29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
T he greenhouse was the one place in the world that felt entirely mine.
Warm, fragrant air wrapped around me like a familiar blanket, the scent of damp soil, citrusy eucalyptus, and tender petals clinging to everything. My shears clicked rhythmically as I trimmed stems and sorted vases. The hum of the heater blended with the distant chirp of birds outside the glass, the morning sun throwing golden light across the tables.
Here, the world made sense. Flowers didn’t lie. They bloomed or they didn’t. They needed care, patience, time. All things I could give.
So when the door creaked open, I flinched—not because I was afraid, but because peace never lasted long these days.
I turned, half-expecting Gabriel with another request, or Dakota with that quiet, brooding tension he carried like a shadow. But instead, it was Lucas.
He stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to come in, shoulders broad beneath a soft gray hoodie, curls a little tousled like he’d run his hands through them more than once.
“Oh,” I said, lowering my shears. “Not who I expected.”
Lucas gave a small, sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Dakota’s out getting the flower delivery. Figured I’d keep you company until he gets back.”
I tilted my head. “Company or surveillance?”
His smile widened, boyish and crooked. “Little of both, maybe. I promise I won’t knock over anything... unless it attacks first.”
I snorted despite myself and motioned him in. “Fine. There is nothing to attack you here… .yet. ”
Lucas chuckled and stepped inside, walking slowly, respectfully, like the greenhouse was a church and he didn’t want to disturb the altar. His eyes moved across the rows of dirt, the hanging planters, and then back to me.
“This place is... something else,” he murmured, stopping beside a table to stand beside me. “Feels like you could breathe here and mean it.”
That caught me off guard. I blinked at him, before I laughed at his words. “Most people just say it smells nice.”
“They’re not wrong,” he said, bending to sniff a bunch of mint tucked behind the rosemary. “But there’s something else. Feels like it’s alive.”
“It is,” I said softly. “Or at least, it lets me feel like I am.”
We stood there for a beat, the soft clink of scissors and tools in the background as sunlight filtered through the high greenhouse windows, catching the loose strands of my hair and dancing across the wooden table. Then I motioned toward the bins of ribbon piled beside us—satins, velvets, organza, all rolled in tight spirals, waiting.
“If you’re serious about helping,” I said, nodding toward the spools, “I could use an extra pair of hands. We’ve got bouquets and arrangements to prep for once the flowers arrive. That means bows. Lots of them.”
Lucas approached the table cautiously, eyeing the ribbons like they might detonate. “Never made a bow in my life,” he admitted, though he sounded more intrigued than hesitant.
“Perfect,” I replied, pulling a length of navy satin off its spool. “Unbiased. Teachability is key. Just don’t touch the glitter ribbon unless you want to sparkle every time you breathe for the next six months.”
His brows lifted as he picked up the navy I’d indicated. “Noted. Glitter equals eternal punishment.”
“Basically.” I handed him a pair of sharp, worn-handled scissors. “Cut these into twelve-inch strips. Three per bow. Then we’ll tie them into something resembling symmetry and not a sad pretzel.”
He rolled up his sleeves without protest and got to work. I watched him for a moment, expecting some clumsy fumbling or a sarcastic comment, but he surprised me. He cut slowly, yes, but each strip was measured and clean. His movements were careful, deliberate. The kind of careful that came from knowing what precision was worth.
We worked in silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic snip of scissors and the soft rustle of ribbon becoming a kind of quiet music.
“So,” I said finally, glancing his way, "is this what you normally do when you're not solving cases? Play babysitter to traumatized Omegas?"
Lucas's hands stilled on the ribbon, but his expression stayed open. "Not exactly. Though the ribbons are a nice change of pace from crime scene tape."
I snorted softly, appreciating his honesty. "I imagine so."
"Usually," he continued, measuring another length of navy satin, "when I'm not working, I'm either at the gym with Dakota, building my ships, or annoying Theo while he tries to read."
"A full social calendar," I teased, finishing another perfect bow and setting it aside.
Lucas grinned, the expression lighting up his face. "What can I say? I'm in high demand." He held up his first attempt at a bow, which looked more like a crushed butterfly than the elegant loops I'd demonstrated."
"Oh," he winced, turning it in his hands. "That's... not quite right."
I laughed, the sound echoing in the greenhouse. "It has character. But here—" I reached over, my fingers brushing his as I adjusted the loops. "Hold this part taut while you pull the center. Like this."
