Chapter 16
Theo
Something's different between Rowan and Jasper.
The kitchen has always been a stage for our strange four-person dance, but today the choreography has shifted dramatically.
Jasper, normally grumpy but direct, won't look at Rowan at all.
And Rowan, who's been generally avoiding all of us lately, is specifically avoiding him—keeping the island between them at all times, tensing when he moves near her, her scent spiking with a complex mixture of emotions I can't quite untangle.
Something happened.
Wells notices too, his sharp eyes flicking between them, cataloging the new tension. But he says nothing, just sips his coffee and watches with that analytical expression he gets when he's processing data.
"Morning," I say as I enter, keeping my tone deliberately casual. "Anyone want pancakes?"
"I'm late," Jasper grunts, grabbing his travel mug and heading for the door without making eye contact with anyone.
The silence after he leaves is heavy, loaded with unspoken words.
"I should get ready for work too," Rowan says, setting her half-empty coffee mug in the sink with exaggerated care.
"Actually," I say, "Crystal let me know that she's opening late today because of a dentist appointment. You've got an extra hour."
Rowan blinks, then narrows her eyes suspiciously. "She didn't text me."
"She asked me to tell you when I ran into her at the grocery store yesterday," I lie smoothly. In truth, I just want to check on her, and this seemed like the best way to get her alone for a few minutes.
Wells gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I'm doing, but he mercifully remains silent.
"I've got a meeting with the mayor," he says, standing and gathering his things. "Don't forget the festival committee meeting tonight, Rowan. They're expecting your help with the flower arrangements."
She nods, still looking uncomfortable. "Right. Flowers. Arranging. I'll be there."
As soon as Wells leaves, the kitchen feels both emptier and less tense. Rowan exhales, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"So," I say, opening the fridge to pull out eggs and milk, "pancakes?"
She hesitates, then nods. "Sure. I can help."
We move around the kitchen in companionable silence, me mixing batter while she slices fruit. It's oddly domestic, and I find myself enjoying it more than I should. This isn't permanent, I remind myself. None of this is.
"Are you okay?" I ask after a few minutes, keeping my tone gentle, non-confrontational. "You seem... tense this morning."
"I'm fine," she says automatically, the lie obvious in the tightness of her voice.
I wait, saying nothing, letting the silence do the work for me. It's a technique I use with nervous animals—create space, let them come to you.
"Okay, I'm not fine," she admits finally, setting down the knife with a clatter. "But I don't want to talk about it."
"That's fair," I say, pouring batter onto the hot griddle. "You don't owe me any explanations."
She looks at me, surprise evident in her expression. "You're not going to push?"
"Would it help if I did?" I flip a pancake, focusing on the task rather than on how much I want to reach out and smooth the worry line between her brows.
"No," she sighs, leaning against the counter. "Yes. Maybe? I don't know. Everything is so confusing right now."
I nod, understanding. "Your biology changing. Living with three alphas. Being new in town. That's a lot for anyone to handle."
"Add family drama and identity crises to the mix, and it's a wonder I'm still functioning," she says with a wry smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"You're doing better than functioning," I tell her, meaning it. "You're adapting. Finding your feet. It's impressive, actually."
She looks down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Tell that to my body, which apparently has its own agenda these days."
I slide the finished pancakes onto a plate and start another batch. "The hormonal changes?"
"That, and..." She trails off, her scent shifting with embarrassment and something else—something warmer, more complicated. "Things I never used to want, suddenly I can't stop thinking about."
My heart rate picks up despite my best efforts to remain calm. "What kind of things?"
She looks at me then, really looks at me, her eyes dark with emotions I can't quite read.
"Jasper kissed me last night."
The confession hangs in the air between us. I should be surprised, but somehow I'm not.
The tension this morning, the way they were avoiding each other—it makes perfect sense.
What does surprise me is the sharp stab of jealousy that hits me at her words. Not anger—Jasper is pack, or as close to it as makes no difference—but a fierce, possessive need to stake my own claim.
"I see," I say, working to keep my voice even. "And was that... welcome?"
