Page 49 of Wisteria and Cloves
"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 hazeleyes 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."
