Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“I’ll walk.”
They hid their relationship only to protect it. Things still felt delicate, and they didn’t need outside pressure. They also didn’t want to hurt anyone.
Soren had yet to return her calls and refused to talk to Greyson. Logan was also laying low. Then came the town gossips… She and Greyson both decided to keep things quiet until they felt fully ready to come out as a couple, because once they did, going back would be impossible, every interaction scrutinized, every gesture analyzed. The town would have opinions, and some of those opinions would hurt.
Keeping this secret felt like holding her breath—sustainable for a while, but not forever.
“Are you sure you want to walk?” What about the snow?” They expected several inches.
“As long as there’s a fire on and you’re willing to warm me up when I get there, I’ll be fine.”
She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile and failing miserably. “I can do that.”
“Greyson,” Bodhi appeared with Lilly wearing a big smile. “It’s gonna be a big one.”
“Did your elbow tell you that?” Greyson teased.
Her dad frowned. “No. I feel this one in my knees.”
“Right.” While Greyson preferred a much more scientific approach to forecasting the weather, he learned not to completely write off Bodhi’s arthritic predictions. “The weather channel’s saying five inches tonight and another four or so tomorrow. Visibility’s going to be low, so we need to handle the guests’ cars early.”
“We only have a few guests staying in the cabins tonight,” Wren said. “We’re waiting for the one more to arrive.”
“That makes things easier.” He turned to Bodhi. “Grab a coat and we’ll take a walk outside.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Wren said as her father pulled a patchwork poncho off the coat tree. “I got something for you when I went to town this morning.”
Greyson looked at her questioningly, as if he wanted to do more than stare at her. “What is it?”
“It’s outside.” She bundled up and followed them out front.
Heavy clouds blanketed the pewter sky. The promise of a storm hung loud and clear in the air for anyone accustomed to living this far north.
Something happened to Greyson when snow threatened. He became more animated and purposeful. He loved taking care of others, and inclement weather gave him the chance to do just that. Winter brought out his deepest protective instincts—the same ones that had been forged in tragedy when he’d lost his mother to an icy road one December night. Ever since then, he’d made it his mission to ensure no one else would suffer from winter’s cruelty if he could prevent it.
Wren had no doubt he had spent the entire morning calling on every senior citizen of Hideaway Harbor to make sure their fuel tanks were full and their logs were stacked somewhere dry and accessible. Later, he’d have each one of their walkways gleaming with salt.
She smiled as he moved across the lot, sturdy as ever, his boots hitting the pavement with the purposeful sound of a man on a mission.
Greyson Hawthorne didn’t do whimsical. He specialized in checklists. “First thing I want to do is get some salt down by the guest cabins.”
Bodhi, on the other hand, sniffed the air and held up a licked finger.
The cats disappeared, likely sensing the incoming weather and making the most of the back room where the eastern sun hit. That space was the only indoor part of The Haven they could visit, other than their heated cat huts, of course. But when Greyson opened his tailgate, something he often used as a makeshift desk to go over plans with Bodhi, Figgy came wandering out for the meeting.
The blue-grey short hair hopped onto the truck bed and sauntered over to Bodhi. All the cats shared a special bond with the man who fed and took tea with them, and they liked to make sure he stayed chaperoned.
But just as Figgy curled his long tail around her dad, he turned and went straight to Greyson, sniffing him with the pushiness of an investigative reporter.
“That’s strange. He’s got a real interest in you, today.”
Figgy pawed Greyson’s coat with no regard for personal space, then hissed.
“Now, now,” Greyson said, lowering the zipper of his coat. “None of that.” He pulled the kitten out of his jacket. “Figgy, meet Rat.”
“His name is Tinsel,” Wren teased and Bodhi gaped at the new furry resident.
“Where did this little guy come from?”
“Found him under my porch.” Greyson handed him off to Bodhi, who protectively welcomed him into his arms. Her father swore cats were nothing more than reincarnated ancestors sent to protect humans. Sometimes she wondered if he spoke the truth.
He looked into the squirming kitten’s face as if able to read his future, and Figgy, absolutely betrayed, hissed.
“Be nice, Figgy.” The jealous short-haired grey abided Bodhi’s orders, his growls turning into cries for attention.