Page 7 of Lavender and Honey

"Anytime," she said, her voice softening. "Take care, Lydia. And don't forget to live a little. I can tell you don‘t want to talk a lot so I can try again later."

I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. Live a little. The words echoed in my mind, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of me longed to embrace that idea, to step out of the protective cocoon I'd built around myself. But another part, the part still raw from past wounds, recoiled at the thought.

"I'll try…and thank you for always being there.," I whispered, more to myself than to Avery. As I ended the call, my gaze drifted to the window, where the bustling street outside seemed to mock my self-imposed isolation. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it might be like to truly participate in that world again, to let down my carefully constructed walls.

Chapter Four

The morning light filtered through my kitchen curtains, casting a warm glow on the small table where I sat alone. My fingers hovered over the empty plate, lingering as if they might find solace in the porcelain that had cradled my solitary meal. I pushed it away, the clink of ceramic against wood too loud in the quiet room.

My gaze drifted, unbidden, to the two innocuous containers beside the plate – one was a jar of scent blocker cream, the other a bottle of suppressant pills. They were my silent guardians against a world that demanded more of me than I was willing to give.

I reached for the jar first, steeling myself against the familiar reluctance that knotted my stomach. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and I dabbed a bit of the cream onto my fingertips. It felt like betrayal every time, smothering the essence of who I was beneath a layer of chemical indifference.

"Is this really the price of peace?" I whispered to no one, rubbing the cream into the tender skin of my neck. My scent– the truest expression of my Omega identity– would remain locked away, unacknowledged and unclaimed. It burned, more than just the rawness of my overused glands; it stung in the hollows of my being.

"Freedom comes at such a peculiar cost," I mused aloud, staring at the now empty jar. I just needed to make it to Monday. Weekends tended to be busy so my ‘weekend’ days, meaning Monday was my day off.

I took a deep breath as I hesitated before picking up the suppressant pills, their small, oval shapes deceptively benign. With a resigned sigh, I tossed them back, chasing the bitterness down with a gulp of water that did little to wash away the taste or the heaviness that settled in my chest.

"Lydia, what are you doing to yourself?" The question hung in the air, posed by the part of me still clinging to the hope of something more, something real. But the answer was always the same: survival. Nothing more, nothing less.

I rose from the chair, the list of errands in my head growing with each step. A trip to a neighboring town loomed over me like an uninvited guest, reminding me of the limits of where I had left. The traditional views cast long shadows that many of us couldn't escape.

"Perhaps a new brand altogether," I murmured, and moved to the sink, turning it on. I was considering the possibility as I rinsed my fingertips under the tap. The water washed away the remnants of cream, but not the lingering tightness of my skin or the heaviness in my heart. It might do me good to see other Omegas, to witness lives uninterrupted by the constraints of my own choices.

"Monday, then," I decided, muttering to myself, drying my hands on a dishtowel as I brushed off the lingering discomfort asI gathered up my bag and keys. Stepping out into the brightening day, I was greeted by the smell of pine from the trees and different kinds of flowers that grew in the valley in abundance. I loved walking to the store on mornings like this, a light breeze and the quiet of nature around me.

My art store stood quietly on the main street, its windows showcasing a world of color and potential. I unlocked the door, the familiar jingle of the bell signaling the start of another day. Inside, the scent of paint and fresh canvas enveloped me like a comforting embrace. Here, among the neatly lined brushes and vibrant pigments, I found solace— a respite from the complexities of pack politics and the weight of my hidden truth.

"Today will be uneventful," I assured myself, smoothing down the fabric of my loose blouse, hoping the day would unfold as simply and predictably as the rows of pastels and watercolors before me. I sought nothing more than the quiet rhythm of tasks and the occasional customer seeking to capture beauty on canvas. With one last glance around, ensuring everything was in its perfect place, I retreated behind the counter. The register sat silent, awaiting the first sale of the day, while outside, the streets slowly came to life. It didn’t take long for the sound of the bell to pull me from my daydreams.

I smiled as a figure came through the door, but seeing who stood there almost made my smile fall off my face. Elias stood on the threshold, the morning light framing him like a familiar painting I hadn't realized I'd memorized.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to pause— my breath caught in my throat, my fingers tightening imperceptibly on the counter's edge. Then I smoothed out the crease in my apron, reclaiming the composure that usually clung to me as closely as the scent blockers did to my skin.

Elias glanced my way, acknowledging my presence with a nod, before he turned his attention to the rows of art supplies.His movements were unhindered by hesitation, the sureness in his step speaking of someone who understood the value of each brush and pigment. He navigated the aisles with an ease that suggested familiarity, though I knew he'd never stepped foot here before today. I watched, if only for a moment, as he surveyed the stock. The rolled up sleeves of his button down revealed forearms marked with faint scars— reminders of hard work and dedication in the kitchen, no doubt. His presence filled the space differently than anyone else's, a warm energy that seemed at odds with the cool, quiet calm of my shop.

"Looking for anything in particular?" I found myself asking, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest.

Elias looked up from the paints, his hazel eyes meeting mine, and there was a depth to them that suggested he saw more than just the surface of things. "Just exploring what you've got," he replied, his tone carrying the soft cadence of curiosity. "There's always something new to discover, isn't there?"

I nodded, holding his gaze for a fraction longer than necessary. "There is," I agreed, and in that exchange, I couldn't help but feel that we weren't just talking about art supplies anymore…but I chose to ignore it for now.

As I was going to say something, the sound of a phone ringing echoed through the room. Elias gave me a small smile, before grabbing his phone out of his back pocket. He glanced at it and then let a hum leave his lips.

“It seems my Alpha needs some colors. He just ran out of some for a project he was doing.” Elias told me, typing out something on the phone before putting the phone back in his back pocket as his attention was fully back on me.

“Do you know what colors and the kind of paint he needed?” I asked, comfortable with having paint to talk about. I knew what I could talk about with this, but when left with open ended conversation I felt so awkward.

“He needs acrylic paint,” Elias told me as he glanced around the store. I moved quickly as I gave him a smile.

"Right this way," I said, motioning toward the aisle bathed in the soft glow of morning light filtering through the front windows. The rows of paints stood like color coded soldiers, waiting for their next artistic mission. I led him past the vibrant array of hues, my steps hesitant but purposeful.

“Do you know the color names… or just what they look like?” I asked, trying to get as much information so I could get him what he needed.

"Deep blues and warm earth tones," Elias said, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet space between us.

"Here we have Ultramarine, Prussian Blue, Burnt Sienna..." I trailed off as I pointed to each tube, my voice barely above a whisper. It felt oddly intimate, sharing this corner of my world with him. I may not know him that well, but the connection there that I seem to have with him makes my heart skip a beat.

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