Page 104 of The Holiday Clause
On top of everything else, she’d forgotten they had a date scheduled. In his last message, he told her she acted like a coward. He was right.
With a sigh, she texted him back.
I knowI owe you an explanation for breaking our plans, and I promise one is coming. I just need some time. I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything next time we talk in person. No matter what, I love you. Please don’t be mad at me.
“Send.”She waited for a response, but his silence stretched like an accusation.
When she pulled up at Greyson’s, she hung in the car for a few minutes, wondering if this represented a mistake. Even if she was unsure about the conversation to come, she wanted to be held, and his arms were the ones she craved like an addiction she couldn’t shake.
Maybe the heavy stuff could wait until tomorrow.
God knew they waited long enough to get there. Whatever they had to say to each other should keep another twelve hours.
She pulled the keys out of the ignition and navigated the icy path, surprised Greyson hadn’t salted it. When she knocked, she had the strange sense that something wasn’t right. The house was dark, and she couldn’t smell wood burning.
“Greyson?” She knocked again and jiggled the handle.Locked.
Stepping off the porch, she walked backwards to look at the chimney.No smoke.Navigating the icy walk, she went to the garage and pulled the sliding barn door open.Empty.
Her insides shook like a water balloon as realization settled in, rupturing all the lies she told herself that day. The truth rained over her like shattered glass.
“Mother fucker.” Lips firmed, jaw tight, she breathed deeply to calm her fury, and failed spectacularly.
He did it to her again.
CHAPTER 15
“Right Down Santa Claus Lane”
The scentof roasted chestnuts and kettle corn wafted on the crisp December air as Wren tucked her gloved hands deeper into her coat pockets, her breath curling in soft clouds while the drum beats echoed down Main Street. Hideaway Harbor’s annual Holiday Parade blazed in full swing—loud, cheerful, bedazzled, and unapologetically festive, despite her conflicting mood.
Children in crooked paper crowns and glitter-drenched elf hats skipped along the sidewalks, their laughter rising above the jingle of sleigh bells and the slightly off-key hum of the high school brass band. Bodhi stood beside her, his expression peaceful as he clapped politely for the passing float—an old Hawthorne fishing boat decked out in twinkle lights and towing a giant inflatable lobster wearing a Santa hat that bobbed merrily in the winter wind.
The sight should have made her smile, but the Hawthorne name only twisted the knife deeper. However, no Hawthornesattended. The operator of the float was someone Wren had never met or seen before.
Greyson avoided large crowds and, after standing her up last night, he probably assumed she’d be present and wanted to avoid crossing her path.
She didn’t want to see him either.
Soren typically loved being in the spotlight, but this year he wasn’t waving from the Hawthorne Fishery float, his charming smile melting hearts along the parade route, as he’d been doing since the age of eighteen.
Even Logan, who usually came with her and Bodhi because he enjoyed the show and sweet treats wasn’t present. She’d done exactly what she wanted to avoid doing and ruined everything.
Forcing a smile, Wren watched as dancers pranced by and waved, but her chest ached with unspoken disappointment. She would not shed one more tear, especially not here, surrounded by peppermint-scented joy and delusions of picture-perfect happiness that outsiders assumed existed only in America’s small towns.
Okay, maybe she was a little bitter…
Across the street, Larry theLobstah, the town mascot, waved his oversized claw from the back of a vintage convertible wrapped in garland and velvet bows. He blew exaggerated kisses toward the crowd as if he ruled Hideaway Harbor. Skippy, the town’s communal Saint Bernard, nibbled treats from children’s hands while they stared transfixed at the show.
“Watch out!” someone called, and Wren pulled Bodhi aside just in time as a group of dachshunds dressed as reindeer pranced by, their owners struggling to keep them in line as they sniffed out spilled popcorn on the pavement like furry vacuum cleaners.
“Sorry!” the handler yelled, wrestling with the mess of leashes that looked like Christmas ribbon gone wild.
Bodhi erupted in a hardy belly laugh that made Wren smile—really smile—for the first time since last night, the sound warming her more than any hot cocoa could.
She could do this. She could pick herself up and put herself back together because she’d mastered this art since childhood. She had years of experience in surviving rejection and remarkable resilience.
But it hurt. Christ, did it hurt. Like a fresh wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, she wondered if she’d ever fully heal from so much rejection.
