29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
T he knock at the door is firm and makes me come out of my haze of cleaning. I glance up from where I’m cleaning my brushes, the water tinted with hues of blues and greens swirling down into the sink. There, standing outside the shop, the Closed sign hanging as a barrier between us, is Lucien. The streetlights cast long shadows over the quiet sidewalk, outlining his figure in a soft amber glow.
He doesn’t look impatient or demanding, merely waiting with an air of calm expectancy. For me.
I hesitate, fingers unconsciously tightening around the paint streaked rag in my hands. Taking a steadying breath, I navigate through the familiar maze of easels and scattered art supplies. I reach the door and pause, my hand hovering over the lock. With a gentle click, I undo the latch and pull open the door. Lucien steps inside, his presence filling the space effortlessly. He doesn’t crowd me, doesn’t loom, but I feel him. The air shifts, charged with something unreadable.
The door clicks shut behind him.
“You weren’t answering your phone and we were worried…” He frowns looking at me, and “You’re still working.” It's not a question, just an observation.
I tuck the rag into my apron pocket. “It’s my store,” I murmur, trying to maintain the fragility of my own domain. “And my phone took a dive into the toilet this morning.”
There's a beat of silence as he processes this information, his frown easing into something softer, more understanding as his mouth quirks slightly. "... not working now I take it?"
I nod, unsure why I'm suddenly compelled to explain myself to him, to this man who somehow doesn't push or pull but simply exists in my space with a presence that's hard to ignore. "I planned to go get it fixed after work, but got caught up in a painting and now as you can see it is way past when the store would be open."
"Caught up," he echoes, his voice low and resonant. It vibrates through the quiet of the shop, stirring something within me.
"Yes… Caught up," I confirm, my defenses rising once again like bristles on a hedgehog. But he's still here, still watching me with an inscrutable gaze that doesn't demand anything yet seems to offer... what? Understanding? Acceptance? I don't know, and that's the most unsettling part.My heart taps an uneven rhythm against my ribs as I wait for him to speak again.
Lucien just shifts his stance, a subtle realignment of his broad shoulders that somehow seems to take the edge off the silence. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his voice gentle yet carrying through the room like a soft spoken command.
I blink, caught off guard. “What?” The question feels misplaced amid the tension, more intimate than anything else we’ve shared. A question about food shouldn't have the power to unnerve me, yet here I stand, unsettled by the simplest inquiry from this Alpha who doesn’t push, only waits. Waits for me to let down walls I didn’t even realize I’d built so high.
"Have you eaten?" he repeats, his tone imbued with the same casual quality one might use when commenting on the weather. It's how he says it— like it's the most natural thing in the world— that catches me off balance.
I frown, the crease between my brows deepening as I search for some semblance of normalcy in the question. “I… had coffee.”
Lucien exhales through his nose, a sound of mild disapproval that somehow speaks volumes. “That’s not food.” His expression remains unimpressed, and I fight the urge to bristle at the implication that I cannot take care of myself.
Crossing my arms, I suddenly become defensive. “I wasn’t hungry.”
He just looks at me— steady, unbothered. “Right.” Then, after a pause,
"Let me help you finish up," he says, his voice calm and somehow grounding, "then you are coming with me to have dinner… and then I will take you home." It's not a command, not really. It's an offer wrapped in the guise of a statement— a lifeline thrown with such casual precision that it leaves little room for argument. Yet, I nod, feeling a pang of guilt for worrying everyone. It's unlike me to lose track of time, to become so ensnared in my art that the world beyond these walls fades away.
"Okay," I murmur, setting aside my brush and gathering my things with more haste than I'd like to admit. The last canvas is covered; the paints are sealed. My apron, splattered with days of work, finds its hook on the wall.
We walk side by side to the door, and I turn the key in the lock with a decisive click. The familiar scent of pine and evening chill greets us as we step out into the night, the silence of Haven's Rest wrapping around us like a shawl. Lucien leads the way to his car parked under a nearby lamppost, its soft glow flickering slightly.
