Chapter 13
Wells
If there was an Olympics of Organization, I would win gold in compartmentalization.
It's a skill I've honed through years of managing municipal crises, navigating political land mines, and keeping Vineyard Groves running smoothly despite the chaos that seems to follow our mayor like an enthusiastic puppy.
Which is why I find it so frustrating that I can't seem to focus on the budget proposal in front of me.
Every time I try to make sense of the numbers, my mind drifts to Rowan.
To the scent of her in our house, growing stronger despite the blockers.
To the way Jasper and Theo orbit around her like planets caught in a gravitational pull they can't escape.
To the way, I'm starting to do the same.
This is unacceptable. The balloon payment on the house is due in a month.
The Harvest Festival opens in three weeks.
And tonight, we're supposed to have this "pack meeting" that Jasper insists we need, but Theo keeps pushing off.
As if talking about our increasingly complicated living situation will somehow make it less complicated.
I close the budget file with a frustrated sigh and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling of my office at Town Hall. There are twenty-three water stains up there. I've counted them approximately eight hundred times during particularly tedious meetings.
My phone buzzes with a text from Theo.
Picking up Rowan from Billie's. Another spike. We still on for tonight?
Another episode. They're becoming more frequent, more intense. It's only a matter of time before she experiences a full heat—her first, from what I can gather. And when that happens...
No. I refuse to think about it. About her, flushed and needy, her scent calling to something primal in me that I've always kept firmly in check.
Yes, I text back. 8 PM.
Then, after a moment's consideration, I add: How is she?
Shaken. Trying to pretend she's fine. The usual.
I frown at the phone. This can't continue. For her safety as much as our sanity.
What Rowan needs is a distraction. Something structured, formal, and public that will take her mind off whatever her body is doing. Something that has absolutely nothing to do with alphas, or attraction, or the undeniable tension building in our house.
And I know exactly what that something is.
Before I can second-guess myself, I'm dialing her number. She answers on the fourth ring, her voice wary.
"Wells? Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," I assure her, keeping my tone casual. "I'm calling about the mayor's Spring Gala tomorrow night."
"The... what?"
"It's an annual event. Black tie, silent auction, networking with local business owners. Very formal, very dull. But essential for community relations."
"Okay," she says slowly. "And you're telling me this because...?"
"Because I need a plus-one, and you… seem like you could use a distraction."
There's a pause on the other end. I can almost see her expression—brows drawn together in that skeptical look she gets when she thinks someone is trying to pull something over on her.
"A plus-one," she repeats. "Like a date?"
"Like a professional accompaniment," I correct. "Mayor Tillie expects her senior staff to attend with guests. It creates a certain image of stability."
"And you usually bring...?"
"Usually Theo or Jasper, but they're both working tomorrow night." This is a lie. Neither of them has mentioned plans, but I'm counting on them being too intimidated by formal events to contradict me.
Another pause. "So, I'm your third choice. Flattering."
Despite myself, I smile. "Fourth, actually. Gerald was considered, but he lacks the necessary opposable thumbs for proper champagne glass handling."
She laughs, the sound warming something in my chest that I immediately try to freeze over again. This is about distraction, not connection.
"Look," I say, more seriously, "I know things have been... intense lately. This would be a chance to get out of the house, think about something else for a few hours. The food is excellent, if nothing else."
"I don't exactly have black-tie attire in my luggage," she points out. "Unless you count the one cocktail dress I panic-packed, which has a suspicious stain that might be wine or might be blood. The mystery adds character."
"I'm sure Lala or Avianna could help with that," I suggest. "They seem to have adopted you into their circle."
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "It would be nice to think about something other than... everything, for one night."
"Exactly," I agree, perhaps too quickly.
"And there would be no... expectations? This isn't some weird macho alpha thing?"
"Absolutely not," I say firmly. "This is entirely professional. A mutually beneficial arrangement that helps us both. Nothing more."
"Okay," she says finally. "I'll go. But only for the food."
