Page 20 of The Holiday Clause
They didn’t always bicker, but when they did, she could drive him up a wall. Distracted again by that wisp of hair, he reached forward to tuck it behind her ear, sliding his fingers down to the fine tip. She wore tiny jade earrings, the subtle kindthat dangled. He pictured her putting them on, and something shifted in his gut.
Startled, she stepped back. “What are you doing?”
Whatwashe doing?
He released her hair. Shit. “I…” He unlocked the exit reserved for staff only and barked, “Stay here.”
Making a beeline for the shed, he found three shovels. Rather than return to the studio, he carried them to his truck and set them on the open tailgate. Once he dug the file and oil from his toolbox, he got to work. Good thing he’d stopped by because the edges were dull and in need of attention.
Ignoring the guests who came and went from the main building, he kept his head down and focused on his task. Several cats circled his feet as he worked. One even jumped into the bed of his truck.
“I don’t have food,” he told the old, patchy tabby missing an ear.
When the cat meowed back, it sounded like its trachea had gone through a garbage disposal. Greyson reached into his toolbox and rustled around.
A slender calico jumped onto the tailgate next, twirling around his arm as it purred. More cats wandered from the reflection garden, where their shelters had been built.
“You’re lucky I’m nice.”
Of course, he kept a jar of cat treats on him. Whenever there was a stray in town, it was captured and brought to Wren. She and Bodhi had made a sanctuary for the animals, and the town included the cat care as part of their ongoing fundraising efforts. Over the years, he’d brought several strays to Wren. Damned if he knew which ones, but she always took them in and loved them equally, no matter how battered or mangy they were. She was kind like that.
He slipped each one a niblet—not the kind they sold at the pet stores. These were homemade treats Wren had made from dehydrated whatever the hell cats ate.
He sniffed the jar and drew back. They smelled like rotten fish food, but the cats loved them. “That’s it. Go play.”
They ignored his command in true cat fashion but eventually lost interest when he started filing the edges of the shovels.
“I was wondering when you’d stop by.”
Greyson glanced over his shoulder at Bodhi as he wandered from the Zen garden. “What’s your family’s issue with boots?”
Wren’s father looked down at his bare toes peeking through his Jesus sandals and shrugged. He looked like he’d escaped from a commune in that silk kimono hanging out from under his Big Lebowski sweater.
Leaning against the truck with a steaming cup of something green that smelled like dirt, Bodhi glanced at the clouds overhead. “Wren told me we’re expecting more snow.”
“Another eight inches.”
Bodhi rubbed his straggly grey beard, contemplating the flurries as they fell. “Feels more like three inches.”
“That’s what she said.”
Bodhi laughed. “I hope not.” He drew in a deep breath as flurries drifted through the air. “This isn’t the sort of snow that sticks. It’ll melt as soon as you’re done plowing. See, big flakes. Big flakes always lead to a small accumulation. It’s the little flakes you gotta worry about, Greyson.”
He didn’t trust old hippie science, which was roughly based on joint pain, astrology, and the taste of air.
“Three inches or eight, you’re gonna need salt and shovels, Bodhi.” Finished with the last blade, he switched to oiling the metal. “You have enough supplies?”
“We’ve still got a pallet of salt from last year.”
Greyson nodded. “Good. But you should order more. That’s not going to be enough to get you through winter.”
“I’ll make a call.”
“Ask the receptionist to place an order online?—”
“Those Wi-Fi waves alter the aura, Greyson. Fastest way to misalign the chakras. Not to mention the declining bee population.”
“Right,” Greyson said slowly, learning long ago that debating with people like Bodhi was not a constructive use of his time. “Well, I’ll swing by with the plow once the ground’s covered. That way, you just have to worry about the walkways. If you can, ask the guests to move their cars to the far side of the parking lot.”
