Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Chloe

T he door closes behind Blake, and Holden turns to me. "Come on, I'll show you to your suite, and then we can have breakfast. Unless you'd rather eat first, then take the tour?"

"No, let's see my new accommodations first." I rub the fleece sleeves of my onesie. "Walking will help warm me up faster."

"If you want, you can borrow a pair of my sweats and a hoodie." He flushes and looks away. "Clean, of course."

"I might take you up on that." The brush of wet material against my skin sends a shiver through me. "Usually, I'm snug as a bug in these. But they're not meant for rain."

He nods, his golden-brown curls bouncing. "Then let's make this fast before you catch a cold."

He turns to lead the way deeper into the Homestead.

As we pass the grand staircase, I run my hand along the polished banister, the curved wood smooth beneath my palm. A pang of sadness shoots through me that we won't be going upstairs, since that's where Holden and Blake's bedrooms are. But it's better to avoid the temptation of them being so close.

Besides, I haven't met their other bondmates, and they might not be so welcoming of a stranger in the private area of their home.

Off the left side of the staircase, Holden leads me down a hall and pauses in front of the first door we come to. "This will be your suite."

Light spills in through a glass-paned door at the end. "What's down there?"

He turns toward it. "Oh, that's the garden, and Sprinkles's room is the door next to it."

My brows shoot up. "Sprinkles has his own room?"

I assumed the big dog slept in a kennel.

Holden grins. "Want to check it out while the beast is away from the castle?"

"Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?"

He sets the picnic basket by my door, then leads me farther down, passing several more doors along the way.

Nervous bubbles burst inside me as I pad behind Holden. Even though Blake took Sprinkles with him, the writer in me expects a jump scare when Holden swings open the door.

My nose twitches at the unmistakable scent of dog, but it's not as strong as I thought it would be, and my ears catch the gentle whir of a ventilation system. Instead of a kennel, Sprinkles has an entire bedroom, at least three hundred square feet, with thick carpet cushioning my steps.

Holden catches me staring. "It's black so Sprinkles's fur doesn't show up as much. Even with a vacuum robot running every day, it can't pick up all of it. The darkness also helps hide the drool. Blake wet vacs in here on alternating Sundays."

The cozy, earth-tone walls draw my attention. "That's a lot of work."

Holden shrugs. "Sprinkles is family."

Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows and a door with a flap that takes up almost the entire bottom frame for Sprinkles to pass through. Past the glass, I spot a fenced-in grass area.

"It's a dog run," Holden explains. "So Sprinkles can go outside when he wants and do his business. It's walled off from the rest of the garden, so guests won't have to see it."

"Good call." A custom-built, oversized cushion sits in the corner with a pink princess tower above it. "What's that?"

Holden turns to see what caught my curiosity. "Oh, that's Quinn's hideout."

My brow furrows. "Blake's niece?"

Holden nods as he walks around the room, picking up enough toys to make a dragon happy. "When she comes here, she sleeps in Sprinkles's room."

I trail after him and grab a life-size football. "Does she stay with you guys a lot?"

"Less than we'd like." His hands tighten on a toy, sending a high-pitched squeak into the air before he drops it on top of several more playthings in the basket. "Mostly when Sadie runs off the current nanny."

"Sadie is Blake's sister?" I guess, adding my football to the hoard.

Holden's expression darkens. "She has…problems."

I understand what he doesn't say and lean against his side in silent comfort. "Does Sprinkles sleep in this luxurious room every night?"

With a grateful look, he leaps on the topic change. "Most of the time, unless Blake takes Sprinkles with him off the island."

I go to investigate and find a bathroom with a human-sized dog shower. "Does he do that often?"

"When he can. Sprinkles was a Christmas gift for Quinn from her mother, but once he grew out of the puppy stage, Sadie was going to drop him off at the pound, so Blake took him." Holden comes up next to me, flicks on the lights, and points to a door. "We built a grooming station in the walk-in closet, and it also stores the spare leashes and collars."

My throat tightens with anger that someone would adopt an animal they weren't prepared to care for. "Sprinkles is a lucky dog."

"He's well-loved here." Holden touches the small of my back. "He gets excited, but he would never hurt you. Blake made sure he's well trained."

I believe it. Even when I fell while running away from the nightmare monster, Sprinkles had been more inquisitive than threatening. It's my fear of dogs that's the problem.

Holden turns off the bathroom light and closes the door. "We don't let Sprinkles in here unsupervised. He chewed through the shower head the last time he was in here alone."

Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I swallow hard. That would take some powerful biting power. "The whole shower head?"

Holden chuckles. "We learned our lesson after we stopped freaking out and the vet assured us Sprinkles hadn't eaten any of the plastic. The new one is not cheap."

I hug my elbows. "That must have been terrifying."

"It was." He kneels in front of an elevated feeding station with built-in storage, from which he pulls food to refill the metal bowls.

A peek inside reveals cereal box-size containers of treats. "You don't bake Sprinkles special biscuits?"

"Oh, I do." Holden returns the container to the cabinet. "He also eats raw meat and vegetables, but he gets fussy if his bowl is empty."

"I can relate." I scan the room once more, noting all of the care put into its design. It's a haven for Sprinkles, and nicer than my first apartment. "He's an important part of your pack, isn't he? Sprinkles, I mean."

"He's family." Holden stands and cups my elbows. "I can see how difficult this is for you. Do you want to talk about why you're afraid of dogs?"

Memories surface in an unwelcome rush, and I swallow hard, my attention turning to the light filtering through the windows. "It's not something I've ever talked about."

Holden waits, his patient presence calming me.

"When I was eight, I was attacked by a dog," I begin, my voice trembling. "He was a guard dog, and the neighbors kept him chained up outside. But one day, he got loose while I was playing in the yard. He came out of nowhere. I didn't do anything to provoke him, but he knocked me down and bit me."

My breath hitches, and Holden's hand finds mine in a gentle squeeze.

"It felt like it lasted forever." Tears blur my vision. "I was screaming and trying to escape, but he was so strong. One of the gardeners heard me and came running. He pulled the dog off, but I was already hurt. I had to get stitches and go through a lot of treatment."

Holden's thumbs massage small, comforting circles on my arms. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. You must have been terrified."

"I was, and my parent's reactions made it ten times worse." I press my sleeves against my closed eyelids to push back the tears. "While my dad never even acknowledged it, my mom freaked, saying I'd be maimed, and no Alpha would ever want me. She took me straight from the hospital to the plastic surgeon to see what could be done. All the appointments to remove the scars hurt almost as much as the bites."

Tugging up my sleeve, I show him my arm. "Now, you can't even tell it happened."

Holden's eyes glisten, and he lunges forward to pull me into his arms. "I'm so sorry you went through such a scary experience, and that your parents added to the trauma when they should have helped you through it."

I lean into Holden's embrace, his warmth and the steady beat of his heart comforting me. It feels good to have someone who listens and understands without judgment.

After a moment of collecting myself, I continue, my voice softer now. "I thought I had gotten over the phobia, but maybe I just stopped going outside where the dogs are."

Holden tightens his hold on me, his fingers tracing soothing circles on my back. "You were brave to put on Sprinkles's leash and pat his head earlier. It must have been so difficult for you."

I take a deep breath, confiding in him bringing a sense of release. "Being here with Sprinkles and seeing how gentle and loving he is makes me want to overcome this fear. I don't want it to control me anymore. And Sprinkles is a good pupper."

His chuckle vibrates beneath my cheek. "So Blake keeps saying, and he's right."

I raise my head from Holden's chest. "Do you think Blake would help me be more comfortable around Sprinkles?"

An encouraging smile spreads over Holden's face. "Of course, I think they'd both love that. I'll even bake up Sprinkles's favorite treat so you can tame the wild beast."

A flicker of hope blossoms to life within me. My plan when I came to Misty Pines wasn't to work on my childhood trauma, but doing so will improve my life long term. It also gives me something to focus on outside of spiraling about my career path.

With a deep breath, I straighten and wipe away the remnants of tears. "Let's start smaller. Like sitting with Sprinkles while he sleeps?"

Holden laughs. "Okay, baby steps. Blake will have to bathe him when they return tonight, so Sprinkles will probably pass out in front of the fireplace."

"Perfect." I shiver and rub my arms. "Can we just peek at the backyard through the door?"

"Like I'd let you go out again in this weather." Holden's hand on my back directs me out of Sprinkles's bedroom. "At least, not without going back to grab the umbrella."

Out in the hall, we cross the short distance to the end, and I peer out through the glass pane at a proper English garden, complete with stone paths, box hedges, and flowering bushes.

I cup my hands around my face and press them to the door as if doing so will help me see through the rain. "It's not slowing down at all."

"Doesn't look like it," Holden agrees.

At the back, I spot a trellis and a gazebo. "Is Kyle responsible for this, too?"

