Chapter 4 #2
“I’m being stubborn?” She laughed. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
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 kind that dangled.
He pictured her putting them on, and something shifted in his gut.
Startled, she stepped back. “What are you doing?”
What was he 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. ”
The wind picked up, and the scent of patchouli oil wafted from Bodhi’s clothes. “I’ll try. But first, I should see to the elders.” The elders were what Bodhi called the cats.
“Sounds good.”
Wren’s father scooped the mangy tabby with one ear off the hood of the truck. “Come on, Nog.” As he passed Greyson, he used the cat’s paw to wave. “You know, a cat who naps in sunlight knows more about life than a man who checks his phone.”
Greyson lifted his eyes from the screen, where he was waiting for the weather app to load. Accumulation had dropped from eight inches to six, but who knew how up-to-date that report was? The satellites hit Hideaway Harbor on sporadic waves, so their headlines weren’t always current.
As soon as Bodhi disappeared down the gravel path, Wren appeared. Like her father, she only wore sandals. At least she had the sense to throw on a sweater. “You told me to wait and then never came back.”
He used a rag to oil down the now sharp edge of the shovel. “I didn’t tell you to wait. I told you to stay.”
“Ah, this must be why I flunked collie training.”
He met her dry stare. “Smartass.”
She lifted the canister of mineral oil and read the label. “Thanks for taking care of my shovels. I never would have thought to sharpen them or even known how.”
He meant to say welcome, but only a grunt of acknowledgment escaped.
When her hand rested on his arm, he paused but didn’t take his gaze off the blade. “Greyson, you can talk to me. I know what Magnus did this morning.”
“I’ve got nothing to say about that.”
Her touch fell away. “Are you upset about what he plans to do with the company?”
He shrugged and continued oiling the metal. “His company, his choice.”
“You have a right to be angry. He promised Hawthorne Fishery to you guys since you were children.”
“Well, he changed his mind.”
There was a time Greyson thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps.
He loved fishing and being out at sea, but it had been decades since his father set foot on one of their boats.
Crews managed everything, and with so many vessels in the fleet and captains handling the details of each expedition, his father hadn’t been on a boat in years.
Being the CEO of a billion-dollar fishery had very little to do with actual fishing. Greyson liked being out at sea but CEOs rarely saw the coastline. They were too busy trapped inside corner offices looking at numbers. He had no interest in a life like that.
“Do you really think he’s going to sell it off?”
“Magnus doesn’t make empty threats.”
“What about Soren and Logan?”
“What about them? You gonna marry them?”
She pursed her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He shrugged again. “If they want to keep the company, they need to find a wife.”
“You all act like I’m the only single woman in town.”
He finished with the shovels and turned to lean against the truck. “You’re not at all tempted? You’d be set for life.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t insult me. You know money doesn’t motivate me like it does others.”
“Money’s a necessary evil. It’s freedom.”
“Says the reclusive billionaire living off the land in the woods.”
He chuckled. Money didn’t motivate him either, but he did respect all that it could achieve. Speaking of which... “The studio looks good all finished.”
When she smiled, her entire face lit up.
Wren didn’t cake on makeup like some women.
He wasn’t even sure she wore any. She spent so much time outdoors, taking retreat guests on nature walks and doing weird hippie shit in the woods.
She always had a sun-kissed glow and cinnamon sprinkle of freckles over her nose.
“I love it,” she admitted. “You did an incredible job on the beams.”
He’d spent a year harvesting the perfect lumber and shaping those beams exactly as Wren had described. “I’m glad you’re happy with it.”
An oversized flurry fluttered onto her lash, and she flicked it away. “I guess you want the guests to move their cars.”
“It would help.”
She sighed. “Make sure you keep track of your hours.”
“Don’t be dumb.”
“It’s not dumb. People pay good money for snow removal.”
“I don’t do it for the money.”
“Well, you’re still paying for gas and salt. Don’t be a stubborn jackass about it.”
He scoffed. “You’re the only person who gets away with talking to me like that.”
“You don’t scare me, Greyson Elowen Hawthorne.”
His mouth firmed into a flat line, and his eyes widened. “Keep it down.” Very few people knew his middle name.
She snickered. “You either let me pay you or I tell everyone that you were named after your mother’s mother.”
He leaned over her, purposely crowding her as he narrowed his eyes. “Try, and there will be consequences.”
She jutted out her chin. “No there won’t.”
She was right. He talked a big game, but he never followed through on his threats when it came to Wren. She was one of them, which was why she was everyone’s first thought when their father made that ridiculous proposal. She’d fit right in as a Hawthorne.
He recalled the guy she was talking to when he arrived. He didn’t look like her type. Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell, considering that Wren never really dated anyone. The guy had been holding a yoga mat. Greyson didn’t even know where they sold such things.
The wind picked up, and she drew the lapels of her sweater together. He frowned. “Don’t you own a coat?”
“I can’t find it.”