Her blush deepens. "Yes… No. I don't know." She pushes her hair back from her face in a frustrated gesture. "In the moment, it was very welcome. But then he pulled away, said it was a mistake, and now he won't even look at me."
Typical Jasper. Always running from anything that might make him vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," I say, and I mean it. Not that they kissed—that was probably inevitable, given the chemistry that's been building between them—but that he hurt her afterward. "He's not good at handling emotions. Never has been."
"Neither am I," she admits. "I've spent my whole life keeping people at a distance. It's safer that way." She looks down at her hands. "But now..."
"Now your biology is pushing you toward connection," I finish for her.
She nods, miserable. "And not just with Jasper. That's the worst part. It's all of you. In different ways, but it’s equally confusing."
My heart stutters at the admission. She feels it too, then—this pull between us that I've been trying so hard to ignore.
"It's not just biology," I say quietly, turning off the stove. The pancakes can wait. "At least, not for me."
Her eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I was attracted to you before your scent started changing.
Before the mini-heat episodes. Before any of that.
" It feels dangerous to admit, but also necessary.
"I like you, Rowan. As a person. Your humor, your kindness, the way you care for Gerald.
The way you stand up to Jasper when he's being an ass.
The way you see people, really see them. "
"Theo," she says, my name barely a whisper on her lips.
"I'm not telling you this to pressure you," I continue, needing her to understand. "Or to compete with Jasper, or Wells, or whatever else is happening. I'm telling you because I think you deserve honesty. Especially now, when everything feels so uncertain."
She looks shell-shocked, her scent a complex swirl of emotions—surprise, confusion, relief, and underneath it all, a warm note that makes my alpha instincts stir with hope.
"I don't know what to say," she admits. "I'm not... I've never been good at this. At feelings. At letting people in."
"You don't have to say anything," I assure her. "Or do anything. Just know that whatever happens, whatever you decide, I'm here. Not just as an alpha, not just as a roommate. As someone who cares about you."
A strand of hair has fallen across her face, and before I can think better of it, I reach out to tuck it behind her ear. It's a small gesture, innocent compared to whatever happened between her and Jasper last night, but the moment my fingers brush her skin, everything changes.
Her pupils dilate, her breath catches, and her scent—god, her scent—spikes with something sweet and inviting that makes my head swim. She leans into my touch, just slightly, but enough that I feel it like a physical pull.
"Theo," she says again, and this time my name sounds like a plea.
Something primal and protective rises in my chest, a rumbling sound that starts deep and works its way up. A purr—the sound an alpha makes to soothe, to comfort, to claim. I've never made that sound before, not with anyone, but it feels right. Natural.
Rowan's reaction is immediate and stuns me. Her entire body seems to melt, tension draining away as she steps closer, her head tilting to expose the line of her neck in an unconscious gesture of submission that makes my alpha howl with satisfaction.
I should step back. Create distance. This is exactly the kind of complication we've all been trying to avoid.
Instead, I find myself drawing her closer, one hand cupping her face, the other settling at the small of her back. The purr continues, rumbling through me, through her where our bodies connect.
"Is this okay?" I ask, my voice rough with restraint.
She nods, her eyes half-closed, her body swaying toward mine like a flower seeking the sun. "Yes. Please."
I don't kiss her, even though every cell in my body screams for it.
That feels like a line we can't uncross, especially after what happened with Jasper.
Instead, I simply hold her, letting my scent wrap around her, letting the purr soothe away the anxiety and confusion that's been clouding her scent for days.
She fits against me perfectly, her head tucked under my chin, her heartbeat gradually slowing to match mine. For a few precious minutes, we just stand there in the kitchen, holding each other, neither of us willing to break the spell.
But reality intrudes, as it always does. The sound of a car door slamming outside makes us both tense, and Rowan steps back, her eyes clearing as she puts distance between us.
"I should get ready for work," she says, not quite meeting my gaze. "Even with the extra hour."
"Right," I agree, running a hand through my hair. "And I've got appointments at the clinic."
She hesitates, then says, "Thank you. For listening. For not pushing. For..." She gestures vaguely between us, unable to put into words whatever just happened.
"Anytime," I say, meaning it more than she can possibly know.