Chapter 19 #3
“Well, he’s a guest.” She reached into the trunk and awkwardly lifted the small but heavy espresso machine out. “Can you shut the trunk?”
“Give me that.” He took the machine out of her arms.
“Don’t throw it like you did the bag.”
Greyson grumbled and carried it inside.
Settling Mr. Drummond took three times as long as usual check-ins. Greyson left to do his rounds and Wren spent most of the afternoon making sure all of Mr. Drummond’s requests were met.
The high-maintenance guests had the power to devastate her retreat with one negative review, which they were more likely to leave—or pay an employee to leave.
It didn’t matter if she impressed them. These type-A tight-asses loved to complain and barely praised anyone but themselves.
They came to places like The Haven to find a sort of reset that didn’t exist for ninety percent of them.
She could tell right away that Drummond would be a difficult, impossible-to-please sort of CEO guest. Very rarely did a pinstripe suit change its stripes.
“See if Harbor & Home carries the kind of sheets he wants, Lilly.”
Lilly rolled her eyes and picked up the phone to call the store.
Harbor & Home was the only home goods store in town. It offered limited linens, handmade quilts, ceramic dishware, and vintage-inspired table settings. Chances were, they wouldn’t carry the Egyptian cotton sheets Drummond requested—at least not at the specific thread count he wanted.
Wren always over-extended herself for the difficult guests because it honored her mother’s belief that nitpicky people only needed repositioning to find their Zen.
She used to say, “Unhappy people are just souls with tangled roots—repot them, water them, give them light and space, and they’ll bloom. ”
Her mother possessed a gift for bringing grumpy people out of their bad moods and Wren tried to honor her memory every day by becoming the same kind of caring person.
It was this philosophy that drove her patience with even the most demanding guests, the belief that underneath all that anger and frustration was simply a person who needed tending.
Her mother had never met a soul she couldn’t soften, and Wren refused to give up on that legacy, even when faced with the Greg Drummonds of the world.
But by the day’s end, Wren’s nerves and patience had been put through the wringer. When she got home, salt covered her walkway and extra logs sat stacked neatly by the door. She smiled, knowing Greyson had visited.
Several cats followed her home, sensing the incoming storm and hoping to find a warm lap for the night. “No, no,” she told Spruce, the fat tabby who never gave up trying to be an indoor cat. “You have a home. Go there.”
The sanctuary cats lived incredible lives. They stayed safe from traffic, well fed, loved, spoiled by Bodhi and the rest of the staff at The Haven, and their kitty condos offered state-of-the-art solar heating and custom cat furniture Greyson built.
“You’re being a drama queen.” She waved Spruce away. “Go home before the snow starts.”
She hadn’t realized how exhausted she felt after two nights of very little sleep until she settled into the tub and almost drowned by accidentally dozing off.
After her bath, she cuddled up by the fire with a book, but fell asleep before turning the first page.
She didn’t wake until Greyson lifted her off the sofa.
Not needing to open her eyes to recognize him, she smiled into his chest. “You smell like snow.”
The scent of winter clung to him—crisp, clean cold air mixed with the warmth that was uniquely his. Underneath the outdoor chill, she could detect traces of his soap, the faint tang of motor oil from his truck, and something indefinably masculine that made her want to burrow deeper into his arms.
He carried her quietly through the dark house, and she nestled into the safe sanctuary of his arms. When he lowered her into bed, he pulled the covers over her and kissed her temple. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to stoke the fire and take a quick shower.”
“What time is it?”
“A little past four.”
“Mmm.” She cuddled closer to the pillow and fell right back to sleep. She didn’t wake again until morning. But by that time, Greyson slept soundly.
“Poor guy,” she whispered after kissing his cheek. He didn’t even twitch. He’d stayed up for almost twenty-four hours, most of which he had spent working, and not even working for a paycheck. Greyson took care of the roads and the seniors around town out of the goodness of his own heart.
Settling in front of the fire with a cup of hot tea, she remembered how, back in the day before he had a car, he’d walk around with a shovel whenever it snowed.
Sometimes, he even got yelled at by the older residents for coming into their yards without an invitation.
They worried his kindness was some sort of a scam, the sort where work gets done and then they’re left with an unwanted bill.
But Greyson never charged for snow removal.
He did it all out of the goodness of his heart.
Snow always made Wren think of their mothers. Sable Hawthorne had been her mother’s best friend, like an aunt to Wren, just as Haven had been like an aunt to Greyson, Soren, and Logan. Losing both women at the same time devastated the four of them in more ways than they could count.
The tragedy had shaped Greyson in ways that still showed themselves every winter.
His compulsive need to clear every walkway, to check on every elderly neighbor, to ensure everyone had enough fuel and food—it all stemmed from that terrible night when the roads were too icy and help came too late.
Winter would always be the season when he fought against helplessness, when his protective instincts went into overdrive.
Wren still avoided driving in the snow when visibility dropped low and the roads turned icy. Thankfully, almost everything in Hideaway Harbor sat within walking distance. Almost.
She looked outside at the blanket of white, loving how the pines bowed under the weight of snow and ice. Greyson had cleared off her car and plowed the lot, but she didn’t know the condition of the main roads.
She would probably be fine taking a short drive. The snow had stopped falling, and everything looked so peaceful, as if the world were made of frost and glass.
The scratchy cry of Rat broke the silence as the little guy came wandering out from the bedroom. He grew braver, which meant he had entered the stage of escape artist.
“You’re going to get me in trouble with the others,” she said, scratching Rat’s little chest. “I hope you appreciate how privileged you are to sleep inside.” Wren played with him for a bit, then barricaded him in the bedroom with Greyson and a makeshift litter pan.
Wren was a softie, but too many stray cats existed to bend the rules for just one. But Rat didn’t feel like hers, so he was the exception to the rule. She had the sneaking suspicion he would become a daddy’s boy. A big, forty-inch daddy’s boy.
Greyson softly snored from the bed. Pressing a kiss on both his and the kitten’s head, she quietly left the room. If she wanted to be back before he woke, she’d better get moving. She had another grumpy CEO to check on.