Chapter 11 Tabitha #2
Bea is humming lightly as she lines up three mugs, glancing at us with bright, laser-focused curiosity every time she turns her back.
I suddenly remember all those afternoons she spent on the sun porch, nose buried in a paperback with a burly, shirtless man on the cover and a wolf howling at the moon somewhere in the background. Was she… vetting me this whole time?
We shuffle into the kitchen, Jasper sticking to my shoulder with the practiced intimacy of someone who’s spent all week learning the exact angle of my hip.
I want to be furious at him, but every time I look at his face—smug, amused, like he can’t believe his luck—I end up barely holding in my own laughter.
It’s like we’re two naughty kids, pulled in front of the principal and daring each other to make it worse.
I bump his arm with my elbow, and he immediately loops his hand around my waist, both a claim and a comfort.
Bea pours the tea and gestures for us to sit at the counter.
We perch on the stools like guilty teenagers—me in my robe, Jasper in his signature nothing-but-jeans.
Then Bea adds a thimble’s worth of whiskey to each, which seems justified.
She stays across the marble from us, elbows on the counter, her chin in her palms and eyes fixed with a kind of gleeful fascination.
“I love science fiction,” she announces. “And this”—she waves her mug at us— “is a delightfully implausible turn for my retirement.”
Jasper grins. “It’s not really science fiction. More like magical realism. Urban fantasy, if you want to get technical—”
“Shut up,” I whisper, jabbing him in the ribs, and he yelps slightly, but not enough to break character.
Bea cackles into her tea. “You sound just like the books. I know that’s all fiction. But it seems there’s some grain of truth. Otherwise, how could they write all those love scenes with such realism? Especially that knotting thing.”
I almost gag on my tea. Jasper covers it with a coughing fit and discreetly pours himself more whiskey.
“So, when did you first know?”
“That we were shifters?” I ask. “We were born like this.”
“Oh no. Not the shifter part. When did you know you were fated mates?”
I hesitate. Jasper, of course, does not. “First night. I smelled her, and it was a done deal.”
Bea raises an eyebrow. “And you, Tabitha?”
I trace a swirl in the condensation on my mug. “I knew when... Well, I guess I knew the first time he got under my fur. He was”—I glare sideways at him— “unbearably persistent.”
“That’s the fox in me,” he says, proud as a child waving an honor roll certificate.
Bea laughs again, softer this time, more herself. “Well. As long as you aren’t planning to eat my canary or burn down my garage, I suppose it’s fine. My Harold always said, ‘Everyone has something to hide.’” She lifts her mug like she’s making a toast.
I flush, relaxing by degrees. Bea isn’t mad. She isn’t even rattled or fazed upon learning fox and cat shifters exist. She got through her initial shock, and now she’s just…delighted.
‘Do you think we broke her?’ I ask Jasper.
He lifts his mug and sips while he sends back his answer. ‘She seems cool with this. I say we call it a win and don’t question it.’
I look back to Bea, and suddenly I see her as a whole person, not just the lonely old lady who saved me from the shelter.
Bea lost her family, lost her Harold, built this sanctuary out of habit and heartache—and in return, fate gave her a shape-shifting tabby and a stray fox with a taste for poultry and drama.
For a second, I’m overwhelmed. Not by shame, or anger, but by a gratitude so raw I have to look away. Bea clears her throat, softer this time, and pours a little more whiskey into her tea.
“Don’t worry,” she says, as if reading my mind.
“Your secret’s safe with me. Who would believe an old biddy like me, anyway?
Half my bridge club already suspects I’m losing my marbles.
If I start telling them my pets can talk to me, they’ll send the men with the white coats after me.
” She pauses then, a slight furrow dipping her brow as she wraps her hands around her mug.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want honest answers. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I say immediately.
“Good. First question: Do you have anywhere else to go? Either of you?”
I shake my head. “No. This is my only home.”
“I’ve been drifting for years,” Jasper admits. “I have no family, no pack. Until I met Tabitha, I had nothing.”
“Second question: Are you dangerous? Will you hurt me or anyone else?”
“Never,” I say fiercely. “Bea, I would never—”
“I know. I just needed to hear you say it.” She sips her tea. “Third question: Can you pay rent?”
I blink. “Rent?”
“Well, you can’t keep pretending to be pets now that I know the truth.
That would be ridiculous. So if you’re going to stay, we need to establish some ground rules—and a good cover story.
Like Tabitha is my niece from out of town, and you’re her husband.
Times are tough, and you’re living with me as a way to help us all get by.
Now, you’ll need to contribute. Get jobs.
Pay your share. Be actual housemates instead of animals I feed for free. ”
“You want us to stay?” I ask, hardly daring to believe it.
“Of course I want you to stay!” Bea reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Tabitha, you’ve been my companion for two years. You’ve made this house feel less empty. And Jasper—well, you make her happy. Which means you’re welcome here too.”
“Even after—” Jasper gestures vaguely toward the living room.
“We’re getting that steam cleaned,” Bea says firmly.
“And you’re paying for it. But yes. Even after that.
” She squeezes my hand. “I meant what I said, you know. About being lonely. It’s been hard since Harold died.
Having Whiskers—having you, Tabitha—helped more than you know.
And now that I know you can talk back...
” She smiles. “Well. I think this is going to be much better.”
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, don’t cry, dear. You’ll set me off.” Bea dabs at her own eyes with a napkin. “Now then. Ground rules. One: No more sex on the furniture I use. Stick to the spare bedroom.”
“Deal,” Jasper says quickly.
“Two: You’ll help around the house. Cleaning, cooking, yard work. If you’re going to live here as humans, you’re going to contribute as humans.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“Three: No more lying. About anything. If something’s wrong or you need help, you tell me. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” She sits back, looking satisfied. “Now. When’s the last time either of you had a proper meal? And I don’t mean stolen turkey legs.”
Jasper grins. “Define ‘proper meal.’”
“I’ll make us a late-night breakfast,” Bea decides, standing up. “Eggs, bacon, toast. And you’re both going to sit there and eat like civilized people instead of animals. We have a lot to talk about.”
As she moves around the kitchen, pulling out pans and ingredients, I catch Jasper’s eye.
‘Did that really just happen?’ I think at him.
‘I think we just got adopted by a seventy-year-old woman.’
‘I think we got really, really lucky.’
‘Yeah.’ He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘We did.’