Page 25 of The Knotheads Next Door
Tillie follows my gaze, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Interesting choice of word. I was going to say 'intriguing.' There's something about her scent that reminds me of myself, years ago."
This catches my attention. "What do you mean?"
"Just an observation," Tillie says lightly, tapping my arm. "You three boys be gentle with her. Not everyone finds their path as easily as some."
Before I can ask what she means, she's moved on to thank the volunteers, leaving me with an uneasy feeling in my chest.
I'm heading for the door when I hear my name.
"Wells? Do you have a minute?"
Rowan stands a few feet away, her purse clutched in front of her and a sweater folded over her arm. The town hall has mostly emptied, with just a few stragglers chatting near the cookie table.
"What is it?" I ask, more brusquely than I intended.
She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "I need a favor. Crystal asked me to pick up some special-order flowers from the wholesaler outside town tonight, but my car's making that weird clicking noise again, and I really don't want to risk breaking down on a dark country road at night, and Theo's working late at the clinic, and..." She stops, takes a breath.
"Would you mind driving me? I know it's an imposition, but it would really help me out."
My instincts bristle at the thought of her driving that death trap she calls a car down an unlit rural road. I've seen that sedan of hers—it's one flat tire away from being scrapped.
"When do you need to go?" I ask, already checking my watch.
"Now? They close at nine, and it's already almost eight." She shifts her weight, looking uncomfortable. "I wouldn't ask, but it's for the festival arrangements, and I really want to make a good impression with Crystal."
I should say no. I have reports to review, emails to answer, a household budget to update. But the image of her stranded on a dark road, alone and vulnerable, makes my decision for me.
"Fine," I say, trying to sound put-upon rather than protective. "But we're taking my car, and I'm driving."
The relief on her face is immediate. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"Where's your kitten?" I ask as we walk to my car. "I thought it needed constant attention."
"Gerald," she corrects automatically. "And he's with Jasper."
I stop short. "Jasper? Voluntarily?"
She shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips. "He pretends to hate Gerald, but I caught him letting Gerald sleep on his chest while he was watching TV yesterday. He thought I was at work."
The mental image of gruff, standoffish Jasper cuddling a tiny kitten is so incongruous that I almost laugh. "Blackmail material," I note.
"Exactly," she agrees, and for a moment, we're conspirators rather than reluctant housemates.
The moment breaks as we reach my car. I unlock it and open the passenger door for her out of habit, earning a raised eyebrow.
"Very gentlemanly," she comments as she slides in.
"Basic manners," I counter, closing the door and walking around to the driver's side.
The drive starts in awkward silence. Rowan fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater. A sweater that I swear looks familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it. Rowan occasionally glances out the window at the darkening countryside. I focus on the road, trying to ignore the way her scent fills the confined space of my car. Even with the blockers she uses, there's something about it that makes my grip tighten on the steering wheel.
"So," she finally says, "do you organize your sock drawer by color or by fabric type?"
I glance at her, surprised by the question. "Both, actually. Primary sort by color, secondary by material."
She laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the quiet car. "Of course you do. Let me guess—you have a spreadsheet for the household groceries too?"
"It's a shared Zoogle doc," I admit. "It's efficient."
