Page 77 of Down Knot Out
“I can’t wait to put my slippers on.” I tip into his side as we walk toward the front porch, my small purse clutched in my other hand. “My feet aren’t used to heels anymore.”
“Aww, poor baby,” he teases. “Do I need to carry you the rest of the way?”
I smack his arm, my shoes clacking unfamiliarly on the Homestead’s wooden steps, as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s story. “No mocking meuntil you’ve walked around in heels for half a day.”
Nathaniel jogs ahead of us. “Should we order Dom a pair, sweetheart? It seems only fair.”
“Hey, I would rock high heels.” Dominic throws his head back, nose in the air. “Only buy them if you want to be put in your place.”
Nathaniel pauses at the door to turn back and consider it before pulling out his phone. “Challenge accepted.”
Dominic’s lips part. “No, wait?—”
The door flies open, and Quinn barrels out, her arms flung wide. “Aunt Chloe, you’re back! Uncle Holden made your favorite muffins and?—”
She skids to a stop so fast she nearly takes a tumble, her sneakers squeaking on the porch boards. Her pale brown eyes, so much like Blake’s, widen as they take in my appearance. The excitement drains from her face, replaced by confusion and a flicker of fear.
Her small hands rise to cover her mouth as she stares. My heart clenches. In my navy blazer and styled hair, I must look like a stranger to her.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, toes curling inward with uncertainty. “Aunt Chloe?”
Holden appears in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up and flour on his apron. His attentionlatches onto me, and his shoulders relax as relief crosses his face. Blake steps up behind him, his hair down from its usual bun. His attention lands on Quinn first before he finds me, taking in the corporate armor I’m still wearing.
Understanding flickers across Blake’s features before he moves to scoop Quinn into his arms. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, her small body tense, and I catch the muffled sound of her breathing in his smoked applewood and cider pheromones, seeking comfort.
“Hey there, princess,” Blake murmurs, one hand smoothing down her hair. “It’s still Chloe. She had to dress up today. You play dress up, yeah?”
I release Dominic’s arm and approach, keeping my movements gentle and non-threatening. My fingers find the edge of Nathaniel’s jacket, pulling it tighter around myself to hide the fancy clothes.
“Quinn?” I rest a hand over my heart. “It’s still me. I might look different, but I’m still the same Aunt Chloe who reads you bedtime stories and lets you braid my hair.”
She peeks over Blake’s shoulder, one brown eye visible between strands of hair. She studies my face, searching for the familiar beneath the makeup.
“Uncle Dom and I had to go to battle dragonstoday,” I explain, trying to connect with her love of telling stories. “Remember how knights wear armor when they fight monsters? Well, this is my armor.” I gesture to my face and styled hair. “We had to look very important so the dragons would take us seriously.”
Quinn’s grip on Blake loosens, curiosity winning over wariness. “Did you win?”
Dominic steps up beside me, his hand settling on my shoulder. “Your Aunt Chloe was the bravest knight I’ve ever seen. She told those dragons what she thought of them.”
Quinn’s lips twitch. “Were they scary dragons?”
“The scariest,” I confirm. “But we protected each other, as pack should.”
She wriggles in Blake’s arms until he sets her down, and she takes a tentative step toward me. Her small finger reaches out to touch the silk of my blouse, the fabric so different from my usual soft cotton shirts.
“Why does your face look shiny?” she asks, tilting her head. “And your hair looks like doll hair.”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the heavy emotions of the day. “The shiny stuff is called makeup. It’s my warpaint, but it also makes my skin itch.” I touch my cheek where thefoundation sits heavy and unnatural. “And these pins in my hair are poking my scalp.”
Quinn’s expression shifts to sympathy. “That sounds uncomfortable. Why did you have to wear uncomfortable things to fight dragons?”
“Because sometimes, to beat the tricky dragons, you have to play their game first.” I crouch down to her level, the movement awkward in my heels and skirt. “But now we’re home, so I can take off all this armor and go back to being me.”
“Okay,” she accepts with six-year-old logic. “Can I help you take it off? I’m great with hair. I practice on Uncle Blake all the time.”
Warmth floods my chest at her offer. “I would love that. But first, I need to give a proper hello to my pack.”
I rise and turn to find Holden, Nathaniel, and Blake watching us, their expressions soft with a tenderness that catches in my throat. Holden lingers at the doorway, hands twisting in his apron, a quiet tension written in the lines of his face.
