Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(54)

“A wedding is like a celebration and announcement all in one,” Holt said. “It’s something like a school graduation ceremony where you’re telling everyone you made it through high school and you’re an adult. People get married to tell everyone they found their partner and are starting life together.”

“Huh.” Carson half grinned. “I thought a wedding was just a reason for a girl to wear a fancy dress.”

Oma’s lips twitched. “That, too.”

Carson noticed the way his mother was looking at Holt. That was a girly look. He stared at Holt. “So do you have a wife?”

The guy smiled. “I did. And yep, we ended up divorced.”

“How come?”

Both his mother and Oma gave him the “Carson” at the same time.

Holt shook his head. “It’s all right. I don’t mind talking about it.” He turned to Carson. “Bear in mind, some breakups are ugly, so asking the reason can be awkward.”

Carson nodded. It was probably like when Mindy stopped talking to Addison, and everybody knew not to ask why or Addison would start bawling. “Uh. Yeah. Got it.”


Holt smiled at the boy. Josie’s son was a good kid. And observant. It wasn’t surprising the boy had edged toward being rude. The kid had eyes, and Holt hadn’t concealed his interest in Josie. The boy was old enough to want to defend his territory against another male.

“We were pretty young when we married.” Holt nodded to Carson. “If you can, wait until you’re older to jump into the marriage stuff. Even in your twenties, you’re still figuring out what you want, and often, a couple ends up going in different directions.”

Carson took that in without a challenge.

“I take it you and your wife went in opposite directions?” Stella asked.

“We did. She liked being married to a firefighter. And although I like being a firefighter, the job is hard on the mind and body. With an eye to the future, I started college to get my bachelor’s in nursing.”

The kid snorted. “Girls think firefighters are hot, not nurses.”

“Sad, huh? I think she agreed,” Holt said. “We broke up when I was in college. She wanted to party when I needed to do homework.”

Josie nodded. “You grew up first, and she wasn’t ready yet. Then again, when a baby arrives, it’s more often the mother who grows up faster.”

“That adulting stuff can come as a shock.” Eating the last bite of his chicken, Holt leaned back with a sigh. “You’re an amazing cook, Josie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” She checked that everyone was finished before rising and starting to clear.

Holt stood to help. “Did you get saddled with a ton of homework tonight, Carson?”

The boy was picking up Stella’s dishes with his own. “Nope. I’m helping Mom with her job.” The tone was clear. We’re busy here; don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Holt looked up. “Bartending or writing job?”

Stella chuckled. “Writing. Nevertheless, drinks would be nice. Carson, could you bring us all some lemonade?”

“Yes’m.”

As Holt set his stack of dishes on the counter, Josie looked up from the dishwasher. “You know, while I hope to make a good living at writing, I’m not sure I’d want to give up bartending. I’d miss talking with people.”

Last weekend, the club members had hung around the bar in a way they hadn’t since Cullen cut back. Because Z had hired them a warm and caring bartender. Smiling, he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Your customers would miss you too.”

She stilled at his touch, and again, he felt the link between them. The sizzle that accompanied sheer liking. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, about tonight. When I run into a tricky action scene in a book, Oma and Carson help me act it out.”

Action scene? Holt looked over his shoulder at the woman at the table. He’d guess Stella was over seventy.

Josie followed his gaze and snickered. “No, I’m not doing martial arts with my great-aunt. You can stay and help if you want.”

“Little author, you couldn’t get me out of here with a crowbar.”

Carson gave a dish sponge to Stella to wipe down the dining room table, then returned with a box of small dolls.

Josie dried her hands on a towel. “Let me get my notes and we can get started.”

At the table, Carson was arranging the dolls.

Sitting across from him, Holt picked one up. He was used to seeing Barbie dolls in shorts or fancy evening gowns or swimsuits—and as carefully made up as women hitting the nightclubs. These looked about the age of high schoolers. No make-up. And… “What is this—Barbie in the Middle Ages?”

“That’s right.” Laughing, Josie joined them, setting down a notepad and pen. “When Zuri visited Oma, she saw my notes and crummy drawings of the clothing my characters would wear. A couple of weeks later, she showed up with these dolls. She’s so talented.”

“She is that.” Had Josie seen the kinky BDSM ones Uzuri made for the Shadowkittens? Holt studied the dolls. Tunics, trousers, cloaks. And swords. “One girl gets a sword and the other doesn’t?”

“She has magic. It doesn’t react well to all that metal.”