Page 44 of Fiona and the Fixer

“Well, you’ve certainly brought in a crowd.”

Dottie.

I wanted to leap across the counter and hug a familiarperson in the crowd. “Oh, thank God. What’s going on here?” I asked her, taking her arm and gently leading her to the side. Two women gave Dottie a dirty look, as if jealous she was the one I was touching.

I was letting a senior citizen who was all of five-two and a hundred pounds soaking wet protect me.

She laughed. Today she wore black pants that ended at the ankle, a t-shirt that was for a breast cancer walk from the previous year and sneakers. “It’s weekly storytime.”

I glanced around. “Um, where are the kids?” I grimaced at the thought of a roomful of germy, sticky little people.

She laughed again. If she didn’t make exceptional rice and insanely good burritos, I’d not like her. But I knew when it was important to keep someone on my side. As a fixer, it was all about the connections.

“It’s grown-up storytime,” she explained.

I blinked. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means, you’re reading a chapter from this week’s book.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You work here.”

“I’m filling in. I can’t read a romance book!” I snapped, shaking my head. I’d rather defuse a bomb.

She patted my bicep, then squeezed it like she had the night before. “Use that growly voice and you’ll be a hit.”

I glanced around. While women were busy browsing and chatting with their friends, they all seemed to have one eye on me like they would a toddler in a non-babyproof location. They’d make terrible spies. That made me thinkof Fiona and how I left her sated and well fucked after returning to her house.

I was the one who walked out whenshewas sleeping. I’d gone back to Jack and Hannah’s place to shower and change. And feed Pancake, who’d been snoozing on his cat tree living a stress-free cat life.

“Dottie–”

“The book isTheir Kidnapped Bride.” She pointed to a poster on a table-top easel with the storytime info on it. Beside it were a pile of books. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“That a bride was kidnapped?” I countered.

“Theiris a possessive pronoun and indicates plural ownership.”

“Were you a schoolteacher or something?”

“I was the office manager for the Coal Springs Police Department for thirty years.”

Jesus. How the hell did I get myself into this mess? She worked for the cops for three decades? “Of course, you were.”

“Based on your muscles and your lack of knowledge of pronouns, you aren’t one.”

She was fishing. I had to give it to her. She was good.

“Why is a possessive pronoun so important to this conversation?” I asked, then set my hands on my hips.“Wait. All these women are here to listen to a guy getting it on with two women?” I thought I had a grasp on what women wantedreallywell. Maybe I’d been wrong.

She huffed, waved her hand as if I was ridiculous. “Honey, that’s a guy’s fantasy. Do you see a guy here?”

I shook my head, suddenly lost. No, I was lost the second Mrs. Metcalf came to the front door and told me I had to fill in.

“The bride is kidnapped by two men,” she exclaimed.

Two–

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