Page 25

Chapter Seventeen

Lilianna

I didn’t know how long I sat there, but my coffee was gone and sitting to the side of me.

The morning air had grown warmer around me as I sat in comfortable silence, watching the garden come alive with the rising sun.

Bees hummed lazily among Miles's flowering herbs, and I could hear the distant sounds of the city waking up—car doors closing, the rumble of early commuters, the cheerful chime of a bicycle bell from the street beyond.

The back door opened behind me, and I turned to see Julian stepping onto the porch with his own mug of coffee. His hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and he wore a simple gray t-shirt and dark joggers that made him look younger, more approachable than his usual polished appearance.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice still carrying the roughness of early morning. "Nicolaus sent me a text saying you were out here before he left the house."

I nodded, scooting over slightly on the porch step to make room. Julian settled beside me with a quiet sigh, close enough that I could catch hints of his scent hitting my nose.

"I hope he didn't wake you up just to check on me," I said, suddenly worried that I'd disrupted their routines.

Julian chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "No, I'm usually up by six. Habit from years of morning training sessions." He gestured toward the garden. "It's peaceful out here, isn't it? Miles has created something special."

"It feels alive," I agreed, watching a butterfly land on a cluster of purple flowers. "My parents' garden was beautiful, but... sterile somehow. Nothing out of place, nothing unexpected."

Julian nodded thoughtfully. "Control versus cultivation. Your parents wanted to control nature; Miles works with it." He turned slightly to face me, his hazel eyes warm in the morning light. "Did you sleep well? After our late conversation, I mean."

"I did," I admitted, surprised by the truth of it. "I feel more rested than I have in years, actually," I added, realizing how true that was. Despite waking early, my body felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had been lifted.

Julian smiled, the expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Your scent is different this morning. Calmer, more... settled."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks at his observation. "Is that good?"

"Very good," he assured me, his voice carrying a gentle warmth. "It means you feel safe here, at least on some level."

The concept of safety had always been abstract to me—something my parents claimed to provide through rules and restrictions. But this feeling, this quiet comfort of sitting beside Julian in the early morning light without performing or posturing... this felt like actual safety.

"I'm still figuring out what that means," I admitted. "Safety without control. Freedom to do and say what is on my mind.”

Julian set his coffee mug down beside him, his expression growing more serious. "It's a difficult concept when you've been taught that safety only comes through compliance. But real safety—the kind that allows you to grow and explore who you are—that requires trust rather than control."

A comfortable silence settled between us as I absorbed his words. The garden stretched before us, wild and intentional at once, and I found myself thinking about the parallel between Miles's approach to growing things and what these men seemed to be offering me.

"Christopher's excited about teaching you to bake today," Julian said, his tone lighter now. "I haven't seen him this animated about a project in months."

I smiled, remembering Christopher's enthusiasm the night before. "I hope I'm not a disappointment. I've never really worked with my hands before."

"You will be," Julian said matter-of-factly, then caught my startled expression "Terrible, I mean," Julian clarified with a gentle smile. "Everyone is terrible when they start something new. That's the beauty of learning—you get to be bad at something before you become good at it."

His words struck me with unexpected force. The permission to be imperfect, to learn through failure rather than achieve immediate mastery—it was a concept entirely foreign to my upbringing.

"My parents never allowed me to be bad at anything," I said quietly. "If I couldn't excel immediately, I wasn't permitted to continue."

Julian's expression darkened momentarily.

"That's a cruel approach to development.

Mastery requires fumbling through incompetence first." He turned to face me more fully, his hazel eyes intent.

"Christopher will be thrilled if you make a complete mess of whatever you're baking.

He'll consider it a sign you're actually trying. "

"Really?" I couldn’t keep the apprehension out of my voice if I tried.

"Really," Julian assured me, reaching out to touch my hand briefly. "The joy is in the process, not just the result. Christopher knows that better than anyone."

I nodded, letting his words settle into me like seeds that might eventually grow into understanding. The idea that failure could be valuable rather than shameful felt revolutionary.

"What about you?" I asked, finding courage in the quiet intimacy of the morning. "Do you enjoy the process too, or are you more focused on results?"

Julian considered this, his expression thoughtful.

"I'm naturally results-oriented," he admitted.

"In tennis, in business—I've always had clear goals.

But I've learned that fixating solely on outcomes robs you of the present moment.

" He smiled slightly. "Miles and Christopher have taught me a lot about appreciating the journey. "

"And Nicolaus?"

Julian chuckled. "Nicolaus analyzes the process, but he knows how to keep the balance. He is very level headed.”

I smiled at the image of Nicolaus breaking down every aspect of their pack dynamics into neat categories. "He seems to understand people very well."

"He does. It's what makes him such an effective lawyer." Julian's expression grew warmer. "He also has an uncanny ability to cut through emotional noise and identify what someone actually needs, not what they think they want."

"Is that what he was doing with me this morning? Analyzing what I need?" I asked, tilting my head to the side in curiosity.

Julian tilted his head, studying me with that careful attention I was learning to appreciate. "What do you think he was doing?"

The question caught me off guard—another invitation to form my own opinion rather than accept someone else's interpretation. "I think... I think he was just talking to me. Like a person, not a problem to solve."

"Exactly." Julian's smile was warm with approval. "That's Nicolaus at his best—seeing you clearly without trying.”

The back door opened again interrupting us, and Miles appeared with his own mug, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. He wore an old university sweatshirt and jeans with dirt stains on the knees—clearly his gardening clothes.

"Morning meeting on the porch?" he asked with a grin, settling on the step below us. "Should I be offended that no one invited me?"

"You were invited," Julian replied easily. "Your invitation was waking up and choosing to join us."

Miles laughed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Fair point." He took a sip of his coffee with a smile on his face as he looked up at me, “You enjoying the morning scenery?”

"I am," I replied, finding it easier to speak freely with each passing hour in their company. "The garden is beautiful. Nicolaus mentioned you approach it with intuition rather than strict planning?"

Miles grinned, his green eyes lighting up.

"Guilty as charged. I plant what feels right where it feels right.

Drives Nicolaus crazy when he tries to catalog my 'system.

'" He gestured toward a section where tomatoes grew alongside marigolds and herbs.

"But the plants seem to like the chaos. They grow better when they're not forced into rigid patterns. "

Julian shot me a meaningful look, and I caught the parallel he was drawing. Like plants, perhaps people thrived better without rigid control.

"Though I do keep detailed notes," Miles continued, pulling a small, battered notebook from his pocket. "Just because I garden by feel doesn't mean I don't track what works." He flipped through pages.

The pages were filled with sketches of plant layouts, weather observations, and notes written in Miles's flowing handwriting.

"This tomato variety produced better when planted next to the basil," he said, pointing to a diagram.

"And the marigolds seem to keep bugs away from everything within a three-foot radius. "

I leaned closer to examine his notes, fascinated by the careful observations disguised as casual gardening. "It's like a scientific study," I observed.

"Don't let him fool you," Julian said with amusement. "Miles has a degree in agricultural science. His 'intuitive' approach is actually backed by years of formal training."

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 I heard 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."

"I'll find something," I promised, standing to head back inside. The prospect of choosing my own clothes for a specific activity—not to impress or maintain appearances, but simply for comfort and practicality—felt exciting.

As I made my way upstairs, I heard the three of them continue chatting, their voices a pleasant backdrop to my thoughts as a smile graced my lips.