Page 45 of The Knotheads Next Door
She rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays at her lips. "Wow, don't strain yourself with the compliments there, Wells. A girl might get a big head."
"You look beautiful," I amend, the words escaping before I can censor them. "The dress suits you."
A faint blush colors her cheeks. "Thank you. You look pretty good yourself. Very mayoral-adjacent."
I check my watch, partly to give myself something to do besides stare at her. "We should go. Mayor Tillie—"
"—hates tardiness almost as much as she hates inadequate festival decorations," Rowan finishes for me, grinning.
"Lala gave me the full briefing on all things Tillie-related. Including a disturbing amount of detail about her three-decade love affair with the town's former sheriff and current unofficial barber."
Despite myself, I smile. "Lala does have a flair for the dramatic."
"That's putting it mildly. She tried to convince me to wear something called 'pheromone enhancer.' Said it would drive all the alphas wild." Rowan shakes her head, laughing. "As if I need help with that right now."
The casual reference to her situation—to the way her changing biology is affecting us—hangs in the air between us, suddenly making the space seem smaller.
"Right," I say, more stiffly than I intended. "We should go."
I open the door for her, careful not to touch her as she passes. Even so, I catch another wave of her scent, and something in me—something primal and possessive that I usually keep firmly in check—rumbles to life. Then my eyes lock on the outline of her ass. Full and plump, it hypnotizes me with each bounce as she walks. I swallow. Hard.
This was a mistake.
But it's too late to back out now. And as I follow her to my car, still caught up the sway of her hips in that dress, I'm not entirely sure I want to.
The Spring Gala is held in the grand ballroom of the Vineyard Groves Lake Resort, the town's most expensive and impressive venue. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over round tables draped in white linen, a small orchestra plays classical music in the corner, and Vineyard Groves' elite mill about in their finest attire, sipping champagne and pretending they don't all know every detail of each other's lives.
"Wow," Rowan murmurs as we enter, her eyes wide. "This is... not what I expected."
"What did you expect?" I ask, guiding her toward the champagne table with a light touch at the small of her back. I immediately regret the contact when I feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her dress.
"I don't know. Something more... small town? This looks like it belongs in a movie about rich people with terrible deadly secrets."
I smile despite myself. "The resort goes all out for these events. It's good publicity for them, and it makes the town look prosperous to potential investors."
"Hmm," she says, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "And here I thought it was just an excuse for everyone to dress up and gossip."
"That too," I concede. "Speaking of which..."
I nod toward Mayor Tillie, who is making her way toward us with determined purpose, resplendent in a royal blue gown that manages to be both dignified and slightly ostentatious.
"Wells!" she exclaims, air-kissing my cheek. "Always so punctual. And Rowan!" She turns her full attention to my companion, her eyes gleaming with interest. "I've been hearing so much about you, dear. All of it intriguing."
"Mayor Tillie," I interject before she can launch into a full interrogation, "Rowan is still getting settled in town. Perhaps we could save the third degree for later?"
Tillie waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Wells. I'm just being friendly."
She links her arm through Rowan's. "Come, dear, let me introduce you to some people who are dying to meet our newest resident."
Before I can protest, Tillie is sweeping Rowan away, leaving me with nothing but a helpless shrug and an apologetic smile thrown over her shoulder.
I watch as Tillie guides her from group to group, introducing her to town council members, business owners, and various local dignitaries. To my surprise, Rowan handles it with grace, smiling and chatting, her initial nervousness giving way to what appears to be genuine enjoyment.
She's a natural, I realize. Adaptable, quick-witted, capable of making people feel at ease while still maintaining a certain distance. It's a skill I've spent years cultivating, but it seems to come to her instinctively.
As the evening progresses, I find myself watching her more than attending to my own duties. I should be networking, discussing the upcoming festival with sponsors, smoothing over the latest dispute between the historical preservation committee and the tourism board.
Instead, I'm tracking Rowan's movement through the room, noting how her laugh changes depending on who she's talking to, and how she subtly shifts her posture when approached by a particularly aggressive conversationalist.
