The one that Anson had repaired.
Before it broke, it had been just a plain blue ceramic mug, but the veins of gold now running through it had turned it into something beautiful.
Something more beautiful for having been broken.
Ghost took one last look around at the women, then shook his head and disappeared into the living room as silently as he’d arrived.
“He heard every word,” Naomi murmured, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Of course he did,” Johanna agreed. “That man hears everything.”
Maggie watched him go, and inspiration hit like a thunderbolt.
More beautiful for having been broken.
She faced the women again. “Does anyone have gold paint?”
thirty-three
“Pass the rolls, would ya?” River elbowed Anson hard enough to jar his shoulder. “Or are you too busy making googly eyes at your pen pal?”
Heat crept up his neck. He grabbed the basket and shoved it at River. “Fuck off.”
“Someone’s touchy tonight. Must be all that pent-up?—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll show you where this fork fits.”
“Kinky.” River’s eyes danced with mischief as he turned to the table at large. “Our resident blacksmith here has been extra grumpy lately. Anyone want to guess why?” His gaze slid meaningfully to Maggie, who was suddenly very interested in her mashed potatoes.
Christ. River was going to get himself strangled before dessert, which would be a new Valor Ridge record.
“River,” Walker said from across the table. “Enough.”
River held up both hands in mock surrender, but the grin stayed plastered on his face.
Anson risked a glance at Maggie. Her flush matched the one burning across his own face. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Despite the blush, her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. “Just River being River. He can’t help himself.”She leaned in closer, her shoulder bumping against his as she lowered her voice. “Hey, is Jax okay? He looks like he’s about to be sick.”
He followed her gaze across the table, and sure enough, Jax’s face was the color of paper, and he was sweating. The room was warm, but not warm enough to account for the sheen on Jax’s skin. His gaze stayed fixed on Nessie as she helped Oliver cut his turkey. The kid was talking a mile a minute, something about dinosaurs at Christmas, while Mariah’s son, Tate, listened with quiet fascination.
Unease stirred in Anson’s gut. He’d seen that look on men’s faces before—the look of someone about to do something they couldn’t take back. He glanced around the table, but nobody else seemed to notice Jax’s discomfort.
Walker stood to carve more turkey. Jo was at his elbow, passing plates. X entertained Mariah with some outrageous story that had her laughing despite her attempts to look unimpressed. Bear and Greta sat next to each other, both studiously avoiding eye contact while their hands kept finding reasons to bump together.
His gaze lingered on them. Something there, he realized. A spark neither wanted to acknowledge.
Jesus. He blinked at the thought. Since when did he pick up on that kind of thing?
Maybe it was because his own body felt like a live wire, every nerve ending attuned to Maggie beside him. The brush of her arm when she reached for her wine glass. The subtle citrus scent of her shampoo when she tucked her hair behind her ear. The warmth radiating from her thigh pressed against his.
“Yo, Earth to Anson,” Jonah said, waving a hand across his field of vision. “You with us?”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
At the same time, River said, “Nah, he’s orbiting Planet Magnolia right now.”
Maggie’s laugh was soft beside him, and heat bloomed deep in his gut at the sound. Suddenly, his jeans were uncomfortably tight. And worse, River knew exactly what was happening, judging by his wicked grin when Anson shifted in his seat.
