Page 134 of The Holiday Clause
“Mmm.” She cuddled closer to the pillow and fell right back to sleep. She didn’t wake again until morning. But by that time, Greyson slept soundly.
“Poor guy,” she whispered after kissing his cheek. He didn’t even twitch. He’d stayed up for almost twenty-four hours, most of which he had spent working, and not even working for a paycheck. Greyson took care of the roads and the seniors around town out of the goodness of his own heart.
Settling in front of the fire with a cup of hot tea, she remembered how, back in the day before he had a car, he’d walk around with a shovel whenever it snowed. Sometimes, he even got yelled at by the older residents for coming into their yards without an invitation. They worried his kindness was some sort of a scam, the sort where work gets done and then they’re left with an unwanted bill. But Greyson never charged for snow removal. He did it all out of the goodness of his heart.
Snow always made Wren think of their mothers. Sable Hawthorne had been her mother’s best friend, like an aunt to Wren, just as Haven had been like an aunt to Greyson, Soren, and Logan. Losing both women at the same time devastated the four of them in more ways than they could count.
The tragedy had shaped Greyson in ways that still showed themselves every winter. His compulsive need to clear every walkway, to check on every elderly neighbor, to ensure everyone had enough fuel and food—it all stemmed from that terrible night when the roads were too icy and help came too late. Winter would always be the season when he fought against helplessness, when his protective instincts went into overdrive.
Wren still avoided driving in the snow when visibility dropped low and the roads turned icy. Thankfully, almost everything in Hideaway Harbor sat within walking distance. Almost.
She looked outside at the blanket of white, loving how the pines bowed under the weight of snow and ice. Greyson had cleared off her car and plowed the lot, but she didn’t know the condition of the main roads.
She would probably be fine taking a short drive. The snow had stopped falling, and everything looked so peaceful, as if the world were made of frost and glass.
The scratchy cry of Rat broke the silence as the little guy came wandering out from the bedroom. He grew braver, which meant he had entered the stage of escape artist.
“You’re going to get me in trouble with the others,” she said, scratching Rat’s little chest. “I hope you appreciate how privileged you are to sleep inside.” Wren played with him for a bit, then barricaded him in the bedroom with Greyson and a makeshift litter pan.
Wren was a softie, but too many stray cats existed to bend the rules for just one. But Rat didn’t feel like hers, so he was the exception to the rule. She had the sneaking suspicion he would become a daddy’s boy. A big, forty-inch daddy’s boy.
Greyson softly snored from the bed. Pressing a kiss on both his and the kitten’s head, she quietly left the room. If she wanted to be back before he woke, she’d better get moving. She had another grumpy CEO to check on.
CHAPTER 20
“You Better Not Pout”
The wipers screechedagainst the windshield in a tense rhythm, flinging slush and salt grime from one side to the other the two blades waged an endless grudge. Wren’s hands clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as she navigated the treacherous roads without blinking.
Massive snowbanks rose on the shoulders, making the streets of Hideaway Harbor narrower. More snow threatened this afternoon into the evening, which meant Greyson would likely sleep all day and disappear around dinner time for another round of plowing.
She wanted to make it safely back to The Haven before the next temperature shift. Right now, the sun blazed and the drifts melted, but as soon as the temperature dropped again, all that slush would turn to ice.
Her palms grew slick with sweat despite the cold, and her heart hammered against her ribs with each slight slide of the tires. Every turn brought flashes of that terrible December nightwhen her mother never made it home, when winter claimed two lives in a single, senseless moment.
“I hate this,” she whispered to herself, swallowing as the car slid ever so slightly on a turn. She tapped the brake, slow and steady like Greyson had taught her years ago.
She’d avoided driving until she turned eighteen. Greyson told her she needed to face her fears. He forced her behind the wheel of his truck and taught her how to drive, despite her constant complaining and worries.
That happened right around the time he started building his cabin in the woods—feeding his own demons. But by the time she passed her driver’s test, he had disappeared again for another year-long expedition at sea with the fishery.
She now realized he’d disappeared like that to avoid what he couldn’t control. Whenever they got close, he pulled away. Part of her still feared his old habits might resurface, which explained why she felt perfectly fine with taking things slow.
When another car rushed by, startling her, she winced, wondering again why she had chosen to do this.
“You’re doing this for Greyson,” she reminded herself.
Over the years, he’d shown patience with Bodhi. He always stepped in whenever they needed something she couldn’t manage on her own. Now, her turn had come to do the same. But the truth was, she owed Magnus Hawthorne nothing.
After years of disparaging remarks and resentment towards his sons, the boys held little expectation that their father would change in the short time he had left. Magnus had trained his sons to hide their emotions, and now, as he reached the end of his life, he reaped what he sowed. Three sons and not a glimpse of concern or emotion over his peril.
The truth was, she was doing this as much for herself as for Greyson. Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory,“Even the thorniest roses need love and water, sweetheart.”
Magnus Hawthorne might be dying alone by his own design, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t ease his suffering. As Haven’s daughter, she felt compelled to put even the most difficult men at ease, but she also felt she owed this visit to Sable.
Relief flooded her when she made it to the hospital in one piece. Wren pried her fingers from the wheel and took a few minutes to simply regulate her breathing.
The hospital smelled like lemon disinfectant until she reached the wing where Magnus stayed. The subdued scent of a luxury furniture store overtook the air. The floor gleamed like a gallery, and the art on the walls wasn’t mass-printed. Instead, it showcased collection pieces from local artists, featuring coastal oil paintings displayed in brass frames.
