Page 65 of The Holiday Clause

Realizing he wasn’t going to explain himself to anyone, she said, “You should have stayed out at sea. At least then I’d remember you as a decent guy.”

“I’m still a decent guy.”

“No, you’re not. The Greyson I knew would never treat me like this.”

“If I wasn’t decent, I would have had you six ways to Sunday by now.”

She was speechless, shock coursing through her like ice water. She didn’t know this side of him—this crude, territorial stranger wearing her best friend’s face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m just trying to be honest. You can’t keep coming here looking for something I can’t give you. I don’t have feelings for you, Wren. You need to get that through your head. You’re like my kid sister. That’s all.”

The words hit her like physical blows, each one more devastating than the last. “Well, if that’s all I am, you’re a shitty fucking big brother. Here.” She flung the rejection letter at his chest, the paper fluttering between them like a wounded bird. “I came by because I was upset and wanted to show you this. Pardon me for thinking you might care.”

Thinking back to that horrible day, she suffered the same ache she had when he said those mean things to her. Greyson always swore he never saw her as anything more than a little sister, but of all the Hawthorne brothers, he was always the most territorial.

They didn’t speak for almost a year after that. But he spent so much time working for the fishery, she hardly saw him anyway.

It wasn’t until she started construction on The Haven, six years later, when he’d built his cabin and settled back in Hideaway, that they actually found a somewhat normal vibe again.

She rubbed her temples and groaned. “Oh, God, Jocelyn, what the hell am I doing?”

“Okay, take a breath. You’re safe, and this isn’t anything we can’t handle.”

Wren reached for the donuts and shoved half a glazed in her mouth. “I cranft neef’n figreah Greyson oub.”

“Honey, when you talk with food in your mouth, no one knows what you’re trying to say. Wash it down.” Jocelyn pushed the rocks glass closer, and Wren took a sip.

“Wow.” She swallowed and examined the glass, warmth spreading through her chest. “Why is that so good?”

“I know, right?”

She took another small swallow, then set down the glass. “I said, I can’t figure Greyson out. Every time he touches me, he tells me it can’t happen again.”

“And then he makes you come.”

“Exactly! What is that?”

“Look, obviously, he has feelings for you. We always assumed that was why he didn’t want other guys sniffing around your territory.”

“But at the bonfire?—”

“Fuck that bonfire! That was one day, Wren—like a million years ago. Look at the big picture. His fingers were in your pants.”

“Do you have to be so graphic?”

“Hey, I write ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Well, you’re not writing about this.” She frowned, confusion swirling with the whiskey. “As soon as we stopped, he told me to date whoever I wanted. He doesn’t care. Even if it’s his brothers, he acts like it means nothing to him.”

“Oh, he cares. He’s just being a little bitch about it. I bet he cares so much it’s making him crazy. As a matter of fact, next time you go out with Soren, you should go somewhere right in the open where Greyson can see.”

“I can’t use Soren that way.” She thought again about the way he’d kissed her last night, the heat and promise in his touch. “At least Soren is actually talking about a possible future.”

“That’s true.” Jocelyn scratched her chin in thought. “I mean, he’s nothing like Greyson, but maybe that’s a good thing. At least he’s not afraid to go after what he wants.”

“But what do I want?”

Joce raised a brow as if to ask if that needed to be verbalized. “Where does Logan fall in all of this?”