Page 164 of The Holiday Clause
She snorted and shook her head. “Cute. He must love that.”
“Baby of the family doesn’t get to choose.”
“What’s your dad’s code name?”
“Big Fish.”
“And your mom?”
“My mom hated boats.”
“Of course, she did.”
The radio crackled. “This is Silver Spoon to Anchor One. Wharf is filling up. I’ll alert you when the harbor’s full.”
“We’re leaving the docks now.” Greyson set the receiver aside to man the wheel.
The motor reverberated with age as the scent of diesel fumes overpowered the briny sea air. Moving quickly, he unhitched the last of the ship’s ties.
“Can someone give me a tail tuck?” Ralph barked, spinning in circles, then tripping over the thermos bag.
“Watch the rum!” Santa yelled, grabbing the thermos before thinking to save Ralph.
“Careful,” Greyson warned. “Or Larry theLobstah’sgoing to remember what it’s like at the bottom of the sea. Everybody good to go?”
“As good as alobstahcan be—to the harbor!” Ralph called, pointing his claw into the air. It immediately drooped and clunked him on the head.
“Larry theLobstah’shaving a hard time keeping it up,” Wren murmured close to Greyson’s ear.
He chuckled. “I don’t have that problem.”
“No, you definitely don’t.”
Already counting down the hours until he could have her again, Greyson steered them toward open waters.
It was a proud day for New Englanders, one where harbor accents came out in full force. Hideaway’s heritage was a blend of Nordic and colonial settlers. Somehow, that added up to Santa Claus sailing into the harbor with a giant red-headed crustacean to light a tower of lobster traps designed to resemble a Christmas tree. Weird, but one of many weird traditions Hideaway Harborloved and honored, and one of the few that the Hawthornes actually participated in.
First, his father had captained the Sable Rose. Now, it was Greyson’s turn. One day, he’d pass the torch to Soren, and then Logan would have it last. The thought suddenly occurred to Greyson that that might not happen if the company got divested. But that wasn’t his problem, so he pushed the thought away. Except this time it came back with boomerang force.
Maybe it was his problem.
He glanced at Wren. Maybe, even if it wasn’t, he might have a solution.
No, he wasn’t going to pollute a good thing with his father’s toxic thinking.
Once out of the marina and turned around, his gaze drifted back to Wren. Standing near the stern, bundled in coat and ski overalls, her mirrored sunglasses reflected the sun as she smiled and laughed with the mayor over something he said. Her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and her hair whipped like golden kite tails from the knitted hat she wore. Holding the beanie in place by the fur pompom on top, she looked sexy as sin all bundled up at sea.
The mayor pushed the thermos on her again, and this time Wren took a sip. “Whoo!”she hollered, coughing into her gloved fist. No doubt the mayor spiked the mulled cider with a heavy hand of rum to keep himself warm.
Locke laughed. “That’ll put a little hair on your chest.”
“I hope not.” Sputtering and laughing, Wren shook her head. “You better be careful with that. Too much, and Santa could wind up run over by a reindeer like Grandma.”
Clapping a gloved hand to his head, the mayor perked up. “That reminds me. Ralph, did you bring the music?”
“I’ve got it on my phone.” Reaching into the red lobster costume, he fumbled with the claws. As soon as the phone cameinto view, it went hurling through the air. Lunging forward, Wren caught it in the nick of time.
“Thanks, Wren.”
