Page 58 of Wisteria and Cloves

Miles smiled, his expression warm with approval. "Those are important insights, Lilianna. They tell you something about what you value in relationships."

I finished the last spoonful of stew, my body feeling more grounded now that I'd eaten. "What about you? What makes you feel cared for?"

The question seemed to surprise him, his green eyes widening slightly before his expression softened. "Me? I respond most to quality time and physical touch. Having someone sit with me in the garden while I work, or a casual hand on my shoulder—those small connections mean everything to me."

I nodded, understanding flooding through me. "Is that why you stayed while I ate? Not just to keep me company, but because spending time together matters to you?"

Miles's cheeks colored slightly, a boyish smile crossing his features. "Guilty as charged. Though I genuinely wanted to make sure you were okay too." He stood, stretching his arms above his head. "But I should let you rest. Tomorrow's a new day, and there's no rush to do anything you're not ready for."

"Miles?" I called as he reached for the empty tray. "Thank you. For bringing me dinner, for explaining about love languages, for... for not making me feel broken."

His expression grew tender, and for a moment I thought he might reach out to touch my hand. Instead, he simply nodded. "You're not broken, Lilianna. You're healing. There's a difference."

After Miles left with the empty tray, I found myself sitting in the growing twilight, the kintsugi stone warm in my palm. The conversation had stirred something in me—a curiosity aboutmyself that felt both foreign and exciting. For the first time in my life, someone had asked me to consider what I needed, what made me feel valued.

I moved to the window, watching the last light fade from the sky. The garden below was peaceful in the gathering darkness, and I could see warm light spilling from the kitchen windows. The house felt alive around me, full of people who were learning to care about me in ways I was only beginning to understand.

Chapter Twenty-One

Miles

Icarried the empty tray downstairs, my mind still on Lilianna's thoughtful questions about love languages and care. The kitchen was warm and bright when I entered, the others gathered around the island finishing their own meals.

"How is she?" Christopher asked immediately, setting down his spoon.

"Better," I replied, placing the empty tray on the counter. "She ate everything and seemed more settled. The sleep did her good."

Julian's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Did she say anything about what happened?"

"Not directly," I admitted, leaning against the counter. "But we had a good conversation about different ways people expressand receive care. She's starting to ask questions about herself—what she needs, what makes her feel valued."

Nicolaus looked up from his tablet, his analytical gaze sharpening with interest. "That's significant progress. Self-awareness is the foundation of healing."

"And the kintsugi stone?" Christopher asked, his gray eyes hopeful. "Did she mention it?"

"She had it in her pocket," I confirmed, smiling at the relief that flooded Christopher's face. "She showed it to me, asked me about kintsugi. I think your metaphor resonated deeply with her."

"Good," Christopher murmured, his expression softening. "I wasn't sure if it would seem too heavy-handed."

"It was perfect," I assured him, helping myself to a glass of water. "She's carrying it with her—that's a powerful sign of how much it means to her."

Julian nodded thoughtfully, running a finger around the rim of his coffee mug. "What about tomorrow? Should we give her more space, or would that feel like abandonment?"

"I suggested we take things at her pace," I said, settling onto a stool beside Nicolaus. "No expectations, no pressure. But I also made it clear that Christopher is still eager to teach her baking, whenever she's ready to try again."

"Absolutely," Christopher agreed, his enthusiasm immediate. "I've been researching trauma-informed teaching methods. I think a different approach might help—more emphasis on the process than the result, smaller steps with clear success markers."

Nicolaus made a note on his tablet, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "That's a sound strategy. Predictability and achievable goals create safety."

"Did she give any indication of whether she plans to join us tomorrow?" Julian asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the concern evident in his eyes.

I considered the question, thinking back to our conversation. "She didn't say specifically, but I sensed she was working through her embarrassment. The fact that she asked about love languages and what makes each of us feel cared for suggests she's thinking about deeper connection, not withdrawal."

"That's encouraging," Julian nodded, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. "Did she ask about your love language specifically?"

I smiled, remembering her genuine curiosity. "She did. It caught me off guard—I wasn't expecting her to turn the question back on me."

"What did you tell her?" Christopher asked, absently stirring his spoon in the remaining broth of his stew.

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