28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
S leep came eventually, though fitfully. My dreams were a jumbled mess of faces and flowers—blood-splattered petals and syringes hidden among stems. I woke several times, heart racing, only to burrow deeper into my nest until exhaustion pulled me under once more.
When morning finally arrived, sunlight streaming through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, I felt oddly hollow—rested but unsettled. The events of the previous evening played through my mind as I showered and dressed in comfortable clothes suitable for flower arranging. Gabriel's arm around me, the solid warmth of his shoulder beneath my cheek, the easy acceptance of the others... it all felt like a dangerous comfort I couldn't afford.
I braided my damp hair into a simple plait and padded barefoot into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee and the muffled sound of voices.
Theo was perched at the island, a tablet in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. He looked up when I entered, his eyes scanning me quickly, clinically, but with a flicker of concern that was easy to miss if you didn’t know him.
"Morning," he said, voice clear, telling me he has been awake for awhile.
"Morning," I echoed, crossing to the counter. I poured myself a mug of coffee, the bitter scent already working to shake off the remnants of sleep and uneasy dreams.
"You sleep at all?" Theo asked, setting his tablet down, his full attention now on me.
I sipped from the mug and gave a shrug. "Enough to function. Barely."
He nodded slowly, a frown on his lips, "Dreams?"
"Yeah," I muttered, pulling my mug tighter to my chest. "My brain decided to host a horror movie marathon without my consent. Flowers, blood, and someone whispering things I couldn't understand. Super restful."
Theo tilted his head, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, "Any recurring elements? Patterns?"
"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee?" I asked with amusement, clear in my voice, as I raised an eyebrow at him.
Theo's lips quirked into something almost resembling a smile. "Not psychoanalysis. Professional curiosity."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" I took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through me. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't think my dreams have any hidden messages. Just garden-variety trauma response."
"There's nothing garden-variety about trauma," Theo replied, his tone softening. "Each person processes differently."
I sighed, setting my mug down on the counter. "Well, my brain decided to process by showing me flowers drowning in blood, so I think I'll stick with caffeine and denial this morning."
"A perfectly valid coping mechanism," Theo said, adjusting his glasses. "In the short term."
Before I could respond, Dakota entered the kitchen, his hair damp from a shower and his expression as guarded as ever. He nodded in my direction, a brief acknowledgment before making a beeline for the coffee pot.
"Morning," I offered, watching as he filled a mug with practiced efficiency.
"Morning," he replied, voice gruff with sleep or perhaps just his natural state. "Flowers are arriving at noon. I'll be heading out around eleven to pick them up."
"Thank you," I said, genuinely appreciative. "For going to get them, I mean. I know you probably have more important things to do."
Dakota took a long sip of his coffee before meeting my eyes. "Keeping you working is important. Keeps your mind occupied." His bluntness was refreshing in its own way—no sugar-coating, just practical concern.
"That obvious, huh?" I asked, running my finger along the rim of my mug.
"Your scent changes when you're anxious,” Dakota said matter-of-factly, reaching past me for the sugar bowl. "Gets sharper, like those flowers after a frost."
I blinked, surprised by his accurate assessment. Most people couldn't detect such subtle scent changes, especially in someone they'd only known for a few days. "That's... unusually perceptive."
Dakota shrugged, stirring sugar into his coffee with more care than seemed necessary, “Cop….enough said.” He then took a long drink of his coffee, making me look over to Theo.
Theo gave a small nod. "Scent detection is part of our training. Dakota has the most sensitive nose among us."
Dakota shot Theo a look that clearly said he hadn't wanted that information shared, but didn't contradict him. Instead, he leaned against the counter, assessing me with those dark, penetrating eyes.
"You should eat something," he said after a moment. "Greenhouse is all set up. Gabriel made sure everything was ready last night."
"He did?" I asked, surprised by this detail. "When?"
"After you went to bed," Theo supplied, returning to his tablet. "He spent approximately two hours arranging the workbenches and organizing supplies according to the diagram I provided."
I felt a flush of warmth at the thought of Gabriel meticulously preparing the greenhouse for me while I slept.
“He didn’t have to do that,” I murmured, not really sure who I was saying it to—myself, maybe. My thumb rubbed the side of my mug, the ceramic warm beneath my fingers, but it didn’t reach the chill sitting beneath my skin.
“He chose to,” Theo said without looking up, his tone even. “It was practical. Easier to prep last night while things were quiet.” He tapped something on his tablet screen, the soft clicking of his stylus punctuating the silence. Whatever he was working on looked like a spreadsheet crossed with a murder board—efficient and mildly threatening.
“Efficiency,” I echoed, mostly to fill the space. “Right.”
“Gabriel prefers structure,” Theo added, eyes still scanning his screen. “It minimizes variables.”
Dakota gave a short, noncommittal grunt that might’ve meant agreement. He was leaning against the far counter, arms folded, gaze flicking between us. If he had thoughts about Gabriel’s late-night greenhouse setup, he kept them to himself.
I opened my mouth to say something—what, I wasn’t sure—but the sound of quiet footsteps approaching down the hall cut me off. Measured. Steady. I recognized them instantly.
Gabriel entered the kitchen, looking freshly showered. His blonde hair was still damp, curling faintly near his temples, and he wore a charcoal long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the tendons in his forearms. He moved with quiet, deliberate efficiency, like everything around him was something he might have to restrain or disarm at a moment’s notice.
His eyes passed over the room, a brief sweep. “Morning,” he said evenly.
