Page 259 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Oh,” she said softly, watching for a moment as Tyrion started to lap up the mess.

“I amnoton cleanup duty until after dinner,” she heard Iris say, maybe in response to someone asking her to help. “Jack said so.”

Then River’s hand was on Maisie’s shoulder, his touch warm and comforting and safe, and she realized she was crouched on the floor next to the dish with tears in her eyes. Tears that probably weren’t just over a broken dish, to be honest.

If she hadn’t known better than to believe in woo-woo nonsense, she would have thought this was bad luck. It sure felt like it.

“Hey,” River said softly. “That was your mom’s, wasn’t it?”

Because he knew better than anyone that every last thing they’d owned mattered to her. They were just things, she knew that, but they weretheirthings. They were all she had left.

“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed that Georgie was seeing her like this. She shook it off and got to her feet. She shrugged at Tyrion, who was still lapping up the casserole. “At least someone got to enjoy it. That was probably my one major cooking effort for the year. Although I’m glad I don’t have to pick up his poop later.”

“Gross,” River said, bumping her shoulder. Georgie came up to them with a dishcloth that was almost laughably inadequate for the task—or maybe not, given the speed with which Tyrion was eating.

“Thanks,” Maisie said, reaching for it.

“It’s okay,” Georgie said. “I’ll get the stuff spilled on the ground. Why don’t you take the dish? Maybe it can be saved.”

There was nothing on her face to indicate she was being disingenuous, so Maisie didn’t question her motives, she just grabbed up the dish, trying to keep the goopy center contained, and shooed Tyrion away as she headed for the kitchen. Iris had gone off somewhere, probably upstairs.

River stayed behind, presumably to help Georgie, although she also thought she heard someone knocking at the door.

“Did my big lug do that?” Adalia asked, meeting her in the doorway to the kitchen.

Maisie pushed past her. “Sorry, this is still pretty hot. Kitchen emergency.”

She barreled past Finn, who was doing something to a dish of squash—when had she ever seen him cook?—and headed straight for the trash bin. Georgie had updated the house some before leaving—after basically having her arm twisted by a fire Dottie had unintentionally started—but the trash can was still in the same place. Adalia handed her a spoon over her shoulder,and Maisie grabbed it and scooped the rest of the casserole into the trash. For a moment, her hands lingered over the trash can, her gaze locked on the broken dish.

She could glue it together again, but it wouldn’t be useful for anything but decoration. And it wasn’t exactly pretty, really—it was just old.

Maybe Mary and Molly had a point. Maybe it was time to let go of some things. She’d liked the way Jack looked at her, like she wasn’t just one of those poor O’Shea girls who’d lost their parents so young. Like she was a woman who had baggage but didn’t have to be defined by it.

“Do you want to save it?” Adalia asked softly. The door had opened in the great room, and she heard River and Georgie talking to someone, presumably another guest.

“Nah.” But her hand refused to release the pieces.

Then she remembered that Adalia collected broken things, lost things, things no one wanted, and used them in her art. “Why don’t you keep it? Maybe you can use it in one of your pieces.”

Adalia took the remains of the dish from her and rinsed both sides off in the sink, looking them over with interest before glancing back at Maisie. “You sure? Because this is a seriously cool vintage dish, and I’m not going to ask you twice. I am totally, one hundred percent going to take advantage of you.”

Finn moseyed over, having finished whatever he’d been doing with the squash.

“Oh man, was that the corn casserole?” he asked. He was a total glutton when it came to other people’s home-cooked meals, and he’d eaten half of it himself the last time she’d spent Thanksgiving with her friends.

“The first casualty of Thanksgiving,” Maisie confirmed. “Sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Adalia said. A door opened and closed again. “It’s my fault for not putting Tyrion outside. I just get a little twitchy when he’s out there without Finn or me. God only knows where Jezebel is. She snuck out when River and Georgie got here, and I have a feeling she’s going to come back with a live turkey at some point. Why don’t you grab a beer and head out back? Take a breather?”

“I can help out in here if you want,” Maisie said, glancing around. There were dishes piled everywhere, including some that were unmistakably Dottie’s handiwork—a huge bowl of mac and cheese with a note reading “comfort” on the side, a vat of vegetables that read “health,” and a huge bowl of mashed potatoes that read “happiness.” And it wasn’t a lie. Dottie made the best mashed potatoes on the planet, plus she always made a special vegetarian gravy just for Maisie, although Adalia, a pescatarian, would likely eat some too this year.

“We’ve got this under control,” Finn said proudly, which was hilarious and kind of sweet. Before meeting Adalia, he’d struggled to make frozen pizza.

Adalia nodded in agreement. “Dottie’s out there. Jack—”

At first she thought Adalia had started a sentence without finishing it, but then she realized her friend was looking over her shoulder. She turned around, and the sight of him almost made her stumble. Because he was staring at her with an intensity that told her he hadn’t forgotten a single minute of the night they’d spent together. He had on a long-sleeved shirt that clung to those amazing biceps, covered by an apron.

So he’d been outside helping Dottie cook something—or maybe create something. She liked the thought of him out there with Dottie, playing along with one of her games or ideas. It endeared him to her.

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