Page 50 of Wisteria and Cloves

Miles shrugged, closing the notebook with a sheepish grin. "Science gives me the foundation, but the plants tell me what they actually need. Sometimes those are different things."

I considered Miles's words, finding wisdom in them that extended beyond gardening. "That makes sense. Knowledge from books versus knowledge from experience."

"Exactly," Miles nodded, pleased by my understanding. "Books tell you tomatoes need six hours of sunlight daily, but your specific tomato plant might thrive slightly with more or less depending on a dozen factors unique to your garden."

Julian's hand rested casually on the step behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him. "Miles applies the same philosophy to people. He sees what they need beyond what conventional wisdom dictates."

Miles ducked his head, embarrassed by the compliment. "I just pay attention. Plants, people—they tell you what they need if you're willing to listen."

The morning sun had fully risen now, bathing the garden in golden light that made the dew sparkle on leaves and petals.

A comfortable silence settled between us as we watched a hummingbird dart between the flowering plants, its wings a blur of motion. There was something meditative about sitting here with these two men, neither of whom seemed to expect anything from me but my presence.

“As I said yesterday, If you want to learn to garden. Just let me know when.” Miles spoke up, breaking the silence.

"I will. I think today will just be cooking…” I paused trying to come up with the words. I wasn’t used to telling my feelings and emotions to others, “I think that will be enough excitement for me today.”

"Absolutely," Miles agreed immediately, his expression warm with understanding. "One new thing at a time is more than enough. We've got all the time in the world."

Julian nodded beside me, his presence steady and reassuring. "There's no rush, Lilianna. This isn't a race to experience everything at once."

The simple acceptance of my boundaries made something tight in my chest loosen. No disappointment, no pressure to push beyond my comfort—just acknowledgment of my needs.

"Thank you," I said softly, watching as a butterfly landed on a nearby flower.

"That's what pack is supposed to be about," Miles replied, his voice carrying a gentle certainty. "Seeing each other clearly. Supporting each other's growth without forcing it."

The word "pack" settled over me with unexpected weight. These men viewed me as part of their unit already, even though nothing was set in stone.

The back door opened again, and Christopher appeared, already dressed for the day in jeans and a soft gray t-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower. "There you all are! I thought Iheard voices out here." His face brightened when he saw me. "Good morning, Lilianna! Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you," I replied, finding it easier to meet his enthusiastic gaze than I had yesterday.

"Excellent!" Christopher bounced slightly on his toes, barely containing his energy. "I've been planning our baking lesson. I thought we could start with something simple but satisfying—maybe scones? They're forgiving if you overwork the dough a little, and there's something deeply satisfying about the way they rise in the oven."

I felt a flutter of nervousness mixed with anticipation. "That sounds perfect. Though I should warn you, I might be hopeless."

Christopher's grin widened. "Impossible. Besides, even terrible scones are better than no scones." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "We could make a sweet version—maybe with dried cranberries and orange zest—or savory with herbs from Miles's garden."

"Herbs from the garden sound lovely," I said, surprising myself with how quickly I'd made the decision.

Miles beamed at my choice. "I'll cut some fresh rosemary and thyme before you start. They'll be perfect with a basic scone recipe."

Julian stood, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll leave you to your planning while I get ready for the day," Julian said, his hand briefly touching my shoulder as he passed. "But I expect full taste-testing privileges when these scones emerge."

"As if you'd let us forget," Christopher replied with an easy laugh. "You always materialize the moment baked goods appear."

"It's a gift," Julian said solemnly, though his eyes danced with humor. "An innate talent for appearing precisely when food is ready."

I found myself smiling at their comfortable banter, this easy intimacy that seemed to flow between them without effort. "I should probably change before we start baking," I said, glancing down at my star-patterned pajamas.

"Probably wise," Christopher agreed, his gray eyes warm with amusement. "Though I've been known to bake in stranger attire. There was an unfortunate incident with a onesie and sourdough starter at two in the morning that we don't discuss in polite company."

Miles snorted into his coffee. "The kitchen looked like a crime scene. Flour handprints everywhere, including the ceiling."

I laughed at the mental image, the sound coming more naturally now. "I'll aim for something more practical, then. Though I'm not sure what's appropriate for baking..."

"Anything comfortable that you don't mind getting dirty," Christopher advised. "Baking is messy business when done properly."

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