"I'll pick you up at six," I tell her, already mentally rescheduling my afternoon to accommodate this unexpected plan. "The event starts at seven."
"I'll be ready," she promises.
As I hang up, I tell myself this is a good solution. Logical. Practical. A way to give Rowan the space she needs from our increasingly charged household while still keeping an eye on her in case she has another spike.
It's definitely not because I'm curious to see her dressed up.
Or because I've been looking for an excuse to spend time with her that doesn't involve Theo and Jasper hovering nearby.
And it's absolutely not because the thought of her experiencing another mini-heat episode alone in her room makes something possessive and protective curl in my chest.
No. This is purely tactical. A temporary solution to our current problem.
Nothing more.
By the time I get home from work the next day, the house is suspiciously quiet. Theo texted earlier to say he was covering for another vet at the emergency clinic. Jasper is nowhere to be seen, though his truck is in the driveway.
And Rowan...
"She's not here," Jasper informs me when I find him in the garage, aggressively sanding what appears to be a coffee table. "Your 'date' got kidnapped by the Welcome Committee hours ago."
I bristle at his tone. "It's not a date. It's a work function."
"Sure." He doesn't look up from his sanding. "That's why you didn't mention it last night during our big talk about boundaries and complications."
I ignore the accusation, which hits a little too close to the mark. "The talk got postponed anyway."
"Because Rowan locked herself in her room and refused to come out," Jasper points out. " And after whatever happened between her and Theo, Theo keeps covering for other people shifts. We barely see him"
"Nothing happened," I say, though I don't know that for certain. Something clearly occurred, given the way those two were avoiding each other's eyes all evening. "And this event is strictly professional. A distraction for her, a necessary appearance for me."
Jasper finally looks up, his expression skeptical. "Keep telling yourself that, Roman. Maybe eventually you'll believe it."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text. It's from Billie, and it contains a photo of Rowan sitting in what appears to be Lala's living room, surrounded by dresses in various colors. She's laughing, a glass of wine in one hand, looking more relaxed than I've seen her in days.
Operation Glow-Up in progress! Billie's text reads. You're welcome.
Another text follows almost immediately, this time from Avianna: If you hurt her feelings we will end you. Respectfully.
And then, from Lala: She's going to look AMAZING. Try not to swallow your tongue when you see her. Also, if you make her cry, I will put salt in your donuts for the rest of your natural life.
I don't bother responding to any of them. The women of Vineyard Groves are a force of nature, and arguing would only encourage them.
Instead, I head upstairs to get ready, ignoring Jasper's knowing look as I pass. This is just a work function. A distraction. Nothing more.
I repeat this to myself as I shower, as I trim my beard with perhaps more care than usual, as I put on my best suit—charcoal gray, tailored, with a blue tie that Mayor Tillie once said "brings out my eyes" in a performance review that strayed into uncomfortably personal territory.
By 5:55 PM, I'm waiting in the living room, keys in hand, telling myself that my slight nervousness is simply concern about being late. The mayor hates tardiness almost as much as she hates inadequate festival decorations.
The front door opens, and I turn, expecting to see Rowan.
Instead, it's Theo, looking surprised to find me dressed up.
"You look nice," he says, eyebrows raised. "Hot date?"
"Mayor's Gala," I correct, adjusting my cuffs. "Rowan's accompanying me."
Something flickers across Theo's face—surprise, then a flash of what might be hurt before it's quickly masked. "You asked Rowan to the gala?"
"As a professional plus-one," I clarify. "She needed a distraction from... everything. And I needed a guest."
"Right," Theo says, his tone carefully neutral. "Well, have fun with that. I'm going to grab a shower and crash. Double shift today."
He heads upstairs, his shoulders slightly more tense than usual. I feel a twinge of something that might be guilt, but I push it aside. There's nothing wrong with taking Rowan to a work function. It's not as if I have any claim on her.
None of us do.
The sound of a car pulling up outside draws my attention. Through the window, I see Lala's pink Volkswagen beetle at the curb. The passenger door opens, and Rowan steps out.