Page 51 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

I glanced at him, surprised by this personal revelation. It was the first time he'd mentioned his family. "I'm sorry about your mother," I said softly.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful rather than pained. "It was a long time ago. But I think she'd be pleased to see the greenhouse being used again, especially for something creative."

I ran my fingers along one of the workbenches, feeling the smooth, well-crafted wood beneath my touch. I really apricated it. This place was definitely perfect and would work while I was here. This was definitely better than the sunroom. I gave him a smile, my eyes bright, “Thank you.”

I was saying it for more then the greenhouse, and by the look on his face, he knew it too. He gave me a nod, before motioning me to go explore, which I happily did.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Iranmyfingersalongone of the workbenches, the smooth, aged wood warm beneath my touch. A hush blanketed the space—quiet in the way only nature and glass walls could create. I turned in a slow circle, taking in the filtered sunlight dancing across the floor, the delicate perfume of soil and dried herbs still lingering in the air.

“So pretty,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. But Gabriel was watching me, leaning against the far bench with his arms crossed, looking like he belonged in every room he entered—still, grounded, deliberate.

"It suits you," he said quietly, those blue eyes studying me with an intensity that made my skin warm. "The way you move in this space... it's like you already belong here."

I looked away, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "Plants have always been my safe place. Flowers, especially. They make sense to me in a way people often don't."

Gabriel nodded, pushing himself off the workbench to join me at the center island. "How so?"

I traced the grain of the wood, considering how to explain something that felt so intrinsic to my being. "Flowers are honest. They need what they need—sun, water, soil—and they either thrive or they don't. No pretense, no hidden agendas." I glanced up at him with a small smile. "And when they communicate, it's always clear if you know how to listen."

Gabriel took a step closer, his presence warm without being intrusive. "And what are they saying now?" he asked, his voice soft in the quiet of the greenhouse.

I let my fingers drift over a small cluster of succulents nestled in a forgotten corner. "These little ones? They're saying they've been neglected but they're survivors. Resilient." I smiled, touching a pale green leaf. "That's what I love about plants—they find a way to thrive even in difficult circumstances."

"Like a certain Omega I know," Gabriel observed, his gaze steady on my face.

The comparison caught me off guard, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I wouldn't call what I'm doing thriving, exactly. Surviving, maybe."

“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Gabriel told me, his lip twitching into what seemed like a found smile.

I tilted my head at this, “Maybe. But it is just how I feel about it.” I was being honest. I didn’t feel like I was thriving, just going along day by day and surviving.

The two of us sat in silence as I fluttered around looking at what was in the greenhouse.

"She would have liked you," he said out of the blue, the words carrying a weight that made my heart flutter unexpectedly. "She was independent too. Fierce about her passions."

I smiled, touched by the comparison. "Your mother…tell me more about her.”

Gabriel's expression softened, memories flickering behind his eyes as he leaned against the workbench. "Her name was Eleanor. She was brilliant—a botanist with a specialty in rare plants. This greenhouse was her laboratory, her studio, her sanctuary." He gestured around us. "Every inch of this place used to burst with life. Orchids hanging from the rafters, experimental hybrids lined up in neat rows, medicinal herbs that she cultivated for research."

I could almost see it—the greenhouse in its glory days, filled with vibrant life instead of the few lonely succulents that remained. "What happened to all her plants?" I asked softly.

"After she died, I tried to keep them alive." A shadow crossed his face. "I failed miserably. I didn't have her touch." He ran his hand along the empty workbench. "Eventually, we donated most of her collection to the botanical gardens at the university where she taught. Seemed fitting."

The revelation of this personal history touched something in me—this Alpha who presented such a controlled exterior had tried to save his mother's legacy, plant by plant. I could picture a younger Gabriel here among the greenery, desperately trying to keep her memory alive.

"That must have been difficult," I said, imagining the young Gabriel trying to keep the plants here alive.

He nodded, his gaze distant. "I was seventeen when she passed. Old enough to understand what we'd lost, not experienced enough to maintain what she'd built." A small, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "I killed a cactus within a month. A cactus."

I laughed softly, the image of a teenage Gabriel mourning a cactus unexpectedly endearing. "Even desert plants need attention sometimes."

"That's what Theo told me," Gabriel replied, his expression warming. "He was the one who managed to save a few specimens. He has more patience for these things."

I moved around the center island, examining the dormant space with new understanding. "So this space has just been waiting all these years. For what?"

Gabriel's eyes met mine, something unspoken passing between us. "I'm not sure. Maybe for someone who could appreciate it properly again."

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