Page 56 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“I just took some bread from the oven,” Celeste announced unable to snuff the note of proud disbelief from her tone.Bread. I made bread. With my hands. Unbelievable.“I’ll check back later, please let me know if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jack assured her, tossing her an absent smile as his attention returned to the equipment.

“I’m going to stay and watch for a while,” Sam said. “Bestow my wisdom and such.” He stared at the machinery, too. Maybe it was a guy thing. Celeste didn’t see the draw and Mare was already withdrawing a book and what might have been a manuscript from the bag she’d brought. Celeste eased away and headed toward the house, feeling restless. She checked her bread, assured herself it was still real, and headed for the living room.

The bookshelf caught her eye, along with her journal. She headed there now, withdrew it, and sat down, pulling one of Sam’s blankets over her lap. Her pen hovered over the paper. Where had she left off? Fourth grade. That was a bad year, and one that needed to be addressed, but suddenly she didn’t want to. All of a sudden she wanted to write something good and happy, so instead of dredging up past trauma she wrote about everything that happened after Leo and Esther arrived, spending a long time talking about the bread, the burst of stress relief she’d felt as she kneaded and shaped the dough.

When she was finished, she felt as drained as ever, too much to re-shelve her notebook.I’ll close my eyes for a minute,she thought, curling up on the couch like a squirrel settling in for winter.

Seemingly only a moment later, Sam sat beside her on the couch, smoothing a hand gently over her hair. “Hey. You had a big weekend. No wonder you’re sleepy.”

She didn’t tell him that while on a job it was routine for her to go days without slumber, mostly because she enjoyed the tender ministrations a little too much. So she nodded instead. “How’s it going in the barn?”

“Good. Jack made a list of all the parts he’s going to need.”

“Does he think he’s actually going to be able to fix it?”

“Looks like. Apparently he’s some sort of boy genius with a wrench. Although he did say my bolt definitely needed tightened, so I think I have some latent instincts as a natural mechanic.”

“You’re very talented,” she said. His hand was still smoothing the hair off her face. The gesture was so soothing her eyes slid closed again.

“Hey,” he nudged her. “Is your bread for eating or only for looking? Because it looks and smells as good as its maker.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or creeped out,” she said.

“Probably both. But I’m suddenly starving.” He took her hand and began insistently tugging. Her journal slid off her chest and landed on the floor with a hard smack.

“Oops, sorry.” He bent to pick it up as she lunged and they barely avoided knocking heads. “I can put it away for you. I know where it goes,” he offered.

Celeste sat up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her heart was beating hard at seeing all her most personal history in his hands. “How do you know where it goes?”

“Because there’s a gaping hole on the shelf and I saw it there before,” he said. In contrast to hers, his tone was calm and smooth, likely because he didn’t understand the dire importance to her. The pages within contained her worst memories, all the bad things that had ever happened to her, along with the most shameful things she’d done. Her cheeks burned with the thought of all the things she’d so carelessly written. She should probably burn it before anyone read it, but she couldn’t. Bad as it was, it was as if she needed some written record of her life, if only to bear witness to the atrocities.

Sam shelved the book and spun to face her, head tipping as he studied her tense features. “How do you wake up so pretty? It’s uncanny.”

“I do?” she said, pressing her hands to her overheated cheeks.

“All flushed and girly.”

“I don’t think of myself that way,” she said. She thought of herself as tough, capable, and independent. But seeing the warm approval in Sam’s eyes made her understand the value in the girly flush, and now she wasn’t certain which she preferred.

“Celeste,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, staring at him with big eyes, heart thumping. She had no idea what he was going to say next and she was both terrified and excited to find out.

“Let’s eat bread.”

She blinked a few times, clearing her sleep-induced fog, then, laughing, led the way into the kitchen.

Sam sat at the kitchen table and watched Celeste bustle back and forth, trying so hard it made everything inside him turn to a full, rolling boil. She was soearnestin her attempt to be domestic. He had no idea why the bread was important to her, but it was. He could see it in her expression as she unmolded the bread, gazing at it in rapt fascination when it turned out perfectly.

After staring at it a while, she searched the drawers until she located a knife, attempted to make a slice, realized it was the wrong sort of knife, and returned to the drawer again. After finally making a slice, she placed it lovingly in her hand, turned toward him, stopped short, and pivoted back to the cupboard for a plate. She put the bread on the plate, started toward him again, stopped short once more, pivoted away, and spread the breadwith butter. When she finally came toward him, plate of bread in two hands like a beloved pet, he thought his heart might burst.

He took the time to properly appreciate it when she set it gently before him, picking it up to sniff and inspect like a fine glass of wine. “This looks incredible.”

She clasped her hands behind her back, flushing again, and now he was caught up staring at her.

He had only loved one woman in his life, the woman he thought he would love forever. Maggie had burst onto the scene like a sunbeam, filling his life with her warm energy. She was bright, confident, witty, and fun. He had loved those things about her, but she came to him whole and unbroken. Though they’d had a good relationship, she hadn’t needed him, not really. That was how he was able to walk away, because he knew she was resilient enough to eventually recover.

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