Page 15 of The Holiday Clause

His father had a point. But if Logan or Soren truly wanted this badly enough, they could make it happen. Wren wasn’t the only single female in town.

“Our name’s worth something, Dad. They could go on any dating app and find a wife in a matter of weeks. The clause onlystates that we have to get married before the holidays. It says nothing about love.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Marriage is a contract. Only a fool would enter one with a stranger.”

“You’re sort of forcing our hands.”

“Am I? Or am I validating that none of you are ready to take on this responsibility?” He shook his head. “Three sons, and not a single one of you?—”

“Stop.” Greyson held up a hand. “You invited us here, pretending it was for Thanksgiving when it was only one more way to express your disappointment. We get it. We got it when we were teenagers. You can stop hammering us with all your grievances.”

“And why do you think I grieve, Greyson? Boys are supposed to grow up into men. The three of you are now in your twenties and thirties and still acting like boys.”

As if it had only started in their teens.

“Just because we’re not making a living according to your expectations doesn’t mean we’re not living respectable adult lives.”

Magnus waved away his words. He appeared tired, as if dressing after breakfast and having one short meeting with his sons had worn him out. He probably stayed too prideful to rest as long as others remained at the house.

Greyson withdrew the keys to his truck. “Do you need anything before I take off?”

“I need you to do the right thing, Greyson. One of you has to step up to the plate, or everything I’ve worked for—the sum of my existence—will all be for naught.”

Crossing the room, he dropped a hand on his father’s narrow shoulder and gently squeezed. “We can’t control everything, Dad. The day you accept that, things will become easier.”

“I’m running out of days,” he grumbled, shouldering him off. “For once, you could do as I ask instead of doing what you damn well please.”

On the drive home, Greyson’s two-way radio was silent. His dumbass brothers probably sat at Wren’s, receiving an earful for even thinking she’d go for such a ridiculous plan.

Wren didn’t care about money like some women, but she valued integrity. She’d never settle for some sham of a marriage simply because of a clause in a contract.

“Morons,” he grumbled, shoving all thoughts of his brothers and Wren away.

Turning down Main Street, he slowed his truck as holiday tourists flooded out in full force, catching all the post-Thanksgiving Christmas sales. Hideaway Harbor was renowned for its winter festivities. The anticipation of Hideaway’s influx of visitors reminded him to stock up on essentials for the month so he didn’t have to venture into the crowds. Once the Christmas countdown began, it wouldn’t ease up until the following year.

Like a bear, Greyson preferred to hibernate in his own little hideaway deep in the woods rather than sip hot cocoa, sing carols, or shop the freshly painted window displays like the rest of the townies and guests. Since his mother died, Christmas just wasn’t his thing.

Once the holiday season kicked off with the tree lighting, it meant full speed ahead into Christmas with non-stop events—ice carving competitions, parades, endless caroling, festivals, and firework displays. There was never a dull moment in their little harbor town around the holidays, which was precisely why Greyson treasured his secluded cabin in the woods, far removed from all the chaos and noise.

Just as he pulled onto the private dirt road leading to his hidden home, the two-way radio chirped, and he glanced at the dashboard.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

Greyson shook his head at Soren’s comment and mumbled under his breath, “Dumbasses.”

How the hell did they expect it to go? And what exactly had they done—blown into Wren’s retreat, interrupted her yoga class, and launched into a marriage proposal?

The walkie-talkie chirped again. “Could have gone a lot better if you didn’t get in the way.”

“I was there first!”

“Only because you cheated!”

“Bullshit. Fair is fair,” Logan’s taunting voice chirped over the airways. “Hundred bucks says I get her to agree to a date by the first of December.”

“You’re on. And when she turns you down because she’s already out with me, I’ll take my hundred in tens and twenties.”

Greyson twisted the dial on the radio, turning the volume off so he didn’t have to listen to their bickering. This far up north, there wasn’t much of a cell signal, so the two-way was necessary, but over the years, he’d definitely overheard his fair share of personal business. Soren and Logan should know better than to air their laundry on a public channel.