"No, that's all Nathaniel, though I've been working on the vegetable and fruit garden, too. He hasn't allowed himself to indulge much in the last few months." Holden leans against the wall next to the door, gazing outside. "He's stressed about the construction, and when he's stressed, he refuses to relax and enjoy life."

"I get that." Another shiver of cold goes through me, and I step away from the door. "When I'm on deadline, it's so hard to escape the guilt every time I'm not working, so I end up doing a lot of sitting and staring in anxiety while not writing and not relaxing. Or I'll spiral into procrasti-planning."

Holden's head tilts to the side. "Procrasti-planning?"

"It's when I make a detailed plan for the best way to get work done instead of actually working." I link my arm through his, and we stroll back toward my suite. "You cannot imagine how many spreadsheets I've made to plan a new schedule I'll never stick to. But for at least a day, I'm back in control."

"Spreadsheets are a specialty of mine, too. It takes a lot of timing to have everything on the table for breakfast and dinner." We stop in front of my door, and Holden releases me to open it. "Here we are."

I step into the room ahead of him.

Unlike Sprinkles's room, this one has a wooden floor, complete with knots and dings, its aged appearance giving the Homestead history beyond its years. A white protective sheet covers the king-sized bed that dominates the center of the room. The thick rug that it sits on ensures a warm landing for bare feet when getting out of bed.

To my left, French doors access what appears to be a private patio, with a two-person dinette for visitors to sit and enjoy drinks while overlooking the garden. Rain taps against the glass, the gentle rhythm encouraging me to find a blanket and curl up.

A matching plush loveseat and armchair, perfect for reading a good book, sits in front of a personal fireplace. This one is electric instead of wood like the one in the dining room, which will be easier to use, since I can't build a fire for the life of me. A small refrigerator peeks out from under the counter near a desk, with a one-cup coffee maker and pods next to it.

Holden sets the basket on the desk. "I'll fetch you some bedding and a change of clothes. The bathroom is through that doorway." He motions to the double wooden doors across from the patio. "It should be stocked with toiletries, but if not, I can bring you some."

"Thank you." I take off my shoes and drop the bag with my dress and laptop beside the nightstand before I pad over to push open one side of the doors.

The luxurious fixtures inside belong in a spa, with a deep, claw-footed tub and a separate rain shower that has me wiggling with excitement. Fluffy towels sit in a neat stack on a shelf, along with a selection of bath oils and soaps.

Curious, I uncap a bottle of pale gold liquid and sniff. A pleasant aroma of almonds rises from it, natural so it won't linger for long, but will be soothing. Another holds clear coconut oil, while the third contains a familiar, astringent scent blocker.

I raise the collar of my onesie and inhale. Lilies and lilacs rise from my skin, with a hint of smoked applewood and cider left by Blake's touch last night. The memory brings with it a surge of warmth along with a dose of embarrassment, because I'm sure Holden noticed our combined pheromones in the media room.

A shower is in order, but I don't want to wash away what was the best night of my life, which is sad for a romance author to admit.

A rustle comes from the other room, and I put the oils away before stepping out of the bathroom.

Holden looks up from drawing the sheet off the bed and tilts his head toward a stack of clothes near the door. "Sweatpants, hoodie, and super comfy socks."

I walk over and pinch the gray toes on a pair of white socks, which squish nicely between my fingers.

As Holden bustles around, putting on flannel sheets, I retreat into the bathroom once more.

It feels naughty changing while he's in the bedroom, but I want out of this frog suit. My body heats as I listen to Holden's movements on the other side of the doors. I strip down to my underwear and bra, then pull on the clothes Holden brought me.

The socks are as soft as promised, even if the heels come up to my ankles. The sweatpants, which cling to my thighs and hips, sag in the waist until I tug the drawstring tight. The hoodie envelops me in coziness, the sleeves hanging over my hands and the hem reaching almost to my knees.

I sniff the soft fabric, catching a whiff of vanilla cake through the laundry soap. Yummy.

In a drawer under the sink, I find a brush in a sealed plastic bag, a new toothbrush, and a tiny tube of mint paste. After a quick refresh, I wind my pink hair into a bun on top of my head so it doesn't get tangled in the hoodie's collar.

When I step back out of the bathroom, a comforter and colorful green and red quilt cover the bed, and Holden has the fireplace going as he unpacks containers from the picnic basket.

At the sound of my return, he smiles over his shoulder, and my toes curl in my borrowed socks.

My heart is in so much trouble with these Alphas.