Chapter 7
“Meet the Stranger Who Has Saved Your Life”
Greyson slammed the ax down, splitting the log in two. Breath gathered into vapor as steam rose from his shoulders. The prior night’s events played like a loop in his head, and he couldn’t figure out where things went wrong.
He’d gone to The Chowder House. Run into Sarah. Had a few drinks. Bought her a round. The chemistry was good and still familiar enough that they knew where the evening would lead. All systems were go, until he paid the tab.
“You wanna get out of here?” she’d asked, leaning in as if to show him the offer on the table. “I’m free all night.”
With a nod, he threw some money on the bar and grabbed their coats. Once outside, he walked her to her car.
“Meet you at my place?”
Where else would they meet? He never brought women back to his cabin because he preferred an exit strategy.
She’d leaned against her car door, waiting for confirmation. He needed to work out his tension, so he was ready to go. But when he kissed her, something felt off. She was too tall, and her hips didn’t fill his hands the way he wanted. Her lips weren’t soft enough. Her perfume was all wrong.
“I can’t. Not tonight,” he said, and she stared up at him in confusion.
Greyson wasn’t one to explain his decisions, but he couldn’t if he wanted to. He needed to get laid. He and Sarah had been down this road several times before. There was no reason not to go home with her. He didn’t even have to stay the night.
But she wasn’t Wren.
Another log split and clattered to the frozen ground. The snow had melted. The storm was a bust. Bodhi was right about the snow predictions. They got three inches, and it melted shortly after it stopped coming down. Crazy old coot.
This was the nonsense that drove him nuts. Science had a purpose, but not to the Wildes. No. They relied on nature’s vibrations, the phases of the moon, and how a leaf might curl when clouds rolled in.
Perhaps Greyson was more like his father than he wanted to admit. Wren’s mother, drove Magnus insane. She’d change vacation plans because Haven pulled a worrisome card from a tarot deck.
Some days, they’d come home from school, and the entire house would be filled with smoke because Haven convinced his mother that negative energy filled the walls.
They were kids back then, so these strange tendencies didn’t concern him, but his father would become enraged, threatening their mother with ultimatums if she didn’t cut off her friendship with Haven.
But no force could come between the women. They had been best friends since childhood. And the more his mother chose Haven over his father, the worse their marriage became.
Greyson set up another log and split it in two, recalling how loud their fighting became at the end. Wren didn’t have any of that at home.
Bodhi loved Haven. She was his entire world. And when she died in the same accident that took their mother, he was never the same. Wren not only had to deal with her own confusing grief as a child, but take care of her father as well.
Giving his muscles a break, he set down the ax and carried the split wood to the woodshed. Despite how different the Wildes were, there was something to envy about their closeness.
Wren never complained about taking care of her father.
She’d been a kid—just fifteen—and become responsible overnight.
After Haven died, Wren took over cooking and shopping while Bodhi disappeared for days to sleep in the woods, alone with his grief.
He used to tell Wren that’s where he felt the most connected to her mother.
Greyson understood. While he felt no presence of his mother anywhere, he took a great deal of peace from the woods.
He enjoyed the silence and preferred keeping his distance from the rest of the world.
Very few people knew where his cabin was located, since it didn’t come with a traditional address and all his mail was sent to the post office.
Only a select few knew how to get there, which was exactly how he preferred it.
Maybe he and Bodhi were more alike than he wanted to admit.
When he finished with the wood for the day, he removed his work gloves and dragged the soles of his boots over the mat. Tonight, he’d head back to town and try to patch things up with—
Greyson stilled as something quiet squawked nearby. The leaves rustled in the breeze as he concentrated on the sounds of the wildlife creeping around him.
Another peep, and he turned to locate the source of the sound. Possibly a field mouse. At least he hoped that’s what it was.
Tracking the soft cry to the porch steps, he crouched low. “Please don’t be another—Fuck my life.”
Blue eyes and a tiny black face stared back at him from the shadows. It chirped the second they made eye contact.
“Where did you come from?” Were there more? He kneeled on the cold ground and stretched out his arm, but the little kitten clumsily stumbled away. He grabbed it by the scruff and rescued it from under the porch.
Drawing it to eye level, his stern tone demanded honesty as he asked, “Are you alone?”
The little rat didn’t answer.
