Page 70 of The Knotheads Next Door
"Not to interrupt whatever is happening here," she says, her expression gleeful, "but we do have about fifty more lanterns to hang before sunset."
"Right," Rowan says, stepping away from my touch with obvious reluctance. "Back to work."
Lala sidles up to me as Rowan returns to the ladder. "So," she says in a stage whisper, "when's the mating ceremony? Should I start designing the cake now, or...?"
I nearly choke on air. "There's no—we're not—it's not like that."
"Uh-huh," she says, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you're looking at her like she hung the moon instead of just some paper lanterns."
"Don't you have decorating to do?" I ask, desperate to end this conversation before Rowan overhears.
"Fine, fine," Lala says, holding up her hands in surrender. "But just so you know, denial isn't a good color on you. It clashes with your aura."
She flounces away, leaving me unsettled and off-balance. I retreat to the safety of my clipboard and vendor forms, trying to forget the feeling of Rowan's warmth beneath my palm, the way her scent seemed to reach for mine.
It doesn't work.
By the time I get home that evening, the house is quiet. Theo's working late at the clinic, and Jasper's truck is missing from the driveway. It should be a relief—space to decompress after a day of constant interaction, time to center myself before tomorrow's festival chaos.
Instead, it feels hollow until I hear soft humming from the kitchen.
Rowan stands at the counter, Gerald perched on her shoulder like a tiny furry parrot as she prepares his evening meal. She's still in her festival volunteer clothes, her hair now completely loose from its earlier bun, falling in waves down her back. The domesticity of the scene hits me with unexpected force—this image of her in our kitchen, at home, belonging.
"Hey," she says, glancing up when she notices me in the doorway. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Just got back," I say, setting down my keys. "Festival preparations all on track?"
"According to your very efficient color-coded spreadsheets? Yes." She offers a small smile as she uses a tiny syringe to feed Gerald, who kneads her shoulder enthusiastically.
"Though Lala is lobbying hard for 'just one more' string of fairy lights on the gazebo."
"Of course she is," I sigh, but there's no real irritation behind it. Lala's excessive decorating tendencies are as much a part of Vineyard Groves festivals as Mayor Tillie's opening speeches.
I should leave her to it—go upstairs, review tomorrow's schedule, maintain the careful distance I've been trying to reestablish since our moment at the festival grounds yesterday.
Instead, I find myself moving closer, drawn by the simple intimacy of the scene, by the way Gerald purrs in contentment, by the softness in Rowan's eyes as she watches him eat.
"He's getting big," I observe, reaching out to gently stroke the kitten's head with one finger.
Our arms brush with the movement, another small point of contact that feels far more significant than it should.
"Almost doubled in size since you all let me keep him," she agrees, her voice warm with affection. "Though Jasper still pretends to be annoyed when he climbs on the furniture."
"Jasper pretends a lot of things," I say quietly.
She looks up at me, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes. "Don't we all?"
The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with all the things we've been carefully not saying these past weeks. All the feelings we've been pretending don't exist. All the possibilities we've been refusing to acknowledge.
What if we stopped pretending? What if she never left?
The thought materializes fully formed, dangerous in its appeal—Rowan staying beyond her trial month, becoming a permanent part of our household, our lives. Her scent mingling with oursnot just temporarily but indefinitely. Her presence filling the spaces we didn't even realize were empty.
It's an impossible fantasy. She has her own life, her own plans, complex family issues waiting to be resolved. The text from her father still hangs over her like a cloud, though she's refused to discuss it with any of us. And even if she wanted to stay, the complications of three alphas and one omega under one roof are...significant.
And yet.
Gerald finishes his meal and mews contentedly, breaking the moment. Rowan sets the syringe in the sink and lifts him from her shoulder, cradling him against her chest.
