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Beck's head turns to mine. “Mugs?”

“Don't.”

“There are mugs in the bag?” He asks, laughing harder.

“Shut up, asshole. You don’t need to see them.”

Naturally, Callie pulls them out. “Look.”

I consider killing both of them.

She holds up hers first. The one that says THANKFUL.

Beck reads it and nods.

Then she reaches into the bag and pulls out mine. RESTING THANKSGIVING FACE. A pissed-off turkey sits beneath the words.

Beck stares at it, then begins laughing.

“Don't.”

He presses his lips together, but it doesn’t help.

“Beckett.”

“I'm trying.”

“Try fucking harder.”

A laugh escapes him.

Callie loses it.

I yank the mug from her hands, then stalk to the kitchen.

Seconds later, they’re behind me, both laughing as I stand there holding a fucking Thanksgiving mug with an angry turkey on it.

“I hate both of you.”

Callie wipes beneath her eyes. “Tell him the best part.”

“There isn't a best part.”

“Roman bought them.”

Beck stops laughing, which somehow makes it worse. His eyes move to me. “You bought matching mugs?”

“They're not matching.”

“They coordinate,” Callie says.

“That's worse,” Beck says.

“Fuck you.”

“I mean, significantly worse.”

“They were on the same transaction.”