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)
“His name’s Rat,” Greyson informed Bodhi. “Because he’s so scrawny.”
“Well, he won’t be scrawny for long.” Bodhi continued to inspect the kitten. “See these tufts by his ears and how his muzzle’s slightly square?”
Greyson looked at Rat, studying his little jaw. “Yeah.”
“Those are signs of a Maine coon.”
“A what?”
“Maine coon. The gentle giants of the north.” Bodhi handed the kitten back to Greyson. “He’s going to grow.”
Greyson frowned. “How big?”
“Oh, I’d say to about twenty pounds. They can get up to forty inches long.”
“Forty inches? That’s more than a yard!”
Bodhi nodded. “You’re lucky he chose you. Maine coons bring positive energy.”
Greyson turned the cat and lifted him to eye level. “Are you my lucky charm?” His gaze shifted to Wren and he winked. “I’d say you’re already working.”
The wink sent heat spiraling through her chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with her winter coat. Even the simplest gesture from him could make her feel like she was melting from the inside out. She ducked her head to hide her blush, but not before catching the knowing smile that tugged at his lips.
He sat Rat—she still could not believe that name stuck—on the bed of the truck near Figgy. The two cats inspected each other. Rat seemed more intrigued with Figgy’s tail than anything else.
Greyson pulled out a little notebook. “Okay, let’s go over a game plan.”
Bodhi raised one finger. Not in a just-a-minute way—more in a let’s-all-honor-the-sacred-pause-of-life way.
Wren almost laughed. “Dad, Greyson has other places to be.”
“That’s the problem with your generation. You’re so focused on the next stop that you forget to take a moment to pause in the present. Look at this beautiful winter day. It hurts nothing to show a bit of gratitude, especially when a new elder has joined us.”
“I’ve got ten more stops today,” Greyson said. “We need to map out a plan—especially the paths.”
“Plan,” Bodhi echoed, as if he had tasted the word and found it bitter. “Such a man-made concept. Mother Nature’s in charge and if you try too hard to intercept, she’ll unleash on you all the more.”
“Dad,” Wren warned.
“Right. Paths.”
Greyson pulled out a rough hand-drawn map of the grounds. “The Zen garden’s already covered. I placed solar lanterns along the perimeter and draped the top of the pagoda with plastic sheeting.”
“Not good for the environment.”
“You want a snow-covered garden or shelter?”
“I want both, and it’s possible to do so with raw materials that won’t take centuries to biodegrade.”
“Dad. Try to stay focused on what we can accomplish today.”
“Right. Sorry.” Bodhi twisted an invisible key over his lips and tossed it away.
Greyson exhaled. “It’s going to be in the single digits. Chances are, no one will use the Zen garden in a blizzard.”
“The elders will.”
“Humans won’t.”
“I beg to differ. Solitude. Stillness. The crunch of snow underfoot. It’s a poem waiting to be lived.”
Greyson ran a hand over his jaw and met Wren’s gaze.
She appreciated his patience with her father. The look they shared crackled with unspoken heat despite the frigid air around them.
His eyes held hers just a moment too long, long enough for her to remember exactly how those hands felt on her skin, how his mouth could make her forget her own name. More secrets passed between them as they hid smiles. Maybe even a few promises for later. She had to look away before she did something stupid like kiss him in front of her father.
“Moving on,” Greyson said, clearing his throat and breaking their stare. “What about the guest cabins?”
“The ones in the west grove are vacant. I left handwoven scarves for the two occupants on the north side.”
“Scarves,” Greyson repeated slowly.
“Yes,” Bodhi said, as if this constituted a completely normal precaution. “Snow can be overwhelming to those born in the south. I infused the yarn with lavender essential oils to help ground the guests during the storm.”
Greyson pinched the bridge of his nose.
Wren bit her lip. “That’s very sweet of you, Dad.”
Greyson kept any comments about her father’s habits to himself. “The lot needs clearing, and the main trail to the yoga studio and lobby. We also have to keep access to the emergency vehicle route.”
“The snow blower scares the cats.”
“Dad, we can move the cats into the sunroom while Greyson plows.”
“They won’t like that if I’m out there helping.”
At this point, Wren wasn’t sure Greyson wanted his help.
“I’ll use the plow for the main routes,” Greyson said, already mentally mapping the turns. “You just need to mark the cat shelters so I don’t bury them. And keep the air vents and openings shoveled.”
“I’ve placed Tibetan prayer flags at each one.” Bodhi grinned proudly. “The cats love the flapping. It’s a soothing frequency.”
Greyson muttered something under his breath. “Paths to the main building, yoga studio, atrium, cabins—priority. Then the sauna trail if I have time.”
“Not the tea garden?” Bodhi asked, aghast. “What if someone wants to enjoy their oolong in nature’s silence?”