Page 59 of Collect the Pieces

“Sure.”

“Yay!” Shelby finesses a clear Solo cup from her bag, fills it halfway, and hands it to me.

“We’ve got ice over here, Margot!” Murphy calls out from across the fire.

I take a cautious sip. The sweetness hits first, then the tang of lemon, followed by a slow warmth sliding down my throat. “It’s… um, good.”

Jigsaw takes the cup from my hand. “I’ll grab some ice for you.”

“Thanks.”

After we settle onto our blanket, I hand Jigsaw a handful of cookies, then I pass the container to Shelby and Rooster. Shelby stares at them like she’s trying to decode their contents.

“They’re chocolate with white chocolate chips,” I explain. “No nuts. Butter, sugar, egg, vanilla, cocoa…” I try to list any ingredient that could be an allergen.

“They looksogood.” Shelby carefully selects one, then passes the container to Rooster.

“I begged her to leave them in the truck for me,” Jigsaw teases. “But shehadto share them.”

As soon as he says it, a container of Rice Crispy treats gets handed to Jigsaw from someone behind him. He lifts it in the air between us. “See, I told you there’d be plenty of treats.”

“These are so good, Margot,” one of the guys who’d been at dinner shouts from across the fire. “Thank you for not listening to Jigsaw!”

Laughter ripples through the group, followed by a chorus of similar thanks. It sounds more like they’re messing with Jigsaw than actual gratitude, but I lean into his side anyway, grinning.

“See?” I murmur, voice teasing. “Isn’t it nice to share?”

Jigsaw’s arm tightens around me, his lips brushing my forehead. “No,” he whispers, his tone all playful defiance.

I laugh softly, letting the warmth of the fire, the steady weight of Jigsaw beside me, and the easy camaraderie of the group sink into me, grounding me in the moment.

Trinity moves around the circle, handing out sticks and bags of marshmallows. Z’s son follows close behind, his little hands gripping a stack of graham cracker sleeves like he’s on an important mission. Right next to him, Heidi’s older daughter clutches packages of chocolate bars with the same level of seriousness.

“Whatcha got for me, Chance?” Jigsaw asks when the little boy stops in front of us.

Chance holds up a sleeve of crackers. “Uncle Jiggy, you only getone,” he insists, his little voice firm with authority.

Jigsaw raises an eyebrow. “One? But I’m a big boy.”

“One.” Chance nods, expression grave. “That’s the rules.”

Jigsaw exhales dramatically, like the restriction is just too much to bear. “Fine. But only because you said so, little man.” He takes the crackers and tucks them into my lap. “Guard these with your life, little lady. Apparently, we only get one.”

“We’ll share,” I promise Chance, earning a single approving nod before he marches on to Shelby and Rooster, his job far from done.

The little girl stops in front of us next, eying Jigsaw with suspicion. She glances over her shoulder, then back at Jigsaw. “I’ll give you two chocolate bars, Uncle Jiggy. Don’t tell, though,” she whispers loud enough for everyone around us to hear.

Jigsaw’s lips twitch, but he keeps a solemn face. “I won’t say a word, Alexa.” He holds up his hand. “Swear.” He wiggles his fingers. “Now, gimmie.”

She giggles and tosses two large Hershey bars at him, then hands me one too.

“Oh boy, we really lucked out,” I whisper, setting the bar between us on the blanket.

“It pays to stay on the kids’ good side. They always have excellent snacks.”

Something warm squeezes around my heart. He might be joking about the snacks but it’s the way he talks to the kids like they’re people instead of annoyances that has me melting inside. They obviously like and trust him too.

Kids—like cats—in my opinion are good judges of character.

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