Page 18 of The Knotheads Next Door
"What Jasper is trying to say," Wells interjects, finally deigning to join the conversation, "is that we've had a relatively peaceful household routine until now, and he'd like to maintain that."
"What Jasper is trying to say," Theo counters, "is that he's a grumpy asshole in the mornings, and you should ignore him until he's had at least two cups of coffee."
Rowan's smile shifts to something more genuine as she looks at Theo. "Noted."
I don't like the way they're smiling at each other. I don't like her standing in our kitchen like she belongs here. I don't like any of this.
"I need to fix the sink today," I announce, changing the subject. "The disposal's been making that grinding noise again."
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Wells asks. "I have that video call with the mayor's office in Haverford at eleven, and—"
"It'll be loud," I interrupt, already knowing where this is going. "I can do it now or I can do it during your call. Your choice."
Wells gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm doing, but he just sighs. "Fine. Do it now."
"Thought so." I open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out my toolbox with perhaps more force than necessary. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rowan watching me, that little crease between her eyebrows deepening.
"You might want to take your morning elsewhere," Wells tells her, his tone gentler than the one he uses with me and Theo. "Once Jasper starts banging around under there, you won't be able to hear yourself think."
"It's fine," she says, settling at the kitchen table with her laptop. "I've had roommates before. I can tune it out."
I clench my jaw. So that's how it's going to be.
"You'll be sorry," Theo says in a singsong voice as he rises from the table. "Last time he fixed the sink, it sounded like he was murdering it with a hammer."
"Sometimes violence is the answer," I mutter, laying out my tools on the kitchen floor.
Theo claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. "Stop being an asshole," he says quietly, just for me. "She's not the enemy."
I shrug him off, not responding. He doesn't get it. Neither does Wells. They haven't been burned like I have. They don't understand what happens when you let down your guard.
For the next hour, I work under the sink, disassembling the garbage disposal to figure out what's causing the noise. It's methodical work, the kind that usually calms me. But today, I'm hyperaware of every movement in the kitchen—the soft tapping of Rowan's fingers on her keyboard, the occasional sigh when she sees something she doesn't like, the way she gets up every twenty minutes to pace a small circuit around the kitchen.
She's restless. So am I.
"Can you hand me the Phillips head?" I ask from under the sink, extending my hand blindly.
There's a pause, then I feel the screwdriver being placed in my palm. Her fingers brush against mine, just for a second, but it's enough to make my skin prickle with awareness.
"Thanks," I grunt.
"You're welcome," she says primly, and I can practically hear the fake smile in her voice.
By the third tool I ask for, I realize she's deliberately handing me the wrong ones. I ask for pliers; she gives me a wrench. I ask for the socket set; she gives me a hammer.
"Are you doing this on purpose?" I finally snap, sliding out from under the sink to glare at her.
She blinks at me with false innocence. "Doing what?"
"Giving me the wrong tools."
"Oh," she says, widening her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm not really familiar with tool terminology. I thought you said 'rent check.'"
Theo, who's wandered back into the kitchen for a snack, disguises a laugh as a cough. "She's got you there, Jas."
I glare at him. "Whose side are you on?"
"The side of whoever's funnier," he says cheerfully, biting into an apple. "Currently, that's Rowan."