“We will head over to the diner. It has good food and it isn’t overly crowded.” he says. And we drive off into the quieter parts of town.
As Lucien's car glides through the streets, my gaze lingers on the passing scenery. It didn’t take long to get to our destination. The diner, nestled between two unassuming buildings, is as quaint as the rest of the town. Its sign, a vintage beacon of neon, hums softly, promising warmth and sustenance.
Lucien holds the door open for me, and we step into the low buzz of hushed chatter and clinking cutlery. The aroma of coffee and grilled food mingles in the air, grounding and homely. As we're shown to a booth tucked away in a corner, I slide in, feeling the weight of exhaustion I'd been ignoring settle onto my shoulders.
"Thank you," I say before I can stop myself, my voice barely above a whisper. It's an admission of need, however small, and it hangs between us. I know I can be standoffish sometimes when it comes to others caring for me.
He gives me a nod, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are soft as they look down at me. He says nothing more, his silence isn't empty; it's full of all the things we don't need words for. The waitress comes by, her smile easy and genuine as she takes our orders, before leaving the two of us to our silence.
As the waitress walks away, I find myself studying Lucian's face in the soft glow of the diner lights. His features are strong, chiseled, but there's a gentleness in his eyes that belies his imposing presence.
"I'm sorry for worrying everyone," I say softly, breaking the silence between us. "I didn't think not being able to get a hold of me for the day would cause trouble.”
Lucian's expression softens slightly. "We care about you, Lydia. When we couldn't reach you..." He trails off, a flicker of concern passing over his features.
"I’m sorry…and thank you," I say again, my voice soft. "For coming to check on me. I didn't mean to worry anyone."
Lucian's expression softens further, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "You don't need to apologize, Lydia. We're just glad you're safe." He pauses, his steel-grey eyes holding mine. "But maybe we could set up some kind of system for the future? In case something like this happens again?"
I nod slowly, feeling a mix of warmth and nervousness at his suggestion. It's been so long since anyone has cared enough to want to check in on me regularly. "That... that sounds reasonable," I admit softly. "What did you have in mind?"
Lucian leans back slightly, his posture relaxed but attentive. "Perhaps we could agree on a check in time each day? Just a quick text or call to let us know you're okay. And if we don't hear from you by a certain time, we'll know to come to your store to check on you or your apartment.”
I consider Lucian's suggestion, feeling a mix of emotions swirl inside me. Part of me bristles at the idea of needing to check in with anyone, my fiercely independent nature rearing its head. But another part, a part I've kept hidden and protected for so long, feels a warmth at the thought of having people who care enough to want to know that I'm safe.
"I... I think I could do that," I say slowly, my fingers tracing the edge of the napkin in front of me. "Maybe a text in the evening? Around closing time for the shop?"
Lucian nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That sounds perfect. And if something comes up and you can't text, don't worry. We'll just come to check on you, no questions asked."
I nod slowly, feeling a mix of emotions at his words. The idea of having people check in on me, care about my wellbeing, is both comforting and slightly overwhelming. "Thank you," I say softly. "I'm not used to... this. Having people worry about me."
Lucian's expression softens, his steel-grey eyes warm as they meet mine. "I know it's an adjustment," he says gently. "But we're here for you, Lydia. All of us."
Before I can respond, the waitress returns with our food. The aroma of grilled cheese and tomato soup fills the air, making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. I blush, realizing just how hungry I am.
Lucian chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Eat," he says, pushing my plate closer to me. "We can talk more about that another time. For now let's get you fed.”
As we begin to eat, a comfortable silence settles between us. I'm surprised by how at ease I feel in Lucian's presence. Despite his imposing stature and Alpha status, there's something about him that drew me to him and even the other two Alphas in his pack.
“Thank you.” I told him, taking a bite of my sandwich, but I was thanking him for more than the food. By his smile, he knew it, too.