Epilogue
Rowan
One Month Later
I wake to sunlight streaming through curtains we forgot to close last night, the warmth of three bodies surrounding me.
Theo's arm is draped across my waist, his face buried in my head scarf.
Jasper takes up a disproportionate amount of space, as always, one leg thrown over mine, his chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of sleep.
Wells, ever the early riser, is already stirring, though his hand remains clasped in mine even as consciousness pulls him reluctantly from dreams.
Months ago, I never could have imagined this—this cluttered, warm house filled with the mingled scents of four people who have become essential to each other. This feeling of safety, of belonging, of finally being exactly where I'm meant to be.
A demanding meow breaks the peaceful morning stillness, followed by the distinctive thump of a certain menace jumping onto the bed.
"No," Jasper groans without opening his eyes. "Too early for cat tyranny."
Gerald, now tripled in size from the tiny abandoned kitten we rescued, ignores this protest completely. He marches across the bed with imperious confidence, stepping on various body parts with deliberate precision before settling directly on Jasper's chest, purring loud enough to wake the dead.
"Every. Damn. Morning," Jasper grumbles, but his hand automatically comes up to scratch behind Gerald's ears, betraying the affection he pretends not to feel. "You're lucky you're cute, furball."
"You love him," I point out sleepily, smiling at the domestic tableau.
"I tolerate him," Jasper corrects, but there's no heat in the words, and we all know it's a lie. Gerald has him wrapped around his little paw, just like the rest of us.
Wells sits up, already mentally sorting through his day's schedule despite the early hour.
Some habits die hard, but even he has learned to ease up on the rigid timetables that once dictated his every waking moment.
"Festival committee meeting at ten," he says, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair.
"Then lunch with the mayor to discuss the Vineyard Days planning."
"Skip it," Theo suggests, not bothering to open his eyes. "Stay in bed. Revolution against capitalism. Very important political statement."
Wells's lips twitch with the hint of a smile. "I'm not sure skipping a volunteer committee meeting counts as overthrowing the capitalist system."
"Start small. Work your way up. Rome wasn't dismantled in a day."
The easy banter between them warms me more than the sunshine now filling the room.
A month ago, we were all careful with each other, hesitant about this new dynamic. Now, we move around each other with the ease of long-time packmates, their distinct personalities no longer sources of friction but complementary pieces of a whole.
I extract myself from the tangle of limbs, ignoring protests from both Theo and Gerald.
"Some of us have actual jobs to get to," I remind them, heading for the shower. "Crystal's got a huge wedding consultation today, and the Anderson funeral flowers need to be delivered by noon."
The flower shop has become more than just a job—it's a place where I've found unexpected satisfaction, a creative outlet I never knew I needed.
Crystal has gradually given me more responsibility, even letting me handle consultations for smaller events.
There's talk of me becoming a partner someday, if I want it.
It's strange to think in terms of "someday" after spending so long just trying to survive one day at a time.
By the time I finish my shower, the house is fully awake.
Theo moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, making enough breakfast to feed a small army—a habit from his own childhood in a large, chaotic pack that none of us have the heart to discourage.
The scent of coffee fills the air, strong enough to strip paint because Jasper refuses to drink "that watered-down excuse for caffeine" that the rest of us prefer.
Theo's veterinary practice has been thriving, his appointment book consistently full as word spreads about his gentle touch with even the most difficult animals.
I've been helping with the books in the evenings, organizing the chaotic filing system left by his previous receptionist. There's talk of expansion, maybe bringing in another vet to handle the growing caseload.
Opportunities and possibilities that weren't there before.
"Jasper's in the workshop," Theo tells me as I grab a piece of toast. "Said something about measuring for shelves."
The workshop is Jasper's domain—a converted garage space where he creates custom furniture when he's not handling renovation projects around town.
The house itself is almost unrecognizable from when I first arrived, with every promised repair completed and then some.
The upstairs en-suite bathrooms gleam with new fixtures, the kitchen cabinets have been refinished, and we've been talking about adding a sunroom off the back of the house.
And a greenhouse. Jasper's been sketching plans for weeks, muttering about southern exposure and proper ventilation, pretending it's just an interesting architectural challenge rather than a gift for my birthday next month.
As if I haven't seen him researching which plants thrive best in this climate, making notes about my casual mentions of favorites.
I find him in the workshop, surrounded by sawdust and the scent of fresh-cut cedar, measuring tape in hand as he works on what looks like a set of bookshelves for the living room.
"Heading to work?" he asks, looking up as I enter.
"In a few. Just wanted to say good morning properly." I cross to him, standing on tiptoes to press a kiss to his bearded jaw. He turns his head to catch my lips instead, one hand settling at my waist with possessiveness that still sends a thrill through me.
"Properly noted," he says when we break apart, his eyes dark with promise. "Dinner tonight? Just the four of us?"
"Can't. Girls' night with Lala and the others." The words come automatically now, the routines of life in Vineyard Groves as familiar as if I've lived here all my life instead of just a few months.
The Welcome Committee, as I still think of them, has become a central part of my life outside the pack.
Weekly wine nights, impromptu baking sessions at Lala's, quiet afternoons reading in Avianna's bookstore alcove, helping Billie with the daycare children on busy days.
A circle of friendship that expanded to include me so seamlessly it's hard to remember a time when I didn't have them in my life.
"Tell Lala if she sends you home with more of those pink monstrosities she calls cupcakes, I'm banning her from the house," Jasper threatens without heat.
"You ate six of them last time."
"Under protest. And with severe sugar-induced regret."
I laugh, stealing another kiss before heading out. "Sure. I'll be sure to tell her that."
The day passes in a blur of flower arrangements, deliveries, and wedding consultations.
