Page 50 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“The ability to keep starting over. When we moved from Jordan to the US when I was ten, I thought that would be the only time. And then my parents died and I moved to Saudi Arabia to join my uncles, I thought that was it. Then my uncles were arrested and I became a spy, that really seemed like the end because I thought I would be killed. But everything changed again, and here I am in Montana. And I don’t know, Celeste, this time is turning out to be pretty good. Maybe the best. Might be a keeper. What do you think?”

He looked handsome and earnest as he stared down at her, but Celeste had no reply. How could she? Less than two hours ago she learned both her parents were dead and her reaction had been to plan an impromptu wedding. She was badly broken,completely in tatters, didn’t even know how chicken got to the table. What could she possibly offer this man whose own life was so painful she somehow looked like a solution?

“It smells so good in here. I’m starving,” Leo announced cheerfully from the doorway.

“You’re always starving,” Esther said, but affectionately.

“And you always feed me,” Leo said, easing close to hug her from behind. The sweet action reminded Celeste it was their wedding night and they were about to eat supper with strangers. She jumped up and began pulling out dishes while Esther arranged their food and Leo poured everyone’s drink.

The meal was cozy and warm and affectionate. It made the house feel the way Celeste had always wanted things to feel—alive, peaceful, loving, and fun. She avoided Sam’s eye the remainder of the evening, but she felt him watching her. And his words kept a continuous echo through her brain.This time is turning out to be pretty good.No matter how many times she kept shoving them away, they circled back around. She wanted nothing more than to escape to her room, this time with her journal, but she couldn’t allow Esther to clean the kitchen on top of everything else. She volunteered, and this time Esther and Leo were happy to make their escape together, holding hands and trying not to sprint in order to cocoon themselves in the privacy of their room.

Celeste watched them go with a fond smile.

“You look happy,” Sam noted, reminding her he’d stayed behind and still needed to be dealt with.

“They’re sweet,” she said.

“Why are you so afraid of me?”

She tensed, almost dropping a slippery glass. “I’m not.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar.”

“You can tell me why you’re so bunched up inside. Was it the job? Did something happen? Is that why you retired so early?”

“I can’t talk about my job,” she said.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

He came to stand beside her and picked up a dishtowel.

“You can’t dry dishes with one good arm,” she said.

“I know, but I hate feeling useless.” He tossed the towel onto the counter with a frustrated sigh. “Celeste, I’m thirty two years old, and I’ve only ever had one girlfriend. There have been other offers, other opportunities, but I haven’t wanted any of them because the possibility was never there, the indefinable connection. I feel it with you, that potential for something more. But I need something from you, anything. Some assurance that I’m not hanging on this thread alone.”

She pulled her hands out of the water and faced him. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“You could start by telling me that maybe you feel it too, this pull between us. That it’s not all in my head.”

She gripped his shirt in both her hands, feeling relieved. The now was easy to handle. It was everything before and after that terrified her. “Of course I feel it. I felt it that first moment I walked into the kitchen. Bad guys aren’t supposed to be boyishly cute. It’s very confusing.”

“I’m a reformed bad boy,” he reminded her, kissing the tip of her nose.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “As for the other stuff, I don’t have a lot to offer.”

“That’s not true. You have everything to offer,” he said.

That’s because you can’t see inside me. You don’t know about my past.Instead of saying any of that, she hugged him. Her ear pressed over his heart, comforted by its steady thump. He hugged her in return, as best he could with his injuredshoulder. His head nestled against hers and it was so perfect, so right. If only they could freeze time and not have to worry about the future or the past.

“My trees are alive,” she murmured.

“My heart’s like a turnip,” he returned.

She snorted a laugh. “What?”

---