Page 89 of Written in Scent

Then we are moving.

The wind rushes past as soon as we leave the lot, whipping the ends of my hair around the helmet and sending a wild thrill through my whole body. The powerful rumble of the engine vibrates beneath me.

The road opens up and the fall scenery blurs into streaks of gold and red. Every curve, every acceleration makes my pulse race in the best way. It feels exhilarating. Free.

Chase’s hand leaves the handlebar for a second to rest over mine where it grips his jacket, a silent check-in. I smile against his back and hold on tighter.

Whatever comes next, I’m ready.

The motorcycle slows as Chase turns into a long driveway lined with trees. A modest brick building comes into view, its glowing sign reading “Rosewood Animal Shelter & Rescue” in cheerful letters.

He kills the engine and helps me off the bike, his hands encompassing my waist. I pull off the helmet and shake out my hair, still trying to process where we are.

“You volunteer here?” I ask, unable to hide the delight in my voice.

Chase nods, a small but genuine smile breaking through his usual serious expression. “A few times a week. Come on. I want you to see it.”

The moment we walk through the front doors, something in Chase changes. The tense, protective alpha I have come to know relaxes instantly. His shoulders lower. His dark eyes warm. He looks lighter, happier, like he’s stepped into a place where he truly belongs.

A middle aged woman at the front desk lights up when she sees him. “Chase! You weren’t due in today. And you brought a friend?”

He introduces me simply, then leads me through the main hallway. The shelter smells of clean bedding, disinfectant, and that unmistakable animal scent. Booming barks and delicate meows echo from different rooms. Chase moves with easy confidence, greeting every staff member by name.

We step into the kitten nursery first. Several small pens are set up with heating pads and fuzzy blankets. Chase immediately kneels beside one and picks up a tiny orange kitten that is struggling to latch onto a bottle. Without hesitation, he cradles the little creature against his broad chest and begins bottle feeding it with the gentlest hands I have ever seen.

My heart does a low flip.

“Look at you,” I whisper, watching in awe. The massive alpha who argued with me about open windows last night is now murmuring encouragement to a palm sized kitten. “You’re so gentle with them.”

He glances up at me, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. “They need it. Most of them come in scared or sick. You have to go slow.”

He hands me another bottle and shows me how to hold the next kitten. We sit side by side on the floor, feeding the litter together. His shoulder brushes mine, and every now and then he reaches over to adjust my grip with careful fingers.

The kittens are tiny, their little paws kneading against our hands. Chase’s voice is low and patient as he explains each one’s story — the abandoned litter found behind a dumpster, the runt who needed extra help.

From there he takes me to the dog wing where a fearful German Shepherd mix cowers in the corner of her kennel. Chase approaches, crouching down and speaking in that same gentle voice. Within minutes the dog is inching closer, tail giving the smallest wag. He spends a long time with her, offering treats and gentle pets until she is leaning into his hand with trust.

I watch him the entire time, completely mesmerized. This is a side of Chase I have never seen before. The big softie. The man who pours his heart into healing animals who have been hurt or abandoned.

The contrast between his gruff exterior and this incredible tenderness makes something deep inside me shift.

Later, we move to the puppy room. A litter of energetic lab mixes tumble over each other. Chase laughs, actually laughs, a deep rumbling sound, when one of them tries to climb his leg.

He sits right on the floor and lets them swarm him, his big hands deftly untangling paws and giving belly rubs. One puppy falls asleep on his lap, and he stays perfectly still to not disturb it.

I can’t stop staring.

This is Chase. Not just the intense, protective alpha who gets angry about open windows. This is the real him — patient, kind, and incredibly tender with every creature that needs him.

He looks up at me from the floor, a puppy still snoring on his thigh, and gives me a small, almost bashful smile.

“You’re really good at this,” I say sincerely.

His smile deepens just a fraction. “It’s the one place I feel like I can actually help. Where my instincts make sense.”

I feel my heart expand as I watch him. The big softie side of Chase is no longer hidden. It’s right here, in plain sight, surrounded by wagging tails and tiny meows.

And I am falling for it. Hard.