Page 59 of The Holiday Clause

He touched her lower lip with his thumb. “I knew it would be like that—kissing you.”

“Like what?”

“Life-affirming.”

She might have rolled her eyes if she weren’t still reeling, her pulse hammering wildly against her throat. Who knew one kiss could confuse her so much?

“You’re dangerous, Soren Hawthorne.”

“Never to you, Wren Wilde. Never to you.”

CHAPTER 9

“Oh, Damn, Look What I Forgot”

The moment Wren stepped outside,two things became clear. Her aunt had arrived at The Haven sometime that morning, and snow would follow. Both left their mark on the atmosphere—one scientific, pressure dropping like a stone, the other wafting a trail of patchouli and rosemary like breadcrumbs from a fairy tale.

She smiled and sought out Bodhi, who would undoubtedly be sharing time with his sister, Astrid. The Sol Room drew Wren like a magnet—that sun-drenched sanctuary where retreat guests found a peaceful place to sip tea and reflect in quiet, but also where Bodhi often liked to sit and read.

“There she is!” Aunt Astrid rose the instant she spotted her, arms opening wide and disrupting the morning peace like a whirlwind in silk scarves. “Oh, would you feast your eyes on this glow? You’re absolutely luminous!” She pulled Wren close, whispering against her ear with breath that smelled of ashwagandha and echinacea tea, “Only two things paint awoman with such radiance. You’re not carrying a child, are you, pumpkin?”

“No!” Heat climbed Wren’s neck as her eccentric aunt’s smile widened with knowing satisfaction.

“Then it’s a man. I demand every delicious detail.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Astrid, but my love life is as mundane as ever.” Certain secrets deserved protection when Aunt Astrid entered the picture with her uncanny ability to read people like open books.

Wren’s aunt frowned, her wooden bangles clacking as she gestured dramatically. “Really, I was so certain I sensed a shift in your aura. I hope my vertigo’s not coming back. Damn inner ears can give the third eye such problems.”

“Sorry. Any glow I have comes strictly from daily yoga and a plant-based diet.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed as she shook her head, clearly unconvinced. “My intuition’s getting worse with age.” Reaching into her blouse, she withdrew a satchel of herbs and tossed it onto the table like dice, the dried leaves rustling with aromatic promise. “Brought this for you. Last season’s lemon balm. It eases tension and digestion. Steep it for ten minutes with honey. It pairs beautifully with hibiscus.”

“Thanks.” As the town apothecary, nothing surpassed one of Astrid’s freshly ground teas.

“Too long since I’ve read your tea leaves, Wren. Maybe we should brew a cup now.”

“I can’t. I promised Jocelyn a visit this morning.”

“How is Hideaway’s bestselling author? I devoured her latest series. Who knew I harbored such an appetite for Viking smut?”

“Viking smut, you say?” Bodhi raised an eyebrow with genuine curiosity as he sipped his tea. Her father devoured anything printed, but she wasn’t sure Viking smut was up his alley.

“Devastatingly sexy,” Astrid informed him with a knowing nod. “Magnificent braids and you wouldn’t believe the size of the Vikings?—”

“Weapons,” Wren interrupted, shooting her aunt a warning look.

Experience taught her to derail such conversations before they careened off track. Other guests lingered nearby and Viking anatomy didn’t really match The Haven’s aesthetic.

“Maybe you should support your friend by reading more of her books, Wren. You seem rather tightly wound this morning. How long since you’ve indulged in proper self-care? And I’m not referring to manicures or yoga.”

“On that note, I’m departing. Thank you for the tea.” She kissed her aunt, then her father, breathing in the familiar scent of spices and contentment that always surrounded him. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

She escaped The Haven before business could sidetrack her. Jocelyn wasn’t expecting a visit, but Wren needed advice, and Jocelyn had a knack for getting right to the point on matters of the heart—sort of the way a sledgehammer reveals the inner workings of a delicate egg.

When she knocked on her friend’s door, Jocelyn’s voice echoed from deep inside the house, muffled by walls and creative chaos. “Go away.”

“Joce, it’s me.”