Page 26 of The Fixer and the Fugitive

“I can be both things. Also, it feels good to let go of the bad persona, finally forever. I can get back to being the person I was before, if I can correctly remember who that was.”

He sounded sad, and it echoed the sadness in her. “You’ll figure it out,” she assured him.

“How, though?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

That was the problem. She had no answers for him because she had no answers for herself. “Time or something, something.”

“Ah, I finally figured out what you do. You’re in charge of all those inspirational posters hanging in The Colonel’s office.”

She snickered again. “He doesn’t have inspirational pictures in his office.”

She didn’t look, but she could tell he sat up. “Wait, have you for real been in The Colonel’s office? No one goes in the inner sanctum.”

She couldn’t help but turn then, as she bestowed a smug raised eyebrow on him. “Some people do.”

Far from being impressed, he shrank back. “You’re not, like, you know, like, a secret mistress or something, are you?”

She gagged. “No! He’s twelve million years old. And he’sThe Colonel.It would be weird and gross and, gah. Shut up.” She pressed her soapy hands to her ears, but she wasn’t trying to block him out; she was trying to block out all the memories she’d rather forget, especially the one where she hit on The Colonel during their first meeting. That sad girl existed a lifetime ago, but somehow she always lingered, ready to haunt Celeste at the merest suggestion of who she had been.

“Hey.” She didn’t realize Sam was standing beside her until he spoke softly, touching a finger gently to her forearm. What did her expression look like right now? Whatever it was, it must have been horrifying because he looked slightly terrified. “Hey,” he repeated again. His tone was soothing and it worked to soothe her. “It’s okay. I was joking. I know it’s not like that. Five minutes of knowing the man and I know he would never…And you would never. I mean, I presume you would never, not only because it would be gross, but because…”

She dropped her hands from her ears. “Oh, sweet merciful cornflakes, stop talking.”

His lashes fluttered and his lips twitched. “Sweet merciful cornflakes? Is that who you pray to?”

She took a breath and scrubbed her hand between her eyes a few times, clearing away the last vestiges of bad memories. “I made a bet with someone I used to work with, that I could stop swearing. I started using nonsense words instead and the habit sort of stuck. What?” He was full on beaming at her now.

“I think we’ve surpassed fluffy kitten and are well into the danger zone of cuteness. You could legitimately kill someone with lovability right now.”

“If only that were true,” she muttered, but halfheartedly. The conversation had left her drained, and they had only scratched the surface of the well of trauma inside her. Her eyes darted toward her journals, but it was too early to unburden herself. Once she opened that gate, she could only sleep afterword. She couldn’t sleep all day with Sam in the house, even if they’d shared an abruptly shortened night.

“Hey,” he said, bending his head to try and catch her eye. “I’m going to hug you now.”

“Why?” she asked, immediately tense and suspicious.

“For one thing, I’m a hugger, but I’ve been surrounded by terrorists for most of the last decade. I could use a hug. But also, maybe so could you, it seems. It’s a thing normal people do.”

“Is it?” she said, having no idea if it was true. Did people hug? She knew families probably hugged, but did casual acquaintances do it, too?

“Yes, so don’t read anything into it. I’m only hitting on you a little, like ten percent,” he said. He put his good arm around her and drew her to him. She stood listless and uncomfortable in his embrace. “You’re supposed to hug me back,” he prompted.

She did so, but added, “I’m hitting on you zero percent.”

“That’s okay, I’ve upped mine to fifteen to make up for your deficit.”

She snorted a laugh, accidentally inhaling his scent when she pressed her face to his chest to subdue it.

“Twenty percent and growing. You should know when we reach sixty, it’s the critical phase and can’t be undone.”

“And what will happen then?” she asked, peeling back slightly to see his face.

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Then we fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“Now I’m terrified,” she said.

“You should be. I snore.”

“You’re so weird,” she murmured, but she returned to the hug because, as it turned out, hugging was nice. Even if it was a temporary stranger whose presence in her life made no rational sense. Maybe especially then because she didn’t have to think about forever. She only had to think about each moment. Maybe,maybeshe should take him up on his suggestion to throw caution to the wind and have a fling. What would be the harm if they both went into it fully prepared?

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