“You two should head to bed,” Gary said, rising from his wheelchair with a grimace. “I’m going to let Thunder out, and then we’ll be headed that way too.” He frowned at Rosemary. “I haven’t slept all week, either.”
“Sorry, Pops,” Rosemary replied with a small smile.
He waved her off and slowly made his way toward the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable, Daniel. I’ll see you both in the morning.”
I waited patiently as expressions crossed Rosemary’s face. I was sure that she could put on a mask if she tried—she’dbeen wearing one when we met—but she wasn’t hiding anything anymore. She cycled through anxiety, indecision, a flash of anticipation, fear, and finally landed on determination.
“Come on. I’ll give you the tour,” she announced, lacing her fingers through mine. “You’ve seen the living room and the kitchen.” She tugged me down a long hallway. “The house is basically a large square. First door is the bathroom.” She pushed open the door, and a tiny room lit by a small nightlight was illuminated. The tub, toilet, and sink were avocado green. “Nothing fancy. My mom liked the green shit, but I’ve been all over the world, and I’ll tell you right now, the water pressure in that shower is the best you’ll ever get.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m not kidding,” she said, looking at me over her shoulder as she pulled me further down the hall. “It’s perfect.” She pointed to a door on the opposite side of the hall. “That’s my pop’s room.” We finally stopped at a mostly closed door near the end of the hall. She pushed it open and led me inside. “And this is my room. Ignore the mess.” She paused. “Actually, don’t ignore it. I’m not super tidy. You should probably know that upfront.”
Letting go of my hand, she walked across the room and lit a lamp on the bedside table.
She was right. It was messy. It was also really warm and inviting. A heavy dresser took up most of one wall. On top of it was a stack of books, a jewelry box that looked like it had been painted by a toddler, a photo of a woman who looked a lot like Rosemary—probably her mother—a glass canning jar full of coins, and a few random socks. There was an old floral armchair in the corner that was covered with discarded clothes. Her nightstand was completely clear of anything except the lamp. Her bed was made of heavy wood, dark from age, and definitely an antique.
“I was born in it,” she said, dropping onto the bed with one leg dangling off the side. “This used to be in my parents’ room. Dad said he couldn’t bear to sleep in it after my mom died. When he eventually decided that he should stop sleeping on the couch, I commandeered it before he could sell it.”
“It’s a nice bed.”
Rosemary laughed. “Swing the door shut, would you?”
I closed us in just as the sound of her dog’s nails on the hardwood reached the hallway.
“It’s not very big,” she said, leaning against the headboard. “But I never imagined I’d be sharing it.”
“Why not?” I asked, moving around the foot of the bed so I could sit with her.
“Well, for one, because it’s in my pop’s house.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I have a bigger bed at the townhouse.”
“I’ve got a king at my parents’ place.”
“Ah, so you were planning on having overnight guests under your parents’ roof,” she said jokingly, shaking her head in mock disappointment.
“My parents built so that all of our families could live together,” I explained. “Once we’d found mates. Each of our rooms is more like a one-bedroom apartment.”
She smiled. “That makes sense. The Cavendish house is like that too. Well, it will be like that. Ian is the only one who gets to have his own little apartment right now. The other two have to share a room because they aren’t adults yet, and Aunt Halle says it forms bonds or something.”
So I’d been right about only Ian being old enough to report a mate.
“I’d like to live there for a while, if that’s okay with you.”
“What? The Cavendish house?” she asked innocently, raising her eyebrows.
“With my parents.” I watched her expression for a sign of protest that didn’t come. “We wouldn’t have to stay there forever, but after Zeke?—”
“I don’t mind living with your family for a while, as long as they aren’t assholes.”
“Chance is the worst, and you’ve already met him,” I joked.
“Which one is Chance?”
“The one with the long hair.”
“Oh, right,” she said, nodding. She waved her hand dismissively. “I can handle that one.”
“Three of my brothers have found their mates recently?—”
