Page 110 of The Knotheads Next Door
Months ago, I never could have imagined this—this cluttered, warm house filled with the mingled scents of four people who have become essential to each other. This feeling of safety, of belonging, of finally being exactly where I'm meant to be.
A demanding meow breaks the peaceful morning stillness, followed by the distinctive thump of a certain menace jumping onto the bed.
"No," Jasper groans without opening his eyes. "Too early for cat tyranny."
Gerald, now tripled in size from the tiny abandoned kitten we rescued, ignores this protest completely. He marches across the bed with imperious confidence, stepping on various body parts with deliberate precision before settling directly on Jasper's chest, purring loud enough to wake the dead.
"Every. Damn. Morning," Jasper grumbles, but his hand automatically comes up to scratch behind Gerald's ears, betraying the affection he pretends not to feel. "You're lucky you're cute, furball."
"You love him," I point out sleepily, smiling at the domestic tableau.
"I tolerate him," Jasper corrects, but there's no heat in the words, and we all know it's a lie. Gerald has him wrapped around his little paw, just like the rest of us.
Wells sits up, already mentally sorting through his day's schedule despite the early hour.
Some habits die hard, but even he has learned to ease up on the rigid timetables that once dictated his every waking moment.
"Festival committee meeting at ten," he says, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair.
"Then lunch with the mayor to discuss the Vineyard Days planning."
"Skip it," Theo suggests, not bothering to open his eyes. "Stay in bed. Revolution against capitalism. Very important political statement."
Wells's lips twitch with the hint of a smile. "I'm not sure skipping a volunteer committee meeting counts as overthrowing the capitalist system."
"Start small. Work your way up. Rome wasn't dismantled in a day."
The easy banter between them warms me more than the sunshine now filling the room.
A month ago, we were all careful with each other, hesitant about this new dynamic. Now, we move around each other with the ease of long-time packmates, their distinct personalities no longer sources of friction but complementary pieces of a whole.
I extract myself from the tangle of limbs, ignoring protests from both Theo and Gerald.
"Some of us have actual jobs to get to," I remind them, heading for the shower. "Crystal's got a huge wedding consultation today, and the Anderson funeral flowers need to be delivered by noon."
The flower shop has become more than just a job—it's a place where I've found unexpected satisfaction, a creative outlet I never knew I needed. Crystal has gradually given me more responsibility, even letting me handle consultations for smaller events. There's talk of me becoming a partner someday, if I want it.
It's strange to think in terms of "someday" after spending so long just trying to survive one day at a time.
By the time I finish my shower, the house is fully awake. Theo moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, making enough breakfast to feed a small army—a habit from his own childhood in a large, chaotic pack that none of us have the heart to discourage. The scent of coffee fills the air, strong enough to strip paint because Jasper refuses to drink "that watered-down excuse for caffeine" that the rest of us prefer.
Theo's veterinary practice has been thriving, his appointment book consistently full as word spreads about his gentle touch with even the most difficult animals. I've been helping with the books in the evenings, organizing the chaotic filing system left by his previous receptionist. There's talk of expansion, maybe bringing in another vet to handle the growing caseload. Opportunities and possibilities that weren't there before.
"Jasper's in the workshop," Theo tells me as I grab a piece of toast. "Said something about measuring for shelves."
The workshop is Jasper's domain—a converted garage space where he creates custom furniture when he's not handling renovation projects around town. The house itself is almost unrecognizable from when I first arrived, with every promised repair completed and then some. The upstairs en-suite bathrooms gleam with new fixtures, the kitchen cabinets have been refinished, and we've been talking about adding a sunroom off the back of the house.
And a greenhouse. Jasper's been sketching plans for weeks, muttering about southern exposure and proper ventilation, pretending it's just an interesting architectural challenge rather than a gift for my birthday next month. As if I haven't seen him researching which plants thrive best in this climate, making notes about my casual mentions of favorites.
I find him in the workshop, surrounded by sawdust and the scent of fresh-cut cedar, measuring tape in hand as he works on what looks like a set of bookshelves for the living room.
"Heading to work?" he asks, looking up as I enter.
"In a few. Just wanted to say good morning properly." I cross to him, standing on tiptoes to press a kiss to his bearded jaw. He turns his head to catch my lips instead, one hand settling at my waist with possessiveness that still sends a thrill through me.
"Properly noted," he says when we break apart, his eyes dark with promise. "Dinner tonight? Just the four of us?"
"Can't. Girls' night with Lala and the others." The words come automatically now, the routines of life in Vineyard Groves as familiar as if I've lived here all my life instead of just a few months.