By afternoon, I'm ready for a break and find myself walking toward the cafe where I've agreed to meet my mother.
These coffee dates have become a bi-weekly occurrence—sometimes awkward, sometimes tense, but increasingly comfortable as we navigate our new relationship.
She's already there when I arrive, two cups of coffee on the table. "I ordered your usual," she says, pushing one toward me as I sit.
"Thanks." I wrap my hands around the warm mug, still finding it strange to be sitting across from my mother as equals, as adults with a complicated shared history but separate lives.
"How's the pack?" she asks, genuine interest in her voice.
"Good. Busy. Theo's talking about expanding the clinic, Jasper's building something new every week, and Wells's juggling three different festival committees."
"And you? Are you happy?"
The question is simple but loaded with meaning. With history. With all the years she watched me struggling to find my place, to understand my own biology, to feel comfortable in my skin
.
"I am," I tell her, the truth of it settling warm in my chest. "It's not always easy. Four people with strong personalities, trying to build something. But it's... right. It feels right."
She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand briefly. "That's all I've ever wanted for you, Rowan. For you to find where you belong."
"I know." And I do know that now, in a way I couldn't understand when I first learned about James, about the omissions and half-truths that shaped my childhood. "Dad said you had lunch with James last week."
She nods, a flicker of old guilt crossing her face before she pushes it away. "We did. It was... not as awkward as I expected. He asked about you."
I've met my biological father twice now—careful, neutral meetings in public places with Theo and Wells by my side for moral support, Jasper was much too growly for either meeting.
It's still strange, still complicated, but there's a tentative connection forming.
Not father-daughter, exactly, but something unique to our particular situation.
"I might call him next week," I say, the decision forming as I speak. "Maybe invite him to dinner eventually. With my guys."
Her eyes widen slightly. "That's a big step."
"It is," I agree. "But I'm trying this new thing where I stop running from complicated emotions and difficult relationships."
She laughs, the sound so familiar it aches. "How's that working out for you?"
"Better than expected," I admit with a smile. "Turns out facing things head-on isn't actually as terrifying as I thought."
We talk for another hour, about her life, about Pops and Dad, about the trip they're planning to Europe next year. It's not perfect, this reconstructed relationship. There are still moments of tension, of hurt that flares unexpectedly. But it's healing, slowly, in its own imperfect way.
By the time I get home that evening, the house is quiet. Theo's working late at the clinic, and Wells has a later meeting with the mayor. I find Jasper in the living room, Gerald curled in his lap as he reviews building plans on his tablet that look suspiciously like my dream greenhouse.
"Hey. I thought you'd be drowning in prosecco and gossip by now. What happened to girls' night?"
Jasper looks up at me, he smiles and my heart flutters in my chest.
"Got cancelled. Avi's not feeling well again."
His big palm reaches for Gerald's head, mindlessly scratching as his eyes flash back to his device.
"Hmmm. She need anything?"
"Nah, Billie's staying with her. I'll check in on them tomorrow.”
He looks comfortable in a worn sweater with a blanket draped over his knees. His whole vibe practically begging for cuddles.
"Productive day?" I ask, kicking off my shoes and joining him on the couch.
"Mmm," he responds noncommittally, setting the tablet aside to pull me against him. "How was coffee with your mom?"
"Good. Better. We talked about maybe having a conversation together with James sometime."
His arm tightens slightly around me. "You sure you're ready for that?"
"No," I admit. "But I think I want to try."
He nods, understanding without needing more explanation. That's one of the things I love most about Jasper—his ability to accept complexity without trying to simplify or fix it.
Love. The word still catches me sometimes, still feels too big, too significant for someone who spent so long convinced she didn't need it. But it's there, undeniable and growing stronger each day.
Theo arrives home first, bringing takeout and stories from the clinic. Wells follows an hour later, more relaxed than he used to be after these meetings, less consumed by the need for perfect order and control in every aspect of his life.
We eat together at the kitchen table that's become the heart of our home, talking over each other, stealing food from each other's plates, falling into the easy patterns that define pack life.
By the time we migrate to the nest of blankets and pillows in the bedroom, I'm filled with a contentment so complete it almost frightens me.
Almost.
"You're quiet," Theo observes as we settle in, his hand gentle on my hair. "Everything okay?"
I nod, looking at the three men who have somehow become my world. Jasper, with his gruff exterior hiding depths of loyalty and tenderness. Theo, with his open heart and steady presence. Wells, with his careful attention to detail and the vulnerability he shows only to us.
"I love you," I say, the words I've felt for weeks but never quite found the courage to voice.
"All of you."
Jasper responds immediately, pulling me into a kiss that leaves me breathless, his hands cradling my face with a gentleness that belies his strength.
"Love you too, Whitley," he murmurs against my lips.
Theo's smile is radiant, his hand finding mine and squeezing. "I love you, Rowan. Have since that first night with Gerald, I think."
Wells doesn't speak, but his arms tighten around me, his face pressed to my shoulder in a rare display of emotion he usually keeps carefully controlled. I feel the words in the way he holds me, in the soft kiss he presses to my temple, in the subtle tremor that runs through him.
Outside, the town of Vineyard Groves prepares for its next festival, its next season, its next chapter. Lives continue, intertwining and separating in the dance of small-town existence. My parents navigate their new relationship with James. Crystal plans the next delivery schedule.
Lala plots her latest matchmaking scheme. The world turns, as it always has.
But here, in this room, in this nest, in this pack we've created against all odds and expectations, I've found something I never knew I was looking for. Something I never believed could exist for someone like me.
Home. Family. Love.
I close my eyes, surrounded by the scents and warmth of my alphas, and smile.
I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.