Chapter 12 Jasper
Jasper
Iwake up to sunlight streaming through the guest room window—our room now—and for a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that this is real.
I have a bed. A room. A home.
And a woman curled up against my chest, her dark hair spread across my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine in a possessive tangle that makes me grin like an idiot.
Tabitha.
My mate. My love. My infuriatingly perfect, occasionally violent, absolutely irreplaceable other half.
She shifts slightly in her sleep, making a small sound that’s half-purr, half-sigh, and I tighten my arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
Last night feels like a fever dream. Getting caught. Bea fainting. Twice. The confession. The tea and whiskey. The acceptance.
The fact that we get to stay.
I still can’t quite believe it.
‘Stop thinking so loud,’ Tabitha’s sleepy mental voice filters into my mind. ‘Some of us are trying to sleep.’
‘It’s almost nine. We should get up.’
‘No. Sleeping.’
‘Bea’s probably making breakfast.’
‘Don’t care. Warm. Comfy.’ She burrows deeper into my side.
I chuckle and run my fingers through her hair. ‘We can’t hide in here all day.’
‘Watch me.’
‘What if she made more bacon?’
Her eyes pop open. “Bacon?”
“Probably. I smell it.”
She’s out of bed so fast I barely register the movement, grabbing her robe and cinching it tight. “Why didn’t you lead with bacon?”
“I tried the romantic approach first.”
“Bacon IS romantic.” She’s already at the door.
“Are you saying you love bacon more than you love me?”
She pauses, considering. “It’s close.”
“You’re terrible.”
“And you’re obsessed with me.” She blows me a kiss and disappears into the hallway.
I laugh and roll out of bed, pulling on the jeans I discarded last night. When I follow her downstairs, I find both women in the kitchen—Bea at the stove, Tabitha perched on a stool at the counter, already munching on a piece of bacon.
“Good morning, Jasper,” Bea says cheerfully, like yesterday didn’t happen. Like she didn’t discover her pets were actually people. “Eggs?”
“Please.” I slide onto the stool next to Tabitha and steal a piece of her bacon. She swats my hand but doesn’t stop me.
“I was thinking,” Bea says, cracking eggs into a pan, “we should probably discuss the logistics of our new living arrangement. I already told the neighbors you’re my niece from out of town and her husband, Tabitha. I hope that’s all right?”
“That’s perfect,” Tabitha says. “Thank you.”
“You’ll need to be careful about shifting, of course. Can’t have anyone seeing you change. And I was wondering if we should address where Whiskers and Sox went. Or would that not work since I imagine you’ll need to shift at some point?”
“We do need to shift,” I say. “So perhaps when people ask about them, we just say they’re wandering around somewhere.
Animals like to hide. So, it wouldn’t be odd that they’re not always around for company.
And I’m always happy to chase Tabitha around the backyard for show—as fox and cat, of course. ”
Tabitha quirks an eyebrow at me, but Bea nods approvingly.
““That works. Now, about jobs. What are your skills?”
“I could do handyman work,” I offer. “I’ve been drifting for years, picking up odd jobs. I’m good with my hands.”
Tabitha snorts into her orange juice.
“What?” I give her an innocent look. “I am.”
“I know you are.”
Bea clears her throat, hiding a smile. “Yes, well. I’m sure we can find you plenty of work around town. Perhaps we could get cards made up so I can recommend you to my friends. And Tabitha, dear—what skills do you have?”
“I...uh. Not many, really. I mean, I like writing. But mostly I’ve just worked as a late-night gas station cashier or a housekeeping temp.” She glances at Bea. “That’s...kind of all I’m good at.”
“Nonsense,” Bea says, setting plates of eggs in front of us. “You’re bright as a whip, and anyone with eyes can see you’re organized and thoughtful. I’m sure we can come up with something.”
“I do keep a good spreadsheet,” Tabitha mumbles, blushing as she stabs at her eggs. “And I’ll clean. I actually like cleaning, as long as Jasper doesn’t sabotage it.”
“I would never sabotage your cleaning. Maybe,” I add, when Tabitha shoots me a look.
“I can make inquiries,” Bea says, pouring coffee for all of us. “This town always needs help at the library, or at the florist’s. Doris at the café is hiring.”
“I could do a café.” Tabitha perks up. “That could work.”
“And perhaps you could use my laptop and do some writing in your spare time? Maybe you could freelance, or if you like writing fiction, you could do that self-publishing thing a lot of authors nowadays do.”
“I’d like that.” Tabitha’s voice is soft. “But, Bea. I’ll need some clothes.”
“Oh, heavens! Of course you would. It’s the one thing I didn’t think of. I’ll go into town today, and if you give me your size, I’ll get you some things to start you off.”
