Page 4 of The Knotheads Next Door
Okay. Think Rowan. I have some savings. Not much. But if I stretch it…with the severance pay… nope, who am I kidding? Between rent, groceries, and the crushing weight of everyday living, I’ll be broke in 3 months. Maybe 4 if I live off instant ramen and despair.
There is a logical next step here. A responsible one. I could call my parents. Tell them what’s happening.
But then my eyes drift to my phone. There are sixteen missed calls from my parents.
Nope. Not dealing with that.
Approximately 10 minutes ago, I lost my job. Now, I've lost my home. And three weeks ago, I lost my sense of identity, familial trust, and any reasonable chance of emotional stability.
At this point, I'm pretty sure the universe is just using me as a cosmic stress ball.
Which is how I end up at 2:47 a.m., two pints-deep in slightly melted ice cream — Uncle Bubba’s Big Belly Butter Brickle— my emotional support flavor of choice when life decides to kick me repeatedly in the shins, scrolling a sketchy rental site called ClydesList, clearly created before the career field of graphic design was invented. The layout is giving me 2005 PackSpace flashbacks, and every third listing has a photo that's either completely irrelevant or mildly terrifying.
Most of the listings are... horrifying. One guy wants a roommate to "co-own a lizard empire" (the photos show at least seventeen terrariums stacked precariously in what appears to be a bathroom). Another is looking for someone to "help keep the ghosts company" (no photos, just a worrying red smudge in the corner of the picture).
There's a listing for a "cozy basement nook" that looks suspiciously like a crawlspace, and another for a "shared bedroom experience" that I scroll past so fast I almost give myself carpal tunnel.
But then, I see it.
Room for rent in a quiet small town. Three male roommates. All alphas. Large house. Quiet. Clean. Must be okay with shared space, construction, and mild ghost activity. (Kidding! It's an old house, but there are no ghosts. I promise!)
I pause, scrolling back up. The photos show a surprisingly delightful house—modern kitchen, spacious living room, a porch swing that practically screams "come drink wine and contemplate your life choices here." It's in a place calledVineyard Groves, which sounds made up, like a town in a Lovemark movie where everyone inexplicably owns a small business and falls in love at Christmas time.
The rent is... reasonable? Too reasonable? Like, "this might be a trap set by serial killers" reasonable.
My better judgment takes a nap. My desperation throws a party.
I type up a reply that is equal parts chaos and desperation:
Hi. I'm a recently unemployed accountant who's very clean and doesn't mind roommates. I can sort of bake. I will share snacks. I can make friends with ghosts. Probably. Please consider my offer. – Rowan Whitley
I hit send before I can overthink it, which is saying something because overthinking is my preferred form of exercise.
And less than five minutes later, a reply pops up.
"Room's available. 3 months minimum. When can you get here?"
I stare at the screen, ice cream spoon halfway to my mouth, a glob of it threatening to fall onto my already questionably dirty sweatpants. They responded. At 3 a.m. Who responds to housing inquiries at 3 a.m.? Serial killers, probably. Or insomniacs. Or, you know very dedicated property managers.
"Well," I mutter, licking the spoon clean, "what could possibly go wrong?"
Everything, says the tiny voice of reason in my head.
"Shut up," I tell it, and type:"I can be there by Friday."
Chapter 2
Jasper
I'm not paying attention to my very irritating pack mates.
I'm focused on fixing this cabinet hinge that's been driving me insane for the past week—making that little squeak every time Theo opens it looking for his fancy herbal teas. Five different kinds, all smelling like something that died in a garden. But the man loves his tea, so I fix his cabinets.
"We need to talk about the house payment," Wells says from somewhere behind me.
I grunt in response, tightening the screw with probably more force than necessary. The old Victorian groans around us constantly, like it's reminding us of its age. I respect that. We're all carrying baggage.
"Jasper," Theo's voice now, gentle but insistent. "Did you hear what Wells said? About the loan?"
