Page 34 of The Knotheads Next Door
"Now you might have to redefine yourself," I finish when she trails off.
"Exactly." She shifts, careful not to disturb Gerald. "What if I don't like who I become? What if I can't handle it? Omegas have so many... physiological demands. Heats, a-and nesting, and all that instinctual stuff."
I hold out the sandwich. "Well, they also need food. Just like every other designation."
She rolls her eyes but takes the sandwich. Our fingers brush during the exchange, and I feel her shiver at the contact, a small tremor that runs from her fingers all the way up her arm. My own body responds instantly, alpha instincts humming to life at this evidence of her responsiveness to me.
Focus, Theo.
I force myself to stand, to put distance between us. "Eat," I instruct, my voice rougher than I intended. "Doctor's orders."
She unwraps the sandwich slowly, her eyes still on me. There's something new in her gaze—a question, maybe even a hint of disappointment at my retreat.
"Doctor of veterinary medicine," she points out, taking a small bite. "Not exactly applicable."
"Mammals are mammals," I shrug. "Basic nutritional needs are pretty universal."
She takes another bite, larger this time. "This is good," she admits.
"I know. I made it."
That earns me a smile, small but genuine. It's the first real smile I've seen from her in days, and something in my chest relaxes at the sight.
I should go upstairs. Let her eat in peace. Get some sleep before my next shift.
Instead, I find myself settling into the armchair across from her. "Want to talk about something else? Take your mind off things?"
Relief crosses her face. "Please. Anything but my weird body or this town's festival obsession."
"Well, that eliminates about ninety percent of all possible conversation topics in Vineyard Groves," I joke. "But let's see... did I ever tell you about the time Jasper tried to build a treehouse and got stuck fifty feet up an oak tree?"
"No," she says, eyes widening. "But I need this story immediately."
So I tell her, embellishing the details for maximum comedic effect, watching as she relaxes with each bite of her sandwich and each burst of laughter. Gerald wakes up briefly, disturbed by her chuckling, then settles back down with a disgruntled mew.
"He was so mad," I finish, grinning at the memory. "Covered in leaves, hanging from one arm, and still insisting he didn't need help. The fire department had to bring a ladder truck."
"That sounds exactly like him," Rowan says, shaking her head. "Let me guess—he finished the treehouse anyway?"
"The very next day. And it's still standing, out at Mayor Tillie's place. Her grandkids use it now."
"Of course it is." She smiles, brushing crumbs from her lap. The sandwich is gone, I note with satisfaction. "Thank you. For the food. And the distraction."
"Anytime," I say, meaning it more than she knows.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments. Gerald stretches in his sleep, tiny paws extending outward before curling back in. Rowan watches him with such tender affection that it makes my chest ache.
"He's getting bigger," I observe. "You're taking good care of him."
"He's easy to love," she says softly, stroking his fur. "No complications. No expectations. He just needs food and warmth and attention."
"Don't we all," I murmur.
She looks up at me, something vulnerable in her eyes. "Why are you so nice to me, Theo? When Jasper can barely stand to be in the same room with me, and Wells treats me like I'm a bomb about to go off?"
The question catches me off guard. "Because... you deserve kindness? Because you're going through something difficult and could use a friend?"
"Is that what we are? Friends?"