It was a tiny thing, but not newborn. Its ears were up, and its eyes were open. Specks of dirt clung to its downy grey fur. When he cradled it in his hand, it barely filled his palm.
“You’re a complication I didn’t need today.”
The kitten mewed, and he carried it inside. The drill never changed. Find a box, grab an old towel, and give it a saucer of cream. The little guy wasn’t the most agile, but once he stumbled up to the milk and realized it was food, his little motor started to purr.
“You’re lucky I found you.” The poor thing wouldn’t have lasted one night once the temperature dropped. Greyson stared down at the dirty little rat. “Where’s your mother?”
The cat was occupied with the milk, so Grey went to the kitchen to call Wren. She answered on the first ring.
“Thank you for calling The Haven, where stillness begins. This is Wren. How may I help you find your reset today?”
“Hey.”
“Greyson?”
“Yeah.”
There was a long pause. “Hi.” She sounded unsure. “I’m glad you called.”
Was she? He frowned. “I, uh, have something for you.”
“You do?” The curiosity in her voice drove his mind to places he shouldn’t go, but he liked when she got inquisitive.
Maybe that was why he didn’t tell her what it was. “Yeah, you might want to get here soon.”
“I can be there in five minutes. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. See you in five.” He hung up the landline and stared at the retro receiver.
He should have told her it was a cat.
It wasn’t right to play games with her. That’s what got them into trouble the other day. If he didn’t want a repeat, he needed to be straight with her. No more wavering or mixed messages no matter how good her attention felt.
He picked up the phone and called her back. “Thank you for calling The Haven, where stillness begins. This is—”
“Wren.”
“Grey?”
“Yeah. I, uh, just wanted to be clear. It’s a cat.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, but quickly recovered. “Is it one of ours?”
“I don’t think so. He’s small. I don’t recognize him.”
“It’s a male?”
Craning his neck over the box, he lifted the cat and took a quick peek at his undercarriage. “Yes. He’s dirty and probably needs a trip to the vet.”
“Is he injured?”
“No, just cold.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there. Keep him warm and give him some milk if you have it.”
“Already done.”
When he hung up the phone, he felt better about clearing up any mixed messaging. “Your new mom’s going to be here in a minute. Hang tight.”
It chirped at him, droplets of white sprinkled over its tiny muzzle.
Greyson lifted it to eye level. “You’re a mangy little thing.”
Despite how dirty it was, he held it as he waited for Wren. The little guy vibrated happily as he hunkered into the crevice of Greyson’s elbow. When several minutes passed and Wren still hadn’t arrived, he stopped pacing by the window.
The kitten was sound asleep, so he tucked it into the front pocket of his flannel shirt, allowing him to use his hands for other things while keeping an eye on the little guy. It also served as a good reminder that her visit to his home was about a cat. Only about a cat.
By the time Wren arrived at Greyson’s, the sun was setting. She hadn’t meant to take this long, but on her way out of The Haven, one guest after another stopped her for help. None of that mattered, however, as she pulled up to Greyson’s cabin.
When he called, she’d suffered a surge of relief, only to deflate when he confessed he was only contacting her about a stray.
That was her! Hideaway Harbor’s official cat lady—spinster for life.
With a sigh, she grabbed the basket of supplies off the passenger seat and went right into Grey’s house, only to pause when everything was silent. “Greyson?”
A low rumble stirred from the next room, where she found him sitting up and sleeping, his hands folded over his chest as he softly snored. She took a moment to just watch him.
Regret and confusion surfaced as she once again recalled his hands on her. The thought of him never kissing her like that again left her hollow.
She couldn’t think like that.
Setting the basket down, she scanned the room for the cat. When she saw a box on the counter, she peeked inside only to find it empty.
“Uh-oh.”
Searching the kitchen, she found no trace of the kitten anywhere. Making soft little cat calls, she whispered about the house, looking for the stray. When she returned to Greyson, she debated how he’d react to a possibly feral cat being lost in his house.
He looked so peaceful, she hated disturbing him. An open copy of Walden Pond rested over his chest. That was Grey. He always preferred the quiet classics, like Thoreau and Rilke. She closed the book and set it on the table.
“Grey.” She tapped his hand. “Greyson, I’m here.”
He drew in a deep breath and stretched his legs before opening his eyes. When he saw her, he smiled. “Hey.”
“Where’s the cat?”