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)
On the drive home, Greyson’s two-way radio was silent. His dumbass brothers probably sat at Wren’s, receiving an earful for even thinking she’d go for such a ridiculous plan.
Wren didn’t care about money like some women, but she valued integrity. She’d never settle for some sham of a marriage simply because of a clause in a contract.
“Morons,” he grumbled, shoving all thoughts of his brothers and Wren away.
Turning down Main Street, he slowed his truck as holiday tourists flooded out in full force, catching all the post-Thanksgiving Christmas sales. Hideaway Harbor was renowned for its winter festivities. The anticipation of Hideaway’s influx of visitors reminded him to stock up on essentials for the month so he didn’t have to venture into the crowds. Once the Christmas countdown began, it wouldn’t ease up until the following year.
Like a bear, Greyson preferred to hibernate in his own little hideaway deep in the woods rather than sip hot cocoa, sing carols, or shop the freshly painted window displays like the rest of the townies and guests. Since his mother died, Christmas just wasn’t his thing.
Once the holiday season kicked off with the tree lighting, it meant full speed ahead into Christmas with non-stop events—ice carving competitions, parades, endless caroling, festivals, and firework displays. There was never a dull moment in their little harbor town around the holidays, which was precisely why Greyson treasured his secluded cabin in the woods, far removed from all the chaos and noise.
Just as he pulled onto the private dirt road leading to his hidden home, the two-way radio chirped, and he glanced at the dashboard.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”
Greyson shook his head at Soren’s comment and mumbled under his breath, “Dumbasses.”
How the hell did they expect it to go? And what exactly had they done—blown into Wren’s retreat, interrupted her yoga class, and launched into a marriage proposal?
The walkie-talkie chirped again. “Could have gone a lot better if you didn’t get in the way.”
“I was there first!”
“Only because you cheated!”
“Bullshit. Fair is fair,” Logan’s taunting voice chirped over the airways. “Hundred bucks says I get her to agree to a date by the first of December.”
“You’re on. And when she turns you down because she’s already out with me, I’ll take my hundred in tens and twenties.”
Greyson twisted the dial on the radio, turning the volume off so he didn’t have to listen to their bickering. This far up north, there wasn’t much of a cell signal, so the two-way was necessary, but over the years, he’d definitely overheard his fair share of personal business. Soren and Logan should know better than to air their laundry on a public channel.
Most Hideaway Harbor locals still used the rotary phones installed during Nixon’s term because cell signals were unreliable unless standing right below the towers up on Make Out Point, so two-ways and landlines it was.
Recalling those times he’d spent at Make Out Point had him shifting uncomfortably. It had been too long since he’d had a woman wrapped around his body. The radio continued to chirp as his idiotic brothers rambled on, and Greyson’s mind returned to Wren. She likely sat at home. Probably pissed off. Definitely alone.
One turn, and he could be there in two minutes.
What excuse could he use today?
His stare assessed the cloudy sky, but rather than give in to temptation, he blew out a frustrated breath and turned down his long drive.
Shoving the truck into park, he swiped the key out of the ignition. The stillness contrasted sharply with his brothers’ blathering idiocy. He flicked off the radio and paused to savor the silence.
His dad was right. They needed to grow up.
On the other hand, he knew lots of immature married people. Having a wife didn’t make someone a man. Nor did inheriting a billion-dollar company. This nonsense about wives and wills was just his father’s last desperate attempt to control everyone around him.
Despite years of fixating on all their shortcomings, Magnus had never been able to change the nature of his sons. Logan would always be the intense, overly sensitive one. And Soren would remain surface-level as long as he deflected anything real with a joke. Greyson wasn’t as easy to pigeonhole. He intentionally lived on the outskirts of town to avoid expectations, specifically those of his father.
Isolation suited him, and he preferred the quiet over the chaos. Sure, it got lonely on occasion. A warm female body could make the coldest nights tolerable. But Greyson lived by his own rules, the way he wanted, and nothing would ever change that.
Looking up as clouds gathered in ripples of grey like woolen blankets covering the sky, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent of wood smoke and damp earth permeated the truck. He cracked the door, noting the tension and salt in the wind as it flicked at the frost-bitten leaves.