Page 101 of The Holiday Clause

Wren changed the subject. “Do you have any eucalyptus oil? The stuff we ordered for the spa smells off. I can’t use it on our clients.”

Astrid pulled down a jar with her faded handwriting on the label and dumped whatever herbs she’d been crushing inside. The wooden floor creaked like old joints. “You know better than to order off the internet, Wren. From now on, just come here.”

“We go through our supplies too fast.”

“You think I can’t keep up with your demands? All I’ve got is time on my hands.” She moved to the hutch on the back wall and pushed a sleeping cat off the shelf to open the cabinets. “I just made some the other day. Let me find it.” Glass bottles clinked like wind chimes. “Ah, here it is.”

“Thanks. What do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.” She jotted down a note to make more. “Come by in a week and I’ll have a bigger order ready—one that isn’t rancid.”

“Okay.” Wren dropped the oil into a paper bag and stuffed it into her tote. “I also need more valerian root for Bodhi.”

Her aunt filled a bag and handed it to her. “Anything else?”

“That’s it.” Except it wasn’t. Curiosity ate at her like acid. “What are they really saying about me?”

Her aunt brushed a few crushed herbs onto the floor, which looked like it hadn’t been swept in a year. “Just that Magnus’s middle son kissed you hard enough to knock you up.”

Wren winced.

“But the big gossip’s about how much you paid to let him stick his tongue down your throat. Why would you pay him?”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s not what I heard. People are whispering something to the tune of five thousand dollars.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. More like two.”

Astrid raised a brow like a disapproving teacher. “Not something to brag about, dear.”

“You’re right. But I didn’t pay it. I mean, I paid, but it wasn’t my money. It came from Greyson’s account. It’s a long story.”

“Tell me you’re not involved with both of them like some 1970s key party.”

If only it seemed that simple. “Don’t believe everything you hear.” She clenched the paper bag in her fist. “I gotta go. Thanks for the oil.”

Stepping back onto the cold sidewalk was like coming up for air. Wren drew in a deep breath. It was getting late and she needed to hustle.

On her walk to Paper Moon, the town stationary store, Wren passed several townspeople who stared at her as they whispered behind their hands like conspirators. The more looks she got, the more self-conscious she grew, her skin crawling with unwanted attention until she regretted ever going to that damn auction in the first place.

Next time Logan played a prank on Soren, they could figure it out themselves.

By the time Wren made it back to The Haven, Bodhi seemed a mess, his energy scattered like leaves in a windstorm. He didn’t like his routine disrupted, and without his morning tea to level him out, he’d entered a manic mood and completely fell out of alignment with his usual chill frequency.

“Freya, can you…?”

“On it,” the chef said, taking the bag of herbs from Wren. “The kettle should still be warm.”

Wren only had a few minutes before her yoga students arrived. And she needed to check on her dad. “Where’s River?”

“He’s with a client,” Lilly said, a smitten smile spreading across her face. “Heard you had quite the night last night.”

Despite Lilly’s innocent big eyes and pixie-like haircut, she had a wickedness about her that sparkled like mischief. Most of the time, she acted so laid back people assumed she used drugs, but when good gossip came around, she perked up like a flower in sunlight.

“My night was boring.”

Lilly snorted. “Please. I can tell when you’re lying. Besides, everyone’s talking about it.”