Lucas watched intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as I demonstrated. His focus reminded me of a child learning something new—earnest, determined, without the self-consciousness most adults carried. When I stepped back, he tried again, his large hands surprisingly nimble with the delicate ribbon.
"Better?" he asked, holding up his second attempt.
"Much," I nodded, genuinely impressed by his improvement. "You're a fast learner."
"Model ships," he reminded me with a grin. "Tiny knots and rigging. This isn't so different, just prettier." He paused, studying my technique as I started another bow. "Though I gotta say, I usually don't have such pleasant company when I'm working with my hands."
I felt a flush of warmth at the compliment but kept my eyes on my work. "I'm sure your ships appreciate the sentiment."
Lucas laughed, a rich sound that seemed to fill the greenhouse. "They're terrible conversationalists. Very judgmental too."
I glanced up, catching his eye. "Judgmental ships? Do tell."
"Oh, absolutely," he nodded solemnly, though his eyes danced with mischief. "They sit there all smug on their display shelves, silently critiquing my life choices. 'Why aren't you dating anyone, Lucas?' 'When was the last time you took a vacation, Lucas?' 'Is that takeout for the fourth night in a row, Lucas?'" He mimicked a prim, judgmental tone that made me laugh despite myself.
"Sounds like they care about your well-being at least," I replied, reaching for a spool of silver ribbon to complement the navy. "Mine would probably just tell me to stop working so much."
"Would they be wrong?" Lucas asked, his tone lighter but the question unexpectedly perceptive.
I paused, scissors hovering over the ribbon. "No," I admitted quietly. "Probably not."
Lucas nodded, seeming to understand the weight behind my simple answer. "Work is safe," he said, surprising me with his insight. "Predictable. Controllable."
"Speaking from experience?" I asked, glancing up at him.
His smile turned rueful. "Maybe. The job... it gives structure. Purpose. Sometimes it's easier than figuring out the rest of life's complications."
The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. I'd expected his usual playful deflection, not this glimpse beneath the surface. "I get that," I said softly. "Flowers don't ask complicated questions."
"Ships don't either," Lucas replied, carefully finishing another bow. "They just need patience and steady hands." He held up his creation, which was improving rapidly. "Not bad, right?"
"Getting there," I conceded with a small smile. "Give it a few more tries and you might have a future in wedding décor."
Lucas chuckled, reaching for more ribbon. "Career change at thirty-two? Theo would have a spreadsheet analyzing the pros and cons before I finished the sentence."
"Is he always so..."
"Analytical? Precise? Terrifyingly thorough?" Lucas supplied, his expression fond despite the teasing words.
"All of the above," I laughed, carefully trimming another length of ribbon. "He strikes me as someone who color-codes his sock drawer."
"Bold of you to assume he'd limit himself to just color-coding," Lucas replied with a grin. "There's a seasonal rotation system and a spreadsheet tracking wear patterns."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're joking."
"Only slightly," Lucas admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Theo approaches everything methodically. But beneath all that analysis is someone who cares deeply. He just expresses it through spreadsheets and perfectly organized supply closets."
"Like the greenhouse," I observed, remembering how meticulously everything had been arranged. "Gabriel mentioned Theo made a diagram."
"Three diagrams," Lucas corrected with a laugh. "One for optimal workflow, one for light distribution, and one for..." he paused, squinting as if trying to recall, "something about ergonomic considerations. I stopped listening after the second flowchart."
I smiled, imagining Theo hunched over his tablet, creating detailed plans while the others tried not to look too confused. "It's sweet, though. In his own way."
"That's Theo," Lucas agreed, his voice warming. "Shows he cares by making sure everything in your life runs with maximum efficiency." He finished another bow, this one nearly perfect, and held it up proudly. "How's this one?"
"Impressive," I admitted, genuinely surprised by his progress. "You really are a fast learner."
"I've been told I'm good with my hands," Lucas replied with a wink, before immediately looking contrite. "Sorry. Force of habit. Too much?"
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't quite hide my smile. "I'll survive the innuendo. Just keep making bows."
We fell into a comfortable rhythm, the quiet snip of scissors and rustle of ribbon filling the greenhouse. Lucas worked with surprising focus, his playful demeanor giving way to genuine concentration. I found myself stealing glances at him—the way his brow furrowed slightly when he was trying to get a loop just right, the satisfied quirk of his lips when he succeeded.
