Page 68 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

"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.

Chapter Thirty

Lucas POV

IfollowedDakotaouttohis SUV, where two more buckets of flowers waited in the back. Even from a distance, the bright colors and fresh scents reached my nose—roses in deep burgundy and blush pink, delicate greenery, and what looked like dozens of smaller accent flowers I couldn't name.

"She seems better today," I commented, keeping my voice low as I reached for one of the buckets.

Dakota grunted, lifting the heavier container with ease. "Working helps. Gives her purpose."

"I think it's more than that," I said, carefully balancing my bucket as we walked back toward the greenhouse. "She needs to create something beautiful right now. Something that isn't broken."

Dakota's eyes slid to mine, his expression thoughtful beneath his usual scowl. "You making bows in there?"

I grinned, unashamed. "Damn good ones, too. Not bad for a rookie." I held up my free hand, wiggling my fingers. "Told you I'm good with my hands."

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Dakota rolled his eyes, but I caught the slight upward tilt of his lips before he could hide it. "You'll use any excuse to flirt, won't you?"

"It's not flirting if it's just stating facts," I countered, adjusting my grip on the heavy flower bucket. "Besides, she needs the distraction. You should've seen her face when I came in—all tense, like she was waiting for bad news."

Dakota's expression sobered. "She has reason to be tense." He paused, glancing toward the greenhouse where Vivian was visible through the glass, already sorting through the first buckets we'd brought in. Her purple hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face.

Her movements were fluid and purposeful, hands moving with practiced precision as she lifted stems from the water and examined them.

"She belongs in there," I said quietly, watching her work. "You can see it. Like she's finally breathing right."

Dakota didn't respond immediately, his dark gaze lingering on Vivian through the glass.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice gruff but tinged with something like respect. "She's stronger than she looks."

We reached the greenhouse door, and I shifted my bucket to push it open with my shoulder. The warm, humid air enveloped us immediately, carrying the rich scent of soil and greenery. Vivian looked up as we entered, her eyes brightening at the sight of more flowers.

"Perfect timing," she said, already clearing space on the workbench. "I've just finished sorting the first batch."

I set my bucket down where she indicated, careful not to disturb her meticulous arrangement. "One more to go," I told her, nodding toward Dakota who was positioning his bucket near the sink.

"These are gorgeous," Vivian murmured, gently touching a deep burgundy rose. "Mrs. Sullivan has excellent taste." Her fingers moved with reverence over the blooms, her expression softening with genuine pleasure. The tension I'd noticed earlier seemed to melt away as she immersed herself in the flowers.

"I'll get the last one," Dakota said, already heading back out.

I lingered, watching as Vivian began organizing the flowers by type and color. Her movements were graceful, practiced—an artist with her medium.

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