Page 108 of The Knotheads Next Door
It's the weight of what we're about to do, the statement we're about to make without saying a word. Four people who entered into a roommate arrangement and somehow, against all odds and expectations, found something permanent.
"Ready?" Theo asks softly, his eyes warm with understanding as we pause at the edge of the festivities. He can probably smell the anxiety beneath my excitement, the lingering traces of a lifetime spent avoiding attention, avoiding attachment, avoiding exactly this kind of public declaration.
"As I'll ever be," I reply, taking a deep breath that fills my lungs with the combined scents of my alphas—pine and sandalwood and bergamot intertwined in a harmony that settles my nerves better than any meditation ever could. "Let's do this."
We step into the festival proper, and the reaction is immediate. Conversations pause mid-sentence. Heads turn with almost comic synchronicity. Eyes widen as people register what their noses are telling them—that I'm thoroughly, unmistakably scent-marked by not one alpha, but three. That the marks aren't casual or accidental.
It's one thing for Vineyard Groves to gossip about the mysterious newcomer living with three alphas. It's quite another to see those alphas publicly claiming her as a pack.
"Well, well, well," comes a familiar voice, cutting through the momentary hush that's fallen around us. "Look what the cat dragged in—or should I say, cats, plural?"
Lala spots us from her bakery booth, abandoning a tray of apple-shaped cookies to rush over, her expression a mix of triumph and delight as she navigates through the crowd like a small, determined bulldozer in a pink cardigan.
"Took you idiots long enough," she says, grinning widely as she pulls me into a hug that smells of sugar and satisfaction. When she releases me, she looks between all four of us, hands on hips, satisfaction evident in her smile. "I knew it the moment you walked into my bakery asking about that room for rent. The universe told me."
"No, you didn't," Avianna corrects, appearing at her side with her usual perfect timing, while unwrapping one of her gingerflavored lollipops. "You said, and I quote, 'Those three emotional disasters will scare her off within a week.' Then you told me they'd be lucky if she stayed through the weekend without filing a restraining order."
"Details," Lala waves dismissively, not the least bit embarrassed to be caught in her revisionist history. "The point is, I knew there was something special about all of you. Together. The universe whispers these things to me."
"The universe and your boundless nosiness," Wells observes dryly, but there's no real bite to his words. If anything, he seems almost fond, which is a minor miracle given his usual tolerance for Lala's antics.
"Congratulations," Billie says, joining our growing circle with a warm smile as she hugs me.
Her beta scent is calming amid the riot of pheromones currently circulating through the festival grounds. "You all look... perfect."
And somehow, despite the stares and whispers and the weight of small-town attention, I don't feel the urge to run. To hide. To downplay what's happening between us. For once in my life, I don't care what anyone thinks—because the only opinions that matter are those of the three men beside me, and they've made their feelings abundantly clear.
"So how does this work, exactly?" Lala asks, her curiosity finally overwhelming her attempt at casual congratulations. "Is there, like, a rotation schedule? A chore wheel but for, you know..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
"Lala!" Billie gasps, looking mortified.
"What? We're all adults here! And I have twenty dollars riding on how they're handling the logistics."
"You've been betting on our sex life?" I ask, caught between horror and a strange, bubbling laughter that threatens to escape.
"Not just your sex life," Avianna clarifies, looking not at all apologetic. "Also on which alpha you'd claim first, whether Gerald stays when you move in permanently, and if Jasper will finally finish renovating the upstairs bathrooms now that there's an omega in the house."
"The bathrooms were always on the schedule," Jasper grumbles, his hand tightening slightly at my waist. He's ignoring the teasing completely, his focus entirely on me, on us, on making sure I'm comfortable with this public declaration and the inevitable nosiness that comes with it.
"Mmhmm," Lala hums skeptically. "And yet they’ve been torn apart for eight months. Funny how that changes when there's someone to impress."
Before Jasper can respond—likely with something gruff and profane—Theo intervenes with his usual diplomatic charm.
"We're just happy to be here," he says smoothly, his smile warm but with an edge that suggests this particular line of questioning is closed. "Together."
As if to emphasize the point, he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek, the gesture both tender and deliberate. "Beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, and I'm not sure if he means me or this moment or the fact that we're finally, openly together.
A flash of heat that has nothing to do with biology and everything to do with affection floods through me. Theo, ever the heart of our unusual pack, has no qualms about showing that affection, public setting be damned.
Even Wells, usually so careful about public appearances and professional boundaries, has abandoned his reserved demeanor. He reaches for my free hand, intertwining our fingers with a small, satisfied smirk that sends my pulse racing. "Might as well make it official," he says, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that sends warmth spiraling up my arm.
The combined effect of all three alphas openly claiming me in the middle of the town square is apparently enough to short-circuit even Lala's endless capacity for teasing. She stares at us for a moment, then shakes her head with a bemused smile.
"Well, damn," she says finally. "You four are going to break every heart in town."
Which is how a simple appearance at the festival's closing night quickly transforms into something more. Word spreads through the crowd with the speed that only small-town gossip networks can achieve. Mayor Tillie appears with champagne as if by magic, declaring an impromptu toast to "new pack bonds and fresh beginnings," her approval lending official sanction to our new pack.
Crystal softens enough to smile and offer a rare, gruff congratulations, accompanied by a free bouquet that she insists is "leftover festival stock" but somehow contains all my favorite flowers. Even Zeno from the coffee shop acknowledges us with a nod that's almost friendly as he passes by, which from him is practically a ticker-tape parade of enthusiasm.
