Chapter 9
Afew weeks later, Demarien stared at his wrecked kitchen with a happy smile.
Dust hung in the late afternoon light like drifting pollen, glowing gold as it slipped through the repaired kitchen window.
The window itself was propped open with a paint-streaked block of wood, letting in the smell of damp earth and distant pine.
The smile wasn’t due to the kitchen. That fucker still needed a lot of work.
The smile was the result of several lovely dates with Boone Harding.
They had alternated between Wilma-Jean and Sammie’s restaurants and spent each night talking over a good meal.
One benefit of the main house being closed as a crime scene was that Demarien had plenty of time for dates.
The downside was the ever-present panic creeping up on him and his friends. That was all about to change, though. The crime scene was processed, and the main house was open to them all.
Demarien stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, looking at what would be his kitchen.
Unfortunately, the cabinets and countertops were in dire need of repair due to water damage.
Now, after a hard day of demolition, the old, broken cabinets were gone, ripped out that morning with more force than finesse.
Splintered wood leaned in a tired heap against the far wall.
The sink sat crooked, disconnected, a bucket beneath it catching the slow, stubborn drip of a pipe Felix hadn’t gotten to yet.
Demarien set his broom aside and dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, leaving a faint streak of sawdust and sweat. His shirt clung to his shoulders. It had started the day red and was now mostly a tired shade of brown.
“Alright,” he muttered to no one, voice rough but steady. “One thing at a time.”
The new countertop leaned against the wall beside him, thick oak, heavy as sin. He ran a hand over it, slow and careful. It was solid. Honest. The kind of wood that would outlast him if he treated it right, just like the house and the wonderful lady who once lived there.
He closed his eyes, and Aunt Dahlia was there, right beside him, a strong hand on his shoulder.
Felix rushed into the room, grinning. He was in his element. “Sorry. Milo needed a snack. They’ve been working hard. The downstairs is almost completely clean. We’ll be able to paint tomorrow.” His grin faltered. “It looks too bare without Aunt Dahlia’s stuff, though.”
Demarien’s eye twitched. Now that the shock of finding Bernard was starting to wear off, the reality of the situation was settling in. Someone had stolen everything of value in the house, picking it clean like a fucking buzzard scavenging roadkill.
“We’ll make it better,” Demarien said, voice full of more conviction than he felt.
Felix’s grin returned full force. “You’re right. Paintings and furniture can be replaced.”
“Yeah,” Demarien agreed. “We still have the important stuff.”
“Back to work.” Felix moved toward the cabinet frame they’d installed earlier, crouching to check the level again. The bubble hovered just slightly off center. “Of course you are.” He sighed.
Demarien chuckled and adjusted it, just a fraction.
Felix checked again. “Better.”
A floorboard creaked behind them, but it was just the house settling.
It always sounded like footsteps if Demarien let his imagination wander too far.
He didn’t mind. In a place this old, silence felt unnatural anyway.
Sometimes he could imagine Dahlia was there, watching them from the doorway with a smile.
Demarien stood, stretching his back until it popped, and glanced around again.
The debris, mouse droppings, and dirt had been removed first thing that morning.
The stone fireplace in the corner still held soot from winters long past. A cast-iron pan hung crooked on a nail, forgotten in the chaos.
The wide plank floors were scuffed and worn, each mark a story.
It was starting to resemble the kitchen he remembered.
Felix picked up the drill and set the next cabinet panel into place. The wood didn’t quite line up at first. “C’mon,” he said quietly, pressing it into position. “Work with us here.”
After a moment, it settled.
He and Felix shared a smile. Then, the sharp whir of the drill cut through the quiet, echoing off the bare walls. Then another screw. And another. Each one felt like progress. Like proof. They could do this.
Outside, the wind stirred, brushing through the trees. The light shifted, deepening toward evening, and the gold turned to orange.
Demarien and Felix stepped back again, studying what they’d done.
They were a bargain set of cabinets, but they were set evenly, and Felix had painted them white. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was sturdy. It was real. It was theirs.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and let out a slow breath that settled somewhere deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he said softly, nodding to the room as if it might answer back. “We’re getting there.”
Felix gave him a soft smile, then patted his back. “We’ll have the kitchen fixed up in no time.”
The house creaked again, quieter this time, and for the first time all day, the kitchen didn’t feel like a wreck.
A quiet chortle made his eye twitch again. The damn chicken is back.
Felix and Puck had set up a flower box outside one of the kitchen windows, and Memphis had decided it was hers. She sat there, wallowing in the dirt, and stared at him, as if she were a queen gracing a peasant with her gaze.
“It’s my kitchen,” he told her.
She chortled again and turned her back to him.
Felix snickered.
Brownie waddled in on his short legs, ears almost touching the ground. “Woof.”
“Hey, buddy. We’ll have a doggie bed set up next to the fireplace in just a moment.”
“I’m going to fix that sink,” Felix said. “We’ll do the countertop later tonight, when your darling Boone comes by.”
Demarien’s grin returned, and he sighed happily.
Felix leaned back against the cabinet frame, crossing his arms with a satisfied look. “The two of you have barely been apart this whole month. That’s not casual.”
“I know,” Demarien admitted, his voice soft. “It doesn’t feel casual either. It’s… easy. Like, I don’t have to think about what to say. Almost like I’m talking to you or the guys.”
Felix studied him for a moment, his teasing expression easing into something warmer. “You really like him.”
Demarien nodded, eyes dropping to the floor. “I do, and that’s kind of what scares me.”
“Why?” Felix asked gently.
