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“Hi,” she said and cleared her throat lightly before continuing, “this is Rose DuLoe. I’m calling to get a refill of a prescription.”
“Hold on just a moment, Ms DuLoe, and I’ll get the doctor on the line.”
“Okay,” she murmured, “thanks.”
Maybe this wasn’t a step back at all, maybe it was a step forward. There was nothing wrong with asking for help, hell, even her subconscious knew that if it had picked Blake’s house to turn up to yesterday.
“Rose,” a pleasantly deep voice came over the line and, instinctively, she relaxed. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
“You have?”
“You’re the talk of the city with what happened atThe Hart. I would have been concerned if I didn’t hear from you.” That made her breathe a little easier, knowing she was making the right decision. She’d seen Doctor Makers a lot when she’d been in her late teens and early twenties, mostly for exam pressure at college, and her mother believed everyone could benefit from therapy.
“I was thinking about renewing my anxiety meds.”
“We can do that, certainly, but I’d also like to schedule some time in with you – say once a week? I heard they’ve got you on house arrest, so you shouldn’t be too pressed for time,” he teased, and she let out a small laugh.
“Sure, that would be great.”
“Excellent, I’ll have my team set up the appointment with you, and I’ll get someone to courier over the prescription, seeing as you can’t come and collect them.”
“I appreciate that, thank you.”
“No problem, Rose. Take care of yourself.”
It was funny. He always ended their conversations with that same phrase –take care of yourself, and she wondered whether she had ever actually paid attention to it before. Resolved, she stood and placed the phone back down next to the bed and made her way to the ensuite. The bath wasn’t quite as big as her one in the suite atThe Hart, but it was deep and made of a gorgeous copper that reflected the flowers on the small window ledge and the walk-in shower. For an ensuite, it was a generous size.
She flicked on the taps, running her fingertips under the water idly to test the temperature before setting it running. When she turned, she found Bailey in the doorway, eyes fixed on the running water. Rose had never had a dog before, but she wasn’t stupid enough to miss the warning signs of a puppy looking to hijack her bath.
“Right, Bailey,out.”
He gave her big brown puppy eyes but scooted backwards when she walked towards him, closing the door behind her. She settled down on the floor with her back against the door, and Bailey stood between her legs, panting softly as she mussed his ears and stroked the soft line down his nose. Maybe there was something to those therapy animals because Rose definitely felt her mind settle as she focused on the pup, laughing when he licked her fingers as she scratched under his chin.
“He likes you.”
She looked up, startled to find Blake standing in the doorway watching them. Pressing a small kiss to Bailey’s head, she patted his side and stood up. “When did you get him?”
“I got him as a puppy. Chris had a friend whose dog had a litter and he thought it would be good for me.”
“And was it?”
Blake grinned, a twist of his lips that was somehow both boyish and reluctant. “Yes. But don’t tell Chris I said so.” It was quiet for a moment as they looked at each other and then away. “He was so tiny when I got him, hard to believe given he’s practically a giant now.”
“Do you have pictures?” She found herself asking, and Blake looked surprised.
“Yeah, I, um, actually had an album made. I can show you, if you like.”
A blush coated his cheeks, making the dark freckle next to his nose stand out and a dimple on the left side of his face repeatedly pop into existence like he was biting his cheek.
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I’m waiting on the bath, so as long as you can endure the stench–” she threw him a withering look “–then I’d love to see.”
“I’ll manage,” he replied as he led them out of her room and into the hall where he walked to the end of the corridor and turned left, stopping at a small, chest-height bookshelf next to a window. Framed photos decorated the top of Blake and Cara together with Grace. Rose knew their father had passed when she was young but could recognize him easily in the photo to her right. A young man who was a dark-haired version of Blake sat with what looked like a four or five-year-old golden-haired child on his lap and a baby in the crook of his arms that had to be Cara. There were clearly more recent additions too, like Katie and Cara kissing on a beach and Blake and Grace at her fiftieth birthday party a few years back. Then there was–
“Oh my god, where did you get this photo?” Her face felt hot, and she wanted to blink out of existence at that moment.
Blake chuckled when he saw where she was looking and she wanted to shriek at him to look away. Why did he even have it?
Her blonde hair was sporting straight choppy bangs and loose curls were falling out of her waist-length hair. She was tanned from the summer and her eyes were bright, but if you looked close enough you could see the slight puffiness where she’d cried for an hour straight after her date stood her up. Of course, she’d later found out that Blake had paid her date not to come. Bastard. Thankfully, it was only her junior prom, Blake’s senior, so she’d had a Blake-free go of it a couple years after, but still. Her dress was a hideous shade of peach that was trendy for the mid-two-thousands but clashed awfully with her tan and blonde hair. Blake looked effortlessly handsome even then, and she still wanted to smack that smug smile off his face years later.
