Page 67 of Hidden & Held

Dragging my eyes from her, I head toward my side. The pieces of the broken vase still rest on the butcher block peninsula. I run my fingers over the rough and broken edges. Phoenix had seen it and assumed that it was ruined. Maybe a few weeks ago, I would have too.

Twenty minutes later, I’m three tabs deep into the history of Japanese pottery repair and reading articles written by people who seem far more emotionally stable than I currently am.

The technique is called Kintsugi, meaning golden joinery. It’s not about hiding the damage. Mending with gold is meant to honor its journey. To make something stronger because it broke.

I stare at the photograph of a repaired vase. Gold running through every crack. Beautiful because of what it survived, not despite it. I click “Order.”

I then move to the book Beth pressed into my hands, the one we read tonight where Marcus messed up, and find chapter twelve in Marcus’s point of view.

The mistake we men make is believing forgiveness happens in a moment, it doesn’t. Grand gestures are foreplay. Anyone can beg on their knees once. Consistency is what actually gets someone back into your bed. Love is proven in the ordinary things after that. In patience. In restraint. In continuing to choose someone long after they stop making it easy for you.

This section was highlighted heavily, with a sticky note attached:

Read this twice, Jackson.

18

JACKSON

By 4:00 p.m. on Friday, the office has that exhausted hum of people whose bodies are here but whose brains are checked out. I close my laptop harder than I need to. Still no smoking gun for me to finally close this case and prove what Cassandra has been doing all along.

Stopping at Beth’s desk on my way out, I leave the book with a bag of chocolate-dipped almonds—her go-to reading snack. I jot down a note of thanks, finding more help in between these romance novel pages than in any relationship advice I have ever received.

Turning out of her office, I almost run into someone.

“Whoops, sorry about that …” Daniel starts with a smile before it quickly fades when he realizes it’s me.

“No worries, man.” The awkwardness lingers as we both make our way to the parking lot.

Knowing my tour of apologies isn’t over, I prepare myself for my next act.

“Look, Dan, I do enjoy playing on your rec team … on the Longshots. I never made the time in Portland, but I’m glad I did here,” I tell him earnestly.

“Yeah, you never made the time because you didn’t have someone to use,” he admonishes, adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag.

“You’re right,” I admit, “I shouldn’t have done that. I should have been straight up with you instead of manipulating the situation. I didn’t know who was behind the billing problem, who was working with whom, but that’s no excuse for setting false pretenses.”

We stop in front of his blue Ford Explorer, and Daniel looks away, giving a deep sigh. “I get it. It’s shitty, but thanks for saying it.” He grins. “Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t using you too.”

“What?” I lean back in surprise. “What were you using me for?”

He shrugs. “We didn’t have any height on our team. When you started chatting that first day, I clocked you at about 6’2.” Daniel then nudges me with his elbow. “I would take an undercover investigation to jump the team four spots in the rankings.”

I laugh, leaning forward and slapping his shoulder. “So, we good?” I ask, more nervous than I would have expected.

Daniel gives me a small nod. “Yeah, we’re good. I still think you’re an ass. Though, Phoenix made that clear with that photo.”

I chuckle at the photoshop reminder. “Yeah, you and me both.”

“I’ll tell you what, as long as you sign up for the 3x3 tournament coming up in June, I’ll let it go.”

Relieved, I release a breath. “Deal.”

As I head toward my car, my phone buzzes.

Sam

Change of plans. Our monthly poker night needs to be moved. We’re coming to your house now. I guess that means you can join too. Invite a few others over if you want.