Page 105 of The Holiday Clause
The moment she realized she was thinking about him again, she chased the thought away. No more Greyson fantasies. Or thoughts of Soren. Or Logan thoughts for that matter. At least for a little while. She needed a Hawthorne break before the heartache suffocated her completely.
Wren spotted Jocelyn near the bookstore, balanced precariously on a folding chair, snapping proof-of-life photos for her social media while wearing a shirt that read“Naughty List Survivor.”She shouted for someone to bring her a candy cane martini from the Hook, Wine, & Sinker float—a makeshift sleigh complete with bartenders mixing up cocktails in elf costumes that jingled with every shake.
The music shifted in waves as floats passed by. Wren blinked against another swirl of confetti drifting through the air like artificial snow. The colors blurred together in a kaleidoscope of holiday cheer. Red. Green. White. Gold. A thousand tiny reminders of what Christmas was meant to be. What she almost had within her grasp.
Families corralled little ones closer to the barricades, handing off clouds of cotton candy, and cheering for the magical festivities. Couples cuddled to keep warm, their bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.
Eyes drifting shut, she pictured Greyson there with her, his strong arms wrapped around her from behind, but the momentary warmth morphed quickly into sharp betrayal. That fantasy had dissolved now, like sugar in rain.
They were done.
Had to be.
She refused to chase men who ran from her like she carried some contagious disease.
Keeping her gaze forward, she watched a troupe of local dancers kick and twirl in candy cane-striped leggings, their cheeks flushed with cold and joy.
“Will you look at that.” Bodhi nudged her elbow and pointed at one of the dancers doing flips with athletic grace. She forced another smile.
He looked better today. Clearer eyes. His face much less ghostly and confused.
The brass band now blared a jazzy version ofJingle Bells,and the town collectively flinched every time the trumpets hit the wrong key. Wren was present in body but absent in spirit. Swallowing hard, she focused on the glittering wreaths sparkling from the lampposts like jeweled crowns.
“I see Astrid,” Bodhi pointed to his sister, perched front and center on a camping chair in front of The Wilde Kettle. “How am I going to get over there?”
“You have to walk around, Dad.”
He searched for a shortcut and Wren watched tensely as he slid past a barricade and shuffled between the dancers, who pinged him around like a vintage pinball. An officer appeared and tried to escort Bodhi off the road, but Bodhi assumed she wanted to dance, twirling the officer and then pirouetting to the other side of the street with a theatrical bow. Astrid clapped, thoroughly amused by her brother’s impromptu performance.
Adjusting the knit hat over her ears, Wren retreated to the back of the crowd so little ones could see. The dancers had moved on, replaced by a fleet of festively decorated trucks honking holiday jingles, one blastingAll I Want for Christmas Is Youfrom speakers bolted to its roof.
She smiled reflexively, clapping her gloved hands along with the rest of the onlookers. Alone in a sea of togetherness.
Again.
Hell no. You’re not going there.
Every time she had a negative thought or suffered even a nip of self-pity, she shoved it back down like swallowing bitter medicine. She thrived. She owned a successful business she built from the ground up to honor her mother’s memory. She was complete. A lack of a partner should not determine her self-value.
And hey, there was still Noah.
Her gaze returned to Bodhi across the street, laughing with his sister as if nothing was wrong in the world. And maybe, for him, in this moment, nothing was. That made her happy. That sufficed.
The crowd around her thickened, bodies pressing closer as anticipation hung in the air like morning mist before the storm.
“You think you can just text me‘I’m sorry’?”
Wren went rigid at the accusing voice and turned, coming face to face with frigid fury. “Soren. Hey.”
“What the hell, Wren? I thought we understood each other.” Breath clouded in the bitter air as he cornered her against the storefront window, looming with poorly contained fury.
“Soren, I told you there was an explanation.”
“Yeah, Greyson. I got the memo. You also told me you’d explain it to me next time we were face-to-face. Well, here I am. Start explaining.” But he didn’t give her a chance to respond, his words tumbling out like an avalanche. “You explain to mehow a man who offers you absolutely nothing in terms of a future, possesses the emotional communication skills of a tree stump, and would rather surround himself with chipmunks and deer than actual people somehow appeals to you more than real fucking stability.”
She stepped back, crossing her arms defensively. “That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. None of this is fair. But that’s exactly what you chose.”
