Page 66 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

“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."

---