Page 102 of The Holiday Clause

Wren massaged the back of her neck where a kink had formed, tension coiling around her like a snake. Not giving the comment any oxygen, she set the toner on the front desk. “Have you seen Bodhi?”

“Check outside.”

Wren turned and spotted two locals walking from the parking lot with yoga mats under their arms. Her phone buzzed and she distractedly glanced at the screen.

Soren again.

He sure was persistent.

Especially compared to Greyson, who only called once. She sent the call to voicemail.

“Tell the students to start with a meditation. I’ll meet them in the studio in ten minutes.” Wren rushed out the side door to find her dad. As expected, Bodhi wandered the Zen garden.

“Dad?”

He paced in circles around the gravel paths with his coat half-buttoned, a single glove dangling from one hand like a forgotten memory. He didn’t seem to notice the chill in the air.

“Dad?” Wren approached slowly.

He mumbled something about the cats’ shelters. “The eastern winds knocked more cedar shingles loose.” He paused to adjust a small, empty bird feeder like it operated a pressure valve on a steam engine. “I told myself last spring, didn’t I? Told myself we’d replace the shingles. But look at that. Look at that one, Wrennie. It’s leaning like an old man in a storm.”

Wren stepped onto the path with slow, careful steps, knowing Bodhi didn’t like to feel rushed when he got like this. Her heart ached for him.

“We can fix the roofs, Dad.”

“We’ll have to. More snow’s coming. The elders must be protected.”

“I know. We’ll make sure all the cats are fine.” She dusted a few pine needles off the stone bench, shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re not wearing your hat.”

He didn’t answer, but felt his head. “Missing my own shingles,” he joked, and Wren smiled.

“What do you say we go back inside before you catch a chill?”

He crouched beside one of the cat shelters and ran his hands along the edge of the little roof, his fingers trembling slightly from cold or anxiety. The sun hadn’t reached this part of the garden yet, so the cats hid elsewhere. Probably curled up in the kitchen sunroom, waiting for him like devoted subjects.

“I went into town and picked up more of your tea.” She kneeled beside him on the cold gravel. “It’s steeping on the counter with honey, just the way you like it.”

He blinked at her, still somewhat confused. “We’re out of valerian. I checked twice. Maybe three times. I could’ve sworn I had more in the green tin.”

“I got some today.” She reached out, adjusting the open flap of his coat with gentle fingers. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm and you can have some.”

He pulled back in quiet defiance. “Not until we fix the leak in the corner cat house.”

“Dad, your hands are freezing. Greyson will come by and fix it later.”

“Greyson’s busy.”

“Not too busy for you.”

He frowned, then nodded, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

“You’re shivering, Dad. Come inside. We’ll look at the shelters after you’ve had your tea.”

Still, he hesitated. Rolling a loose pebble between his finger and thumb, squinting toward the treetops as if trying to remember something lost among the bare branches.

And then, in a soft voice, he said, “You’re so much like her.”

Wren swallowed hard, her throat burning. She didn’t ask who. She didn’t need to.