“Morning,” Theo replied without glancing up. Dakota gave a grunt that passed for a greeting.
“Morning,” I echoed, trying not to sound like I was still stuck inside my own head.
Gabriel crossed to the coffee pot, filled a mug with the kind of focus some people reserved for surgery, and took a sip—black, no sugar, no hesitation. Of course.
“You heading to the greenhouse?” he asked after a beat, setting the mug down on the counter.
“Yeah,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Figured I’d get a head start before the delivery. Make sure everything’s in working order.”
"Theo mentioned you set everything up last night," I said, watching Gabriel's expression. "You didn't have to do that."
Gabriel took another sip of coffee, his blue eyes meeting mine over the rim of his mug. "I wanted to make sure you had what you needed." Something in his tone made it clear this wasn't just about flowers and arranging supplies.
I nodded, understanding the unspoken message. "Well... thank you."
"The Sullivan wedding is important to you," he said simply. "Therefore, it's important to us."
The way he said "us"—like I was already included in their circle, their pack—sent an unexpected flutter through my chest. I took another sip of coffee to hide whatever might be showing on my face.
The moment stretched between us, a thread of understanding that felt both tenuous and unbreakable. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. "I should get to the greenhouse. I want to make sure everything's organized."
"I'll walk with you," Gabriel offered, picking up his mug. "I want to make sure the temperature controls are working properly."
"I can check that myself," I said, perhaps too quickly. His nearness felt both comforting and dangerous this morning, especially after falling asleep against him last night.
"I know you can," Gabriel replied, his voice calm. "But the system can be temperamental. It hasn't been used regularly in years."
I nodded, unable to argue with his logic. "Alright."
As we left the kitchen, I felt Dakota's eyes following us, his expression unreadable. Theo remained absorbed in his tablet, but I could sense his attention shift briefly as we passed, a flicker of awareness that made me wonder what silent communication was passing between the Alphas.
I could sense his attention shift briefly as we passed, a flicker of awareness that made me wonder what silent communication was passing between the Alphas.
Gabriel and I walked in comfortable silence down the hallway, the morning light casting long shadows across the polished wood floors. I was acutely aware of him beside me—his steady presence, the subtle heat radiating from his body, the clean scent of his skin mingling with the deeper notes of his Alpha pheromones. It was distracting in a way I wasn't prepared to acknowledge.
When we reached the back door leading to the garden, Gabriel paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching my face.
I considered deflecting, but something in his expression made me answer honestly. "Not well. Dreams."
He nodded, understanding without needing details. "Your scent is... unsettled this morning."
I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "Is that your way of saying I smell bad?"
"No," Gabriel said, his voice softening. "Just different. Stressed. Worried." He paused, then added, "You don't have to put on a brave face for us, Vivian. Not after everything you've been through."
Something in his words—the gentle understanding, perhaps, or the permission to be vulnerable—made my throat tighten unexpectedly. I swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden pressure behind my eyes.
"I'm fine," I said automatically, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Just need to get to work. That will help."
Gabriel didn’t press me further, just inclined his head slightly and opened the door. Cool morning air rushed in, scented with dew and fresh earth. I stepped out first and Gabriel followed, keeping pace a step behind as we moved down the walkway. He didn’t speak, but I could feel the weight of his gaze as I reached for the door and pushed it open. Warmth met us immediately, the temperature already rising inside from the early sun and the heating systems humming to life.
I paused just inside, breathing in the scent of damp soil, green things, and metal—irrigation lines and aging copper trays. The space was pristine. Organized. Everything where I would’ve put it myself.
The counters were cleared, trays stacked by size, tools hung on newly installed hooks along the far wall. Even the flower buckets had been scrubbed and sorted by height. I crossed to the center table, fingers brushing over the polished wood. A deep tension I hadn’t realized I was holding started to unwind in my chest.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” I murmured. “Everything really is in order.”
Gabriel stepped up beside me, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the space. “Let me know if anything’s missing or not functioning. We’ll get it fixed.”
The we caught in my ears again. Steady, unquestioning. As if there had never been an option where I was doing this alone. I opened one of the drawers. Clean shears. Fresh ribbons. Even extra gloves. It felt… too much. Too considerate.
“You didn’t have to go this far,” I said, quieter now. “Really.”
Gabriel glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got deadlines. Stress compromises focus. This setup saves you time.”
Of course. Practical. Efficient. All business.
But still.
I nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear again, more to keep my hands busy than anything else. “Then... thank you. For the efficiency.”
He gave a short nod, then crossed to the panel near the door. He tapped a few buttons, adjusting the thermostat and checking the sensors. “Temperature’s stable. Humidity is climbing but within acceptable range.”
I moved to the far end of the greenhouse where the delivery buckets would be staged. The space was clean, ready for flowers I hadn’t even seen yet. The work would be intense, fast-paced. Perfect. I needed it.
Gabriel’s voice cut softly through the quiet. “Let us know if you need coverage inside today. You’ve been pushing hard.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, turning to look at him. “I need this. The normalcy.”
He studied me for a moment, then nodded once more. “We’ll be close if anything comes up.”
With that, he stepped back, as if recognizing the boundary between help and hovering. He didn’t linger. Just quiet reassurance in the shape of readiness. I respected that. Needed that, even.
As he turned to go, I caught the faintest twitch of his lips—less a smile, more a flicker of acknowledgment—and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone, finally, I exhaled deeply and reached for the first tray of florist wire, letting the silence of the greenhouse settle around me.