Page 25 of A Beta Protects

“My room?” Wait. When did it become my room when they must know that it’s Dom’s?

I still haven’t confronted him about that, and I need to. Also, I need to find out where he’s sleeping and if he has more clothes stored somewhere else. He’s wearing new clothes each day, and he isn’t coming into my—or his—room to get it.

Chloe nods. “Rose is less likely to go searching for her presents in a bedroom than if we left the bags anywhere downstairs.”

Uh, I guess that makes sense.

I’m a little more relieved that there’s not more to it—and their relationship—than that. And I’m almost positive I was getting jealous at the thought of Dom being with someone not me.

I need to be careful that I don’t get attached to Dom or this pretty town when my stay here is temporary.

I’m leaning into the trunk to grab more bags when Chloe beats me to it, snagging the rest. “I’ve got it.”

Together, we carry them up the stairs and into what has now become my bedroom. The job search did not go as well as I’d hoped it would, mostly because I forgot all about it while shopping.

In fact, I spent more time sipping coffee and eating delicious cake than looking for a temporary job for me to pay for enough gas to get to Alaska.

Do I know what I would do in Alaska? No.

But it’s far away from Palmerston, so that’s where I’ve set my sights.

“How about lunch?” Chloe asks once we’ve put the bags down beside the dresser, creating a small mountain of paper bags.

After my big breakfast and the most incredible lemon cake that definitely deserves to be world-famous, I probably should say no. It’s more than enough food.

“Isn’t it a bit early for lunch?” I look around for a clock to gauge the time, but don’t find one.

Chloe shrugs and heads for the door. “It’s never too early for lunch. Nick is probably throwing something together already. Come on.”

“You guys go on. I have to call the bank.” Sierra makes a face at the foot of the staircase. “I don’t want to do it, but it needs to be done.”

“For your job?” I ask.

Sierra hesitates. “Uh, yeah, it’s kind of a management job.”

She flashes me a bright smile and disappears down the stairs before I can ask her what exactly she manages from a remote farmhouse.

Despite knowing I’ve eaten far too much food, I let Chloe talk me into an early lunch. “Who is Nick?”

I’ve met so many people these last couple of days, I’m still trying to get their names and faces straight in my head. But everyone, without exception, has been warm, welcoming, and kind.

Chloe peers over her shoulder as she leads the way down the hallway. “He’s kind of the official cook around here, mostly since he threatens to murder anyone who blunts his knives.”

I halt.

Fresh from a house where I was the fuck up, and Bryce found at least one thing every day I failed to do well, I’d rather not make any mistakes that lead to threats of violence here.

I’ve had enough of them.

She flashes me a reassuring smile. “I’m joking.” Then her blue eyes narrow. “Or maybe I’m not. He said blunt knives cause more accidents in the kitchen than anything else, so he’s probably saved us all from thousands of cuts over the years.”

I let myself breathe again.

“So he’s a chef?” I follow Chloe into the kitchen where, as she predicted, a tall, lean, dark-haired man in a blue T-shirt, baggy black shorts, and bare feet has an array of ingredients spread on the counter in front of him.

It looks like he’s on a Food Network show where contestants are given a pile of ingredients and have to figure out a fancy three course meal to impress the judges.

Nick lifts his head. “Hey! Not a chef, exactly. Call me an experienced amateur. Do you have any preference for lunch?”

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