Page 39 of Purrfectly Outfoxed

“We’re getting that steam cleaned,” Bea says firmly. “And you’re paying for it. But yes. Even after that.” She squeezes my hand. “I meant what I said, you know. About being lonely. It’s been hard since Harold died. Having Whiskers—having you, Tabitha—helped more than you know. And now that I know you can talk back...” She smiles. “Well. I think this is going to be much better.”

Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, don’t cry, dear. You’ll set me off.” Bea dabs at her own eyes with a napkin. “Now then. Ground rules. One: No more sex on the furniture I use. Stick to the spare bedroom.”

“Deal,” Jasper says quickly.

“Two: You’ll help around the house. Cleaning, cooking, yard work. If you’re going to live here as humans, you’re going to contribute as humans.”

“Absolutely,” I agree.

“Three: No more lying. About anything. If something’s wrong or you need help, you tell me. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good.” She sits back, looking satisfied. “Now. When’s the last time either of you had a proper meal? And I don’t mean stolen turkey legs.”

Jasper grins. “Define ‘proper meal.’”

“I’ll make us a late-night breakfast,” Bea decides, standing up. “Eggs, bacon, toast. And you’re both going to sit there and eat like civilized people instead of animals. We have a lot to talk about.”

As she moves around the kitchen, pulling out pans and ingredients, I catch Jasper’s eye.

‘Did that really just happen?’I think at him.

‘I think we just got adopted by a seventy-year-old woman.’

‘I think we got really, really lucky.’

‘Yeah.’He reaches over and takes my hand.‘We did.’

Chapter 12

Jasper

Iwake up to sunlight streaming through the guest room window—our room now—and for a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the fact that this is real.

I have a bed. A room. A home.

And a woman curled up against my chest, her dark hair spread across my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine in a possessive tangle that makes me grin like an idiot.

Tabitha.

My mate. My love. My infuriatingly perfect, occasionally violent, absolutely irreplaceable other half.

She shifts slightly in her sleep, making a small sound that’s half-purr, half-sigh, and I tighten my arm around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Last night feels like a fever dream. Getting caught. Bea fainting. Twice. The confession. The tea and whiskey. The acceptance.

The fact that we get to stay.

I still can’t quite believe it.

‘Stop thinking so loud,’ Tabitha’s sleepy mental voice filters into my mind.‘Some of us are trying to sleep.’

‘It’s almost nine. We should get up.’

‘No. Sleeping.’