Page 57 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

Celeste was something altogether different. There was something so incredibly vulnerable about her, something that made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from life’s blows. And though she wouldn’t tell him what they’d been, he knew she’d received more than her share of them. Too many, perhaps. She was trying so hard to get wherever she was going, and he wanted to help in any way possible. Maybe forever.

He’d been a good kid. He respected his parents, got good grades, had a pleasant, happy-go-lucky attitude. And then life pigeonholed him into being the bad guy, or maybe he pigeonholed himself. For a while he’d tried to find redemption working for the government, and he thought he had, as much as such a thing was possible. And now with Celeste he felt he once again had the chance to be the good guy, to stand in the gap and protect her. More than that, hewantedto. Plus he hadn’t been joking. She was certifiably adorable, but with a hint of toughness that made her over-the-top hot. Like a woodland creature wearing a leather jacket and riding a tiny Harley.

“Is it not okay?” she asked, making him realize he’d been staring at her too long.

“Let’s see.” He picked it up and bit into it while she tried to pretend she wasn’t waiting anxiously on his judgment. “It’s perfect,” he said, mouth still full. “Why don’t you have some and sit with me?”

She jumped to attention and cut herself a slice, sans plate this time, and sat beside him. They ate in companionable silence until their bread was finished. Celeste stood to clean up, but Sam pulled her into his lap.

“Thank you for the bread.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her went straight to the heart of him, and when she nestled closer and relaxed into his embrace, he thought his heart might actually explode. He wanted more. In fact, he wanted everything. The care she bestowed on him was nice, but earning her trust seemed like a bigger coup, a clear indicator that he wasn’t in this alone. “Why does the bread matter so much?”

She tensed, as she always did when he asked her a question. When she relaxed and let out a breath, he thought perhaps this was it: she was finally going to let him in and give him a real answer.

“Everyone loves bread,” she said.

He tried and failed not to be disappointed by the flippancy. On the other hand, she was letting him hold her and he also understood that wasn’t something normal for her, not if the way she’d held herself carefully away from him in the beginning was any indication. Maybe he needed to back off, be patient, and allow things to take place in incremental stages.

“What are you going to work on next?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make a list. What about you? What are you going to work on?” she asked, tipping her head back to inspect him.

You,he thought. If he wanted a project that would make his life better and bring happiness, it would be seeing Celeste open up and succeed. Out loud he said, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Confidence is key, at least according to that Fletcher guy,” she said, resting her head on his good shoulder again. “You know he thinks he’s famous. He can’t believe I don’t recognize him.”

“Let him have his delusions. Maybe he’s been through a lot.”

“I suppose, but famous in Paradise? Come on. What would he be famous for?”

“Cow herding?” Sam suggested. Celeste did that giggling thing he was beginning to adore, as if she couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping and immediately wanted to recall it, but it was too late. Someday maybe she would laugh freely and without hesitation. “Butter carving,” he added, biting her neck when she tried to stop her laughter again. This time she was unable to. Her whole body shook with it, spreading an answering warmth through him.This,he thought, giving her a squeeze.I want more of this; I want all of this.

Chapter 27

Celeste couldn’t believe she’d willingly gone to town again. Was she a glutton for punishment? Possibly. But Sam’s words kept ringing in her ears.What are you going to tackle next?She had made bread and watched Esther make chicken salad, so attentively she thought she’d be able to repeat it. It was time to master something else, something completely unnecessary but wholly appealing for reasons she’d rather not contemplate.

“Oh, hello, Celeste.” When Sheila Hickman, a woman she’d never met, opened her door and greeted her by name, she didn’t even bat an eye.

“Hello, Mrs. Hickman.”

“If you’ve come for a pie, I’m sorry to tell you I’m fresh out,” Mrs. Hickman said. Celeste hadn’t bought the pie from the woman herself. She bought it from the market. But she was already becoming used to the speed of light relay system in Paradise. Of course Sheila would know that Celeste had bought one of her pies. And of course she would call her by name as if they were old friends when in fact they’d never been introduced.

“Actually, I was wondering if maybe you could show me how to make your pies instead,” Celeste said, biting her lip as she waited for the woman’s reply. She never asked people for things, hated to depend on anyone or owe someone something. The longer she remained in Paradise, the harder it was becoming to remain aloof. She was over her head here. First Minnie had helped prepare her for the storm, then Tony had arranged all the things she needed to buy, and then Elliot carried her heater upstairs and showed her how to light it. And now this.

“Well,” Mrs. Hickman drawled, and it was clear to Celeste she was going to say no.

“I’ll pay you,” Celeste blurted. “For your time and ingredients.”

“It’s not the money, my dear. It’s, well,” she paused and glanced furtively around, as if they might be overheard though there were no houses nearby. But given Paradise’s apparent ability to read minds and hear even the smallest whisper, it wasn’t a far-fetched fear. “There’s a bit of jealousy over my pies. They’re kind of a closely guarded secret.”

“Oh,” Celeste said. There was no way to make someone give up her secrets. Unless… “It’s just that I have no idea how to bake. And my friend…”

“Sam,” Mrs. Hickman interrupted with a nod.

“Sam,” Celeste agreed, glossing over the fact that her cheeks flamed, “He loved that pie I brought him, I meanreallyloved it. And it’s not only that I don’t know how to make that pie specifically, it’s that I don’t know how to make any pie. I don’t know how to do anything. I don’t know how to cook. I never had a mother.” She had intended to sound plaintive and ended up sounding pathetic, but since that was an authentic representation of her actual feelings, she let it linger, leaning in to the fact that her eyes tended to go wide and her lips jut unhappily when she was sad.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hickman wailed, pressing her index fingers beneath each of her eyes to try and stophersympathetic flow of tears. “All right, but please don’t tell anyone. And please don’t enter a pie in the fair, okay?”

“I promise,” Celeste said, holding up a hand like an oath taker.

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