Page 144 of The Holiday Clause

“When something hurts that much, Grey, our mind hides the details to protect our heart.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe his forgetfulness was a coping mechanism. He did what he had to do to get past the pain. But the guilt remained, and his throat tightened every time he felt that shame resurfacing.

“We weren’t allowed to wallow.”

“Talking about her isn’t wallowing.”

“It was to my dad.”

There was never space for their grief. Magnus forbade them from crying and sent them away anytime they moped about the house. All the forgiving softness of childhood disappeared with their mother. After her passing, their home became just a cold dwelling where their father loomed.

Greyson was the first to move out. He spent years working out at sea with the fishery, hoping the experience might clear his head, but when he returned home, all his abandoned emotions remained. He returned to the North Sea again and again, waiting for his feelings to wash away, but they always came crashing back whenever he returned to Hideaway Harbor.

When he realized he couldn’t drown his grief at sea, he tried to bury it in the woods. That didn’t work either. Because the longer he tried not to feel, the more he felt.

“I miss her,” he confessed quietly.

“I miss my mom, too.”

The fact that they shared the pain made it easier to bear. Maybe that’s why he always returned to her—she understood.

Greyson hadn’t been raised with strong faith. The little he had came from the spiritual things Wren said to him on occasion. He liked her insights and found himself pondering her perspective on life more than he was willing to admit.

She soothed him. And now, more than ever, he realized how much he craved her nearness.

He could have settled anywhere. He’d visited every coastal town up and down the Atlantic and crossed international waters. But she always pulled him back to Hideaway Harbor. Every journey away from her had been an exercise in futility, a desperate attempt to outrun feelings that only grew stronger with distance.

Wren was his North Star, the magnetic pull that called him home. And, over the years, he slowly gave in to that pull, setting down roots and making excuses to see her. She never left his mind, even when he ordered himself to stay away.

There was no denying the truth anymore. Not when he finally admitted this was what he wanted. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, breathing her in, he closed his eyes. She felt right in his arms, like he’d been built to hold her. He never wanted to let her go.

He needed to finally set himself free and stop holding back the feelings his father claimed made a man weak. “I love you, Wren.”

She drew back and blinked up at him, a stunned expression on her face. “What?”

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. In case you didn’t know…”

She tightened her arms around his ribs and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You know I love you too, right?”

Of course, she did. But this was different. He wasn’t talking about a platonic love or the kind of love that develops over time. This was a love that determined his life, the kind that dictated a man’s future. Soon enough, she’d understand just how serious he was about her. Now that he had her, he was never letting her go.

“Get some sleep.” He pulled the covers higher to tuck her in tight against his chest.

By morning, he felt fully recovered. Wren, however, had caught his cold.

“I feel terrible.”

“You should.” She coughed. “You did this to me.”

He should have insisted she leave and protect herself.

His eyes widened when she blew her nose, the sound more like a dying elephant. “Good God, woman, did you eat a French horn?”

“Shut up,” she said with a nasally speech impediment as she created an environmental crisis with the amount of tissues she blew through in one minute.

“How can someone so small make that much noise?”

She looked up at him, nose as red as Rudolph’s, then toppled to her side and whined. “You gave me your cooties.”