Tabitha blushes. “Thank you, Bea.”
“Of course. Anything you need, you let me know. I realize a person has to be pretty down on their luck to moonlight as a house pet. So I expect there’ll be some adjusting. But we’re family now,” Bea says simply. “We take care of each other.”
The word ‘family’ hits me square in the chest. I’ve never had that. Not really. My parents died when I was young, and I’ve been alone ever since. Drifting. Surviving. Never belonging.
Until now.
‘You OK?’ Tabitha’s mental voice is gentle.
‘Yeah. Just... processing.’
‘Good processing or bad processing?’
‘The best processing.’
She slides her hand into mine under the counter and squeezes.
We eat breakfast together—as humans, at a table, like normal people—and it’s so surreal I have to keep reminding myself it’s real. This is my life now. This is my family.
After we clean up, Bea claps her hands together. “Right! We have work to do. Halloween is tonight, and this house isn’t going to decorate itself.”
“You want more decorations up?” I ask, looking around at the pumpkins and witches and black cats absolutely covering every surface.
“Of course I do. There’s the Halloween parade, then trick-or-treaters all evening. This is the most fun I have all year.” Bea gives us both a pointed look. “You’re both expected to help.” She’s already pulling boxes from the hall closet. “Besides, it’ll be fun!”
It is fun, actually. While Bea goes shopping for some clothes for Tabitha and a little extra food, we stay home and spend the afternoon stringing up orange lights, arranging pumpkins on the porch, hanging fake cobwebs from the eaves.
Tabitha keeps getting tangled in the spiderwebs and blaming me, even though I’m clearly innocent.
“You put it there on purpose!” she accuses, pulling sticky white strands from her hair.
“I’m on the roof, Tabby. How would I even—”
“You threw it at me!”
“I absolutely did not—”
“I literally saw you,” she says. “You made a snowball out of cotton spiderweb and chucked it at my head while I was fixing the window cling.”
“I was aiming for your shoulder,” I protest, which only makes her laugh louder.
Her hair shines in the afternoon light, haloed with clingy fibers, and I have never wanted to make out with someone in a pile of fake cobwebs more in my life.
“You’re insufferable,” she proclaims, but her smile says otherwise.
We bicker our way through the rest of the decorating, and I’m pretty sure no one on the block has a better-looking haunted house than we do by the time we’re finished.
Bea returns triumphant from her shopping and calls us in for a conference.
She’s laid out two bundles on the kitchen table: one is a stack of new clothes for Tabitha—jeans, sweaters, a dress, even some actual underwear and two pairs of shoes—and she’s even laid out a pile for me. Which is supremely unexpected.
“I found that ratty pack of yours, Jasper. And you can’t go around wearing shirts with holes in them. So I’ve bought you enough new things to keep you looking presentable. Next week, I’ll take you to the hardware store, and we’ll set you up with tools and then—”
She doesn’t get to finish before I throw my arms around her and hug her tight and, for a second, I forget to let go.
Maybe she does too, because her hand rubs circles on my back, gentle as a spring breeze, squeezing me back before she wipes her cheek—definitely not crying, just rubbing dust from her eye.
“You’re one of mine now,” Bea whispers. “Both of you. That’s that.”
Tabitha blinks several times, blinking harder when she realizes she’s not the only one getting misty-eyed. She stands, holding the new clothes to her chest, looking more fragile than I’ve ever seen her. “Thank you, Bea,” she says, her voice so soft I almost miss it. “You really didn’t have to…”
She doesn’t finish, but Bea gets it. She gets all of it. Sometimes, I think the humans have a better grip on what matters than any shifter I ever met.
“Go on and try those on, love,” Bea says, bustling back toward the kitchen. “Then come help me finish getting these bags ready for our trick or treaters.”
By late afternoon, the house looks like a Halloween explosion both inside and out. But we’re ready.
Bea stands back, hands on her hips, surveying all of our work. “Excellent job, you two. Now we just need to put on our—” She stops. “Oh, dear.”
“What?” Tabitha asks.
“Costumes. I completely forgot about costumes!” She looks stricken. “The parade will start soon, and you two won’t have anything to wear—”
“We don’t need costumes,” Tabitha assures her. “We can just stay here and hand out candy.”
“I could put my old clothes on and tell everyone I’m dressed as a homeless person,” I suggest. And both Tabitha and Bea give me long-suffering looks.
“No, Jasper. That isn’t an option. Everyone in the street dresses up.” She’s already wringing her hands. “What to do... Unless...” Her face brightens. “Wait here!”
She disappears into the house and returns a few minutes later carrying a small shopping bag.