She typed back a quick response:Need until after New Year’s. Will call then.Then flipped the phone face down on the nightstand.
Florida seemed like a dream now, distant and unreal compared to the cold clarity of Montana mornings. The network, the show, and her condo in Tampa all belonged to a different Maggie. A Maggie who didn’t know what it felt like to split wood for a fire that would keep her warm. Who’d never bottle-fedkittens in a forge or watched a woman’s hands grow steady as she built something that was truly hers.
A Maggie who’d never fallen asleep in Anson Sutter’s arms.
She touched the phone one last time, thinking of all it represented—fame, security, the career she’d fought so hard to build. Then she turned it off completely and went to find Anson.
She didn’t need to make a decision today.
But before she knew it, it was Christmas Eve.
And she only had a week left to decide.
The main house pulsed with life and warmth. Pine garlands draped across the windows, studded with cranberries that Mariah and her son had strung together yesterday. The smells—cinnamon, sage, roasting meat, cider—twisted together into something that made Maggie’s chest ache with a peculiar kind of homesickness. Not for any place she’d been before, but for this moment, knowing it was already slipping away.
Naomi diced onions without a single tear. Lila peeled potatoes beside her. Greta and Mariah hung the last of the garlands, arguing good-naturedly about whether to add more lights.
The rolling pin slipped in Maggie’s flour-dusted hands for the third time, and the pie crust split down the middle like a fault line.
“Dammit!” She slammed the pin down, sending a puff of flour into the air. Six women turned to look at her, wooden spoons and knives pausing mid-motion. “Sorry. I’m apparently at war with this pastry.”
Nessie laughed and hip-bumped her aside. “Move over, amateur. You can’t strong-arm pie dough.”
“I’ve built entire houses from the ground up, but pastry defeats me.” She stepped back and wiped her hands on the borrowed apron tied around her waist. It was one of Nessie’sand featured a cartoon cupcake with “Life is sweet, don’t be salty” written beneath it.
Johanna straightened from checking the temperature of the huge turkey in the oven. She closed the door and reset the timer before turning to Maggie. “Not everyone can be good at everything.”
“Says the woman who is good at everything,” Nessie teased.
Johanna rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress her smile. “I’m terrible at relationships. Just ask Walker how many years it took me to admit I had feelings for him.”
“Too damn many,” Walker called from the doorway before disappearing again, his boots clomping down the hallway.
“Okay, well, houses and pies require different skillsets.” Nessie expertly gathered the torn dough and reshaped it. “Houses don’t mind if your hands are too warm or you overwork them. Pie crust is…” She trailed off, searching for the right comparison. “Like a difficult man. You have to be gentle and know when to back off.”
“Is that why you’re so good with Jax?” Lila asked.
“Oh my God, no,” Nessie laughed. “Jax is like a soufflé. Temperamental and prone to collapse, but so worth the effort.”
Johanna snorted. “If we’re comparing the men to baked goods, what’s Walker, then?”
“Sourdough bread,” Nessie said without hesitation as she laid the dough in the pie plate and trimmed the edges. “Crusty exterior, complex, gets better with age, and needs time alone to ferment properly.”
“What about Owen?” Naomi asked.
“Ghost is definitely a dark chocolate torte,” Nessie said. “Intense, not for everyone, and you’re never quite sure what’s going on beneath the surface.”
Maggie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, the fifth time in as many hours. She pulled it out, scanned the message, and grimaced.
Johanna caught the expression. “The network executive again?”
“Yeah.” She tucked the phone away and turned her attention to helping Lila peel the potatoes. “Now they’re throwing more money at me.”
“How much?”
“Greta.” Naomi elbowed her. “That’s not something you ask.”
“I don’t mind,” Maggie assured. “They’re offering a million for next season.”
