Page 56 of The Knotheads Next Door
We move around the kitchen in companionable silence, me mixing batter while she slices fruit. It's oddly domestic, and I find myself enjoying it more than I should. This isn't permanent, I remind myself. None of this is.
"Are you okay?" I ask after a few minutes, keeping my tone gentle, non-confrontational. "You seem... tense this morning."
"I'm fine," she says automatically, the lie obvious in the tightness of her voice.
I wait, saying nothing, letting the silence do the work for me. It's a technique I use with nervous animals—create space, let them come to you.
"Okay, I'm not fine," she admits finally, setting down the knife with a clatter. "But I don't want to talk about it."
"That's fair," I say, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. "You don't owe me any explanations."
She looks at me, surprise evident in her expression. "You're not going to push?"
"Would it help if I did?" I flip a pancake, focusing on the task rather than on how much I want to reach out and smooth the worry line between her brows.
"No," she sighs, leaning against the counter. "Yes. Maybe? I don't know. Everything is so confusing right now."
I nod, understanding. "Your biology changing. Living with three alphas. Being new in town. That's a lot for anyone to handle."
"Add family drama and identity crises to the mix, and it's a wonder I'm still functioning," she says with a wry smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"You're doing better than functioning," I tell her, meaning it. "You're adapting. Finding your feet. It's impressive, actually."
She looks down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Tell that to my body, which apparently has its own agenda these days."
I slide the finished pancakes onto a plate and start another batch. "The hormonal changes?"
"That, and..." She trails off, her scent shifting with embarrassment and something else—something warmer, more complicated. "Things I never used to want, suddenly I can't stop thinking about."
My heart rate picks up despite my best efforts to remain calm. "What kind of things?"
She looks at me then, really looks at me, her eyes dark with emotions I can't quite read.
"Jasper kissed me last night."
The confession hangs in the air between us. I should be surprised, but somehow I'm not.
The tension this morning, the way they were avoiding each other—it makes perfect sense.
What does surprise me is the sharp stab of jealousy that hits me at her words. Not anger—Jasper is pack, or as close to it as makes no difference—but a fierce, possessive need to stake my own claim.
"I see," I say, working to keep my voice even. "And was that... welcome?"
Her blush deepens. "Yes… No. I don't know." She pushes her hair back from her face in a frustrated gesture. "In the moment, it was very welcome. But then he pulled away, said it was a mistake, and now he won't even look at me."
Typical Jasper. Always running from anything that might make him vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it. Not that they kissed—that was probably inevitable, given the chemistry that's been building between them—but that he hurt her afterward. "He's not good at handling emotions. Never has been."
"Neither am I," she admits. "I've spent my whole life keeping people at a distance. It's safer that way." She looks down at her hands. "But now..."
"Now your biology is pushing you toward connection," I finish for her.
She nods, miserable. "And not just with Jasper. That's the worst part. It's all of you. In different ways, but it’s equally confusing."
My heart stutters at the admission. She feels it too, then—this pull between us that I've been trying so hard to ignore.
"It's not just biology," I say quietly, turning off the stove. The pancakes can wait. "At least, not for me."