Demarien shrugged. “I liked him so much when I was a kid, but this feels different. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. It’s just that Boone is different from anyone I’ve ever dated. He actually listens. Like, really listens. He remembers little things I say.”
“Green flag,” Felix said immediately.
“And we make terrible pun jokes together,” Demarien added.
“Red flag,” Felix shot back.
Demarien laughed. “No, they’re so bad they loop back around to being funny.”
“I’ve heard some of them,” Felix said, shaking his head. “Still a red flag.”
They both laughed, some of the tension easing.
“It’s not just like, is it?” Felix asked. “You’re in love.”
Demarien opened his mouth to argue, then paused. His smile turned quieter, more thoughtful. “Maybe,” he admitted.
“Maybe my ass,” Felix said, grinning.
“Hello, hello.” A voice came from outside. Soon, Boone stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He had clearly come straight from a lesson since he wore athletic clothing under an army hoodie.
Brownie waddled to him, begging for attention. Demarien kinda wanted to follow him.
“Hey there, little buddy.” Boone awkwardly knelt, then began a rigorous round of scritching and scratching. Demarien moved closer and tried to be patient.
After a while, he stood and smiled at Demarien, his whole face lighting up. “Hey, lovely.” He pulled Demarien into his arms and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.
Demarien enjoyed the moment, reveling in his warmth and the strength of the arms around him.
Once the kiss ended, Boone pulled back and waggled his brows. “You look nice and dirty.”
“Oh no, my innocence has been soiled,” Demarien replied, grinning.
“Red flag,” Felix yelled, wiggling between them and shoving them apart. “Red flag.”
Demarien and Boone both laughed.
“Sorry, Felix,” Boone said, grinning. “We can’t help ourselves.”
Felix sighed, looking tired. “You two are exhausting.”
“Is that Boone?” Milo yelled, running into the kitchen. The omega, covered in dirt and grime, was eating a large sandwich. Behind him, Puck yawned. He had mostly worked outside that day, so he was covered in mud and leaves.
“Two more soiled omegas,” Demarien said, snickering.
“Ugh, you are disgusting.” Felix covered his ears.
Boone laughed and smiled at them all. “You all have been busy today. How about we place this countertop and then I’ll take you all to dinner at Wilma’s?”
“I could eat,” Milo said, stuffing the last bit of sandwich in his mouth.
Puck groaned. “Food and rest would be nice.”
“Okay,” Felix said, standing back with his hands on his hips, squinting at the cabinets like they might shift if he stared hard enough. “I want food, so this is the moment of truth. Let’s lift that heavy fucker.”
“I feel like we should practice this with something less… expensive.” Milo gave the countertop a pinched look.
Demarien grinned. “What, like a cardboard countertop?”
“I’m serious,” Milo said, though his smile gave him away. “If we drop this, I’m moving out of state.”
“You live here,” Felix pointed out.
“Exactly. I’ll go. Start over. New identity.”
Boone laughed and picked up his end of the heavy slab leaning against the wall. “Alright, witness protection, on three?”
Demarien crouched, gripping the other side. “Wait, are we lifting with our legs or what?”
Felix hip-checked him and took his place. “You three stand back. We lift with whatever works. One, two—”
“Rude,” Demarien muttered, scowling.
“—three.”
They lifted in a clumsy, uneven motion, the countertop wobbling slightly as they adjusted their grips.
Demarien and the others rushed to help, gripping the sides. “Oh my god, it’s heavier than it looked,” Demarien muttered, his arms trembling just a little.
“That’s what you said about my toolbox,” Felix shot back.
“That thing is full of mystery metal and emotional baggage,” Puck said, groaning.
They shuffled forward together, steps slow and awkward. Demarien bit his lip in concentration.
“Left. Left—no, your other left,” Felix said quickly.
“We only have two options, Puck,” Milo snickered. “Pick the correct one.”
They bumped lightly into the cabinet edge with a soft thunk, and everyone froze. Silence stretched. They looked at each other.
“Did it chip?” Demarien whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Boone answered, grin wavering. “It’s wood, not marble.”
“Don’t think or don’t know?” Milo asked.
“Don’t emotionally feel like it did.”
Felix let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Okay, okay. Tilt it, just a little. Yeah, like that.”
Carefully, they lowered the slab into place. It landed with a solid, satisfying thud.
They all stayed there for a second, hands still resting on the surface, as if it might disappear if they let go too soon.
Then Demarien straightened, stepping back.
It fit perfectly.
Milo’s face lit up. “Wait. That actually worked.”
Puck blinked at it, then at them. “We didn’t ruin it.”
“We didn’t ruin it!” Felix echoed, breaking into a grin and raising his arms above his head in victory.
Without thinking, Demarien threw his arms around Boone. He let out a small “oof” but wrapped his arms around him in return, laughing into Demarien’s shoulder.
“We’re basically professionals now,” Milo said, smug.
“Oh, absolutely,” Felix agreed dryly. “Next step, we start a renovation show.”
Puck snorted. “Yeah, episode one: ‘How Not to Panic While Holding Something Very Heavy and Expensive.’”
Demarien ignored them and pulled back from Boone, still smiling, his hands resting lightly on the alpha’s chest. For a moment, the jokes faded, replaced by something quieter.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for doing this with us.”
Boone shrugged, though his expression softened. “I’ll do anything you want as long as I’m with you.”
Demarien’s smile shifted, smaller, but warmer. “Even if these weirdos are involved?”
“Especially then.”
Demarien laughed, and this time when they leaned into each other, it wasn’t out of excitement or relief, but something steadier. Familiar already, even if everything else was still new.
Behind them, the countertop sat perfectly in place—solid, level, and real. Just like something else they were starting to build.