I'd paced those familiaraisles, debating whether to return here. My rational mind had argued against it, insisting that isolation was safer, easier. But something else, something I couldn't quite name, had drawn me back.

"Excuse me," a gentle voice interrupted my thoughts. An elderly woman smiled up at me, her eyes kind behind wire rimmed glasses. "Could you help me reach that jar of honey? These old bones aren't what they used to be."

I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Of course," I said softly, reaching up to grab the jar from the top shelf of the nearby stall. As I handed it to her, our fingers brushed, and I felt a small jolt of surprise at the contact.

"Thank you, dear," she said warmly. "It's nice to see young people helping out. Are you new to the market? I don't think I've seen you around before."

I shifted uncomfortably, my instinct to retreat conflicting with an unexpected desire to engage. "I... I've been here before," I admitted. Just not for a while." I silently thought that I didn’t know people knew each other so well, but then again, I did the same when people came to my art store.

The woman nodded sagely. "Ah, well, it's good to see you back. This place has a way of drawing people in, doesn't it? There's just something special about it."

I nodded in agreement before I could stop myself. "It is... lively," I offered, surprising myself with the hint of warmth in my voice. As the woman moved on, thanking me once again, I took a deep breath. The market swirled around me, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Children weaved through the crowd, their balloons bobbing above their heads like colorful beacons. Vendors called out their wares, their voices a melody of commerce and community. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting it all wash over me. When I opened them again, I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me. I was here. I had made thechoice to return, despite my reservations. Now, all that was left was to see where this decision would lead me.

“You got this. Nothing is going to happen. It is a normal day.” I told myself as I adjusted my hat and started to make my way deeper into the market. As I got deeper into the market I paused for a second as a familiar scent hit me first— warm, spiced honey— subtle yet unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of him, Elias, his chestnut hair gleaming in the sunlight. He stood behind his stall, arranging jars of jam with practiced ease, a light green apron accentuating the warmth in his hazel eyes.

I hesitated. I didn’t know why I came back to see him. Something about him drew me to him, but I was fighting it. I knew I was, but I didn’t know if I wanted to trust another person again. That is why I moved to this small town and kept to myself. "This is ridiculous," I muttered to myself. He's just another vendor."

But I knew that wasn't true. Elias was an Omega, like me, yet so different. While I hid behind scent blockers and wide brimmed hats, he exuded a quiet confidence that both intrigued and unsettled me. My feet carried me forward of their own accord. As I approached, Elias looked up, as if sensing my presence. His eyes met mine, and a genuine smile spread across his face.

"Lydia," Elias said, his voice carrying over the buzz of the crowd. His smile was instant, warm, and— to my reluctant amusement— genuine. "Good to see you again. I was starting to think I'd scared you off."

My heart skipped a beat at the sound of my name on his lips. I stopped a few feet from the stall, clutching the strap of my bag like a lifeline. The scent of ripe fruit and honey wafted towards me, mingling with Elias's own subtle fragrance.

"Not scared," I replied, my voice steady but quieter than I intended. "Just busy." I could feel my cheeks warming under hisgaze, and I silently cursed my body's betrayal. Why did he affect me this way?

Elias chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to vibrate through the air between us. He leaned casually against the edge of the table, his posture relaxed and open. "Busy with more painting, I'd guess. How's that going?"

My breath caught in my throat. I blinked, surprised he'd remembered such a small detail from our last encounter. Most people didn't bother to recall anything about me, let alone my hobbies. I found myself hesitating, my fingers twisting the strap of my bag as I struggled to formulate a response.

"It's going fine. Thanks," I finally managed, my voice soft and slightly uncertain. As the words left my mouth, I couldn't help but wonder why I was being so guarded. Elias's genuine interest was disarming, and I felt a strange mix of warmth and unease settling in my chest. Part of me wanted to open up, to share the vibrant worlds I created on canvas, but years of self-imposed isolation made even this small interaction feel monumental.

Elias's hazel eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Fine," he repeated, arching a brow. "That's the word people use when they don't want to talk about it. But hey, I get it. Creative types like us, we've got our secrets."

His words hit uncomfortably close to home, and I felt a flicker of panic. How could he read me so easily? I'd spent years perfecting my walls, but Elias seemed to see right through them. My heartbeat quickened, and I struggled to maintain my composure. I glanced down at the neatly arranged jars on the table, desperate to change the subject. The colorful preserves gleamed in the morning sunlight, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted tones I typically surrounded myself with. My fingers itched to capture the scene on canvas, but I pushed the urge away.

"What's the jam of the day?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I kept my gaze fixed on the jars, avoiding Elias's perceptive eyes. The bustling market faded into the background as I focused on steadying my breathing, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Oh, switching gears, I see," he teased lightly, his tone tinged with understanding rather than mockery. I risked a glance up, catching the gentle amusement in his hazel eyes. "Alright, then. Today's special is strawberry basil. Sounds weird, but it's a game changer. Want a sample?"

The unexpected combination piqued my curiosity, momentarily overriding my anxiety. "Strawberry basil?" I echoed, my brow furrowing. "How did you come up with that?"

"Sometimes the best creations come from unexpected places," Elias replied, a spark of passion lighting up his features. "Kind of like art, wouldn't you say?"

I nodded, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. Despite my reservations, I found myself drawn in by his enthusiasm. "I suppose so. Alright, I'll try it."

Elias beamed, reaching for a small wooden spoon. I watched as he carefully scooped out a tiny dollop of the vibrant red preserve, its glossy surface catching the sunlight. He extended it towards me, and I hesitated for a moment, acutely aware of the small distance between us. My heart raced as I leaned in, the sweet aroma of strawberries mingling with the fresh scent of basil. As the flavor burst across my tongue, I couldn't help but close my eyes, savoring the complex interplay of sweetness and herbal notes. It was unlike anything I'd tasted before, and for a moment, I forgot my anxieties, lost in the simple pleasure of the experience.

"Wow," I admitted, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. "That's... unexpected." The flavors lingered on my tongue, a testament to Elias's culinary skill. My mind raced, trying todissect the combination of tastes, much like I would analyze a new painting technique.

Elias's eyes crinkled with delight, his smile widening. "Good, right?" He grinned, leaning slightly closer over the stall. "Told you. So, how many jars should I pack up for you?"

I hesitated, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the strap of my canvas bag. The jam was delicious, but accepting it felt like opening a door I wasn't sure I was ready to step through. "I... I'm not sure," I stammered, glancing around the bustling market as if searching for an escape route.

Elias seemed to sense my discomfort, his expression softening. "Hey, no pressure," he said gently. "It's just jam. But I think you'd enjoy having some around for those late night painting sessions. Might spark some creativity, you know?"

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