"Can I ask you something?" Lucas said after a while, his voice softer than before.
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "Depends on the question."
"Fair enough," he acknowledged with I'll continue directly from where the passage ended.
a small nod. "It's about your shop. Before... everything happened. Did you run it alone?"
The question wasn't what I expected. I continued measuring ribbon, buying myself a moment to consider my answer. "Mostly. I had part-time help during wedding season—college students, usually. But day-to-day, it was just me and Jamie has started to get full time hours now.”
"Jamie's my assistant," I explained, smoothing a ribbon between my fingers. "Started part-time a year ago, then moved to almost full-time this spring. He's good with customers, better with arrangements. Has an eye for color that's honestly intimidating sometimes."
"You miss him," Lucas observed, his voice gentle.
I nodded, surprised by the sudden tightness in my throat. "I do I haven’t given him all the details of what is going on, not wanting to drag him into this. I know I probably should call and talk to him….” I trailed off at the end, before I sighed.
Lucas nodded, “I get what you mean. In this line of work, it is hard to know what you can and can’t say. Though, just talking to someone about random things like, what you had for breakfast…or even what book you read is sometimes enough to have a connection.”
"Yeah," I said, trying to picture Jamie's reaction to all this—me staying with four Alpha cops, making wedding arrangements in a Victorian greenhouse while someone who tried to kill me was still out there. It sounded absurd, even to me. "I should call him. At least let him know how I am doing. I know I only gave him the bare minimum details.”
"You should," Lucas agreed, setting aside another completed bow. "People worry when someone they care about disappears."
There was something in his tone that made me look up—a hint of old pain, quickly masked with his usual easygoing smile.
"Speaking from experience again?" I asked carefully.
Lucas's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their work. "My younger sister," he said after a pause. "She went through a rough patch a few years back. Disappeared for three weeks without a word. No calls, no texts." He gave a small shrug that didn't quite hide the remembered pain. "Those were the longest three weeks of my life. Kept picturing the worst."
"That must have been terrible," I said softly, recognizing the shadow that crossed his face. "Is she... okay now?"
Lucas nodded, his smile returning, though slightly subdued. "Yeah. She got help, moved back home for a while. She's good now—teaching elementary school in Chicago, has a fiancée, calls every Sunday without fail." His expression softened with genuine affection. "But I still remember that feeling. Not knowing."
I set down my scissors, suddenly understanding his concern about Jamie. "I'll call him today," I promised. "After the flowers arrive."
"Good," Lucas said, his smile warming. "And hey, if you want, we could have him come by. Check out your temporary workshop. Gabriel would have to approve it first, of course, but—"
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I cut in, my hands reflexively tightening around the ribbon I was holding. "I wouldn't want to put him at risk. Whoever's after me..." I trailed off, the weight of the situation suddenly pressing down on me again.
Lucas nodded, understanding immediately. "You're right. Safety first." He set down a completed bow, his expression thoughtful. "But a call would be good. Just to let him know you're okay."
"Yeah," I agreed softly, returning to my work with renewed focus. The familiar motions—measuring, cutting, folding—helped ground me again. "I appreciate the suggestion."
We worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the gentle rhythm of our movements creating a peaceful atmosphere. Lucas was a surprisingly calming presence, his usual energy channeled into focused attention on the task at hand.
"Th—” Whatever I was going to say was interrupted by the door to the greenhouse swinging open and Dakota standing there with arms filled with two large buckets of flowers.
"Delivery's here," he announced, his dark eyes taking in the scene before him—Lucas surrounded by ribbons, me with scissors in hand. A flicker of surprise crossed his features before his expression settled back into its usual controlled mask. "There's more in the car. Four buckets total."
"Perfect," I said, setting down my work and moving toward him. "Let me help you bring them in."
Dakota shook his head, already turning back toward the door. "I've got it. Lucas can help." He shot a pointed look at Lucas, who immediately set down the bow he was working on.
"Sure thing," Lucas replied, wiping ribbon scraps from his hands. "Flower duty calls."
As they disappeared outside, I quickly cleared space on the main worktable, excitement building in my chest. Finally something to do so I could fully keep my mind busy. I glanced at the ribbons Lucas had made, a smile growing on my lips. He had been a big help, and he really was fun to talk to. It seems these Alpha’s really were full of surprises.