Page 97 of Fiona and the Fixer

Hannah nodded.

I set the donut box on the roof of my car and told them. “She discovered they’ve got a secret compartment in the bottom of the five-gallon buckets where they were stashing the pills. She took a bag.”

We climbed in and I turned the car on. Jack held the donuts in his lap.

“They want their drugs back,” Jack assumed.

I shook my head. “I got the call to take care of Fionabeforethey found out the drugs were missing.”

Jack frowned. “That explains the text I got while we were on the plane.”

I glanced at him before backing out of the parking spot. “What text? I didn’t send you one.”

“No. From one of my former clients who knows I’ve moved to Coal Springs. The one who wants me to unretire to take care of a local problem.”

I tipped my head back against the headrest, as if my problems were too much for me to even hold my head up.

“It seems your girlfriend’s really popular these days,” Jack added.

I saw the turn of his lips. He found this amusing. He foundmeamusing.

“They really want you to…killFiona?” Hannah whispered to Jack, even though we were in the car.

“Good luck with that,” I muttered. “She took down an armed robber single handedly. Literally, since she did it while holding a full coffee pot.”

“You should be worried about her killingyou,Dax,” Hannah huffed. When I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, she sat back in the seat and crossed her arms.

She had a great point. The first woman who I let in, who I thought even for a second was worth the pain of losing, hated me. I’d worried about her being killed or something, not dump me because I fucked up. By keeping her out of my life, I was probably going to lose her anyway. I was in big fucking trouble.

47

FIONA

“Aren’t mimosas supposedto be served in champagne flutes?” I asked.

Dottie set a plastic cup with ghosts and witches on it in front of me.

“The bigger the problems, the bigger the cup.”

I’d never been in Dottie’s house, but it was as expected. Neat as a pin. A mix of new pieces of furniture with some very vintage ones, like a blue plaid couch. A wood and stone rancher, it was set on a treed lot with stunning flower beds. I remembered Dottie said Mr. Dotson liked the plant nursery, so I assumed the yard was his domain.

Scooter had a dog bed in every room. The one in the kitchen was in front of a sliding door where the sun shonedown on him. He was on his back, four paws in the air and snoring.

The place smelled like baked goods and lemon polish. It smelled like… a home.

“Can you adopt me?” I blurted. We were sitting at her kitchen table. Fall themed placemats were in front of the four chairs.

Dottie smiled, wistfully. “Oh honey, what a nice thing to say.”

“I’m not sure about Mr. Dotson, because I haven’t met him yet, but I’m sure he’s nice.”

“He’s playing pickle ball at the rec center.”

Pickle ball. Pickle, pickle, pickle. My life was in a pickle.

Ugh.

I never wanted to see, smell, or eat a pickle ever again.

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