Page 33 of Fiona and the Fixer

“You live in Denver and are spending your vacation in Coal Springs?” I went to the same drawer and grabbed a fork of my own. I stood catty-corner to her at the island which put the dish of rice in front of me, too. “It’s not even the ice castle festival weekend or ski season or whatever. Is there some event celebrating hay bales that you just couldn’t miss?”

I scooped up some rice and ate it. Fuck me, that was good.

She lifted her gaze from the plate. Her pale eyes held mine. Taking hold of the dish, she slid it closer to herself, practically hugging the thing. I reached out and tugged it back.

She growled.

I growled back. And got hard.This woman.

“No one taught you to share?” I asked.

“You have cooties,” she replied.

Instantly, I grinned. “We should have had the cootie talk a few hours ago when we swapped spit, and I got inside you. As for other cooties…”

“Other cooties?”

“I don’t have any. I’m clean.”

Her eyes narrowed, catching on. “Me, too. And on the pill.”

“Good, ‘cause that means the next time there will be nothing between us. You good with that?”

She let go of her death grip on the plate and relented. “I’m good.”

Thank fuck.

We sat in silence for a few seconds–a record for us–before I asked, “You make this?”

Around a mouthful of food, she replied, “I don’t cook. Dottie, my new Coal Springs BFF, brought it to me yesterday. A welcome casserole.”

“A welcome casserole?” I asked, not sure what that was.

She waved her free hand in the air. “Right? I was suspicious at first, but she had me with the cheese.”

“Your weakness. Good to know.”

She pointed her fork at me, then the plate between us.

“Your weakness, too, based on the way you’re shoveling it in.”

It was fucking good.

“What areyoudoing here, Fiona?” I asked, tossing her repeated question back at her.

She took another bite, chewed, swallowed. Lifted her gaze to meet mine. Held.

“I came to town to meet your boss.”

I frowned. My boss? I didn’t have a boss. Great, shewasinvestigating me.

“Hannah Highcliff.”

It was almost impossible to swallow the last bite of rice. She was investigatingHannah?That woman was like Snow White with little animals scurrying around her as she sang to them in the forest. No way Hannah did anything wrong other than forget to bring her mother some potato salad.

Then I remembered what she said when she’d pulled her pants back on after our little fun in the bookstore.Hannah’s on vacation.Hannah. I never told Fiona Hannah’s name, only saidmy boss was on vacation. I blamed the mental lapse on a life-changing orgasm. This meant she’d already known Hannah’s name when she walked into the store. She really was in town to meetHannah.

“I don’t really work at the bookstore,” I admitted, hoping she’d tell me she worked for the fucking FBI.

---