Macee Grisenti

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“I never really thanked you,” he said, eyes locked on mine, their hazel deepened to a rich honey brown by the low light. The moving reflection of the water played over his face like diamond facets. “For, you know. Saving my ass entirely, without any regard for what might happen to you.
From Bad to Cursed (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #2)
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