Page 1 of The Holiday Clause
PROLOGUE
“Dashing Through the Snow”
“There I was,”Wren began the story as dramatically as she always did, “fumbling for my keys as cats coiled between my legs on the cabin porch, their urgent mewing echoing in the frigid air.”
“Here we go…” Logan rolled his eyes.
She ignored him, sitting up to better reenact the chaos that unfolded one year ago, the absolute insanity they put her through that led her to this very place. She didn’t care that they heard the story a hundred times before. She lived it.
So did they, of course.
But she would never let them forget what they put her through. And each time she made them sit through the recap, she added more flourish and dramatization than the last.
“I bit the tip of my glove, precariously balancing my grocery bags in one arm, so I could dig through my purse,” she continued, still able to hear the rock salt crunching underfoot.“It had been a frigid day. I still remember my breath clouding as I spoke to the cats.”
The rescued strays were why people once assumed she was Hideaway Harbor’s unofficial cat lady at thirty. That was back when she was still single. A lot had changed since then.
“Your stories take forever.”
“Shut up, Soren.”
“Get to the point, Wren.”
She shot Greyson a threatening look, warning him to hush. “The metallic bite of wind promised more snow, and we already had a foot from the storm that rolled in before Thanksgiving that year.”
“There was a northern wind, and the temperature was a biting seventeen degrees. Two blue jays sat on a branch,” Logan mocked.
“Patience, guys.” She narrowed her eyes at the men. “That’s what I remember saying to Figgy and the other cats as they perched on frost-dusted chairs. Then, suddenly, the roar of a motor exploded through the silence! I spun, keys tumbling from my grasp as a black super-duty pickup rocketed over the snowdrifts—an avalanche of ice and slush erupting in its wake as it plowed straight toward me! I screamed, and the cats scattered like buckshot.”
Greyson’s deep chuckle rumbled as he lounged by the fire.
“I don’t think it was all that dramatic,” Logan mumbled.
“Get to the good part,” Soren urged.
Wren continued, “Out of nowhere, a snowmobile buzzed from the woods behind the cabin! I plastered myself against the front door in a sorry attempt to avoid a collision as claws scraped wood and the cats scrambled up the walls in sheer terror! My groceries crashed to the ground, eggs exploding, as I threw my hands up to shield my face. The truck slammed on its brakes, spraying snow all over me and my midnight blue siding as itskidded to a halt mere inches from my step. I was terrified. The engine growling like a caged beast as the driver’s door burst open and I screamed,‘What the hell is going on!’”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Even I know that’s stretching the truth. The snowmobile totally got there first.”
“False.” Logan laughed. “And you can’t start the story there anyway.” He sipped lager from a pilsner glass. “That makes us sound like maniacs.”
Wren scoffed. “You are maniacs.”
“She has a point.” Greyson stretched his thick denim-clad legs toward the raised hearth of the massive fireplace.
“That’s exactly how it started,” Wren continued. “I’m telling the non-fiction version.”
“Your version might be true, but that’s not how it started.” Soren brushed a piece of non-existent lint off his knee onto the oak floor. “You’ve got to give a little background to accurately portray the emotion.”
Wren pursed her lips. “The emotion was fear.”
“Nah, that kind of unhinged urgency can only be provoked by love.” Soren flinched as a balled-up copy ofThe Almanacpegged him in the head. “What? Love can make a man do crazy things.”
“You’re an idiot.” Greyson rolled his eyes.
Logan settled into the empty chair on the other side of the fire. “I’m with Soren. If you want to tell the story right, you have to go back to the beginning.”
“Fine. You guys tell it.”
