Page 99 of The Holiday Clause

Soren called her several times after Greyson left, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. Her stomach churned and knotted every time another notification came through—each buzz like a tiny electric shock to her already frayed nerves—even when it came from Greyson calling. This represented what she’d dreaded from the start. She never wanted to hurt any of them.

She had no clue what Greyson had told Soren. Embarrassed and confused, she feared Greyson might still have a change of heart, the weight of fifteen years of disappointment pressing against her chest.

A lifetime of experience warned her not to trust his mercurial moods, but her heart sang a different tune. Was it a mistake to trust him?

He’d done stuff like this before. Interfered in her love life, then disappeared like smoke on the wind. What if this was just another way to keep her like a bird in a cage?

Wren bounced between doubt and desperate hope. By the time she dressed, she figured nothing out, but felt motion sick with uncertainty.

Skipping over Soren’s thirteen texts that demanded she call him, she went right to the messages from her employees.

Freya ran out of valerian root, and Bodhi had a meltdown without his usual blend of calming tea for his daily cat summit. River texted because the new shipment of eucalyptus oil smelled ‘off’ and he wasn’t comfortable using it, but he had a massage client scheduled for that afternoon who specifically requested the eucalyptus aromatherapy scalp massage.

Wren grabbed her keys and coat, needing to collect the supplies and return to The Haven before his client arrived.

But the requests didn’t stop there, piling on like autumn leaves, she could barely sift through the demands. When she parked in town, she had three more texts. Two from Soren and one from Lilly.

The printer at The Haven ran out of toner. That meant she also had to make a trip to Paper Moon, the stationery store in town. Hopefully, they had their brand in stock, because a delivery wouldn’t get there until next week.

As soon as her feet hit the pavement of Main Street, someone called her name like a siren’s song.

“Wren!”

Her shoulders hunched inward as the overwhelming scent of baby powder and flowers wafted on the breeze like a perfumed assault that made her want to hold her breath. Bracing for the gossip storm about to unleash on her, she pasted on a smile and turned. “Birdie, how are you?”

The old woman panted in her pastel joggers as she met Wren on the sidewalk, her chest heaving under the gold cross she somehow believed shielded her from sin. “Oh, well, you know… This weather and my arthritis.”

For someone as arthritic as Birdie Quinnley claimed to be, she sure jaywalked quickly.

“Where’s your coat?”

She waved a hand of half-painted fingernails like a dismissive queen. “I came from the salon when I saw you.”

Uh-oh.

Birdie clutched her cross with dramatic flair. “Everyone’s talking, dear, about you and that Hawthorne boy—the dark-haired one. Is there something going on?”

Wren panicked, her pulse stuttering as she quickly sewed together a lie. “Not that I know of.”

“Oh…” Birdie frowned, pursing her lips like a disappointed fish. The woman gossiped so much her signature frosty pink lipstick never stayed put on her mouth. “That’s not what Eileen said when I got my coffee this morning. You know, it’s getting to the point that I can’t trust her sources anymore.” Birdie tipped her head to look over the rims of her bedazzled glasses, her stare sharp and calculating. “Did you hear about the ruckus they caused at Hidden Italy last night? These bachelor auctions are cropping up all over the place. At this rate, we’ll be erecting a whorehouse in Hideaway Harbor by New Year’s.” More cross-clutching. “I swear, you kids don’t know how to woo each other the way my generation used to.”

Wren smiled, the expression feeling brittle as glass. “You know me, Birdie. I mostly mind my own business.”

She arched a silver brow. “Well, it’s not gossip if it’s true, dear.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Wren responded with little inflection as she walked.

“Have you heard about what Brody King did?”

“No.”

“Well, let me tell you…” Birdie went on and on. Every few words, Wren took another step, but the town gossip kept pace.If there was a way to harness the energy from Birdie Quinnley’s mouth, they could probably light the whole town for Christmas without the usual outages.

“I really would love to keep chatting, Birdie, but I have to be back at The Haven in less than an hour.”

She tsked like a disapproving mother. “How’s your father?”

“Bodhi’s great.”