Page 14 of Fiona and the Fixer

I wore boring navy or black suits every day. I ran. I got the same exact nail polish color every time I went to get a manicure. My hair was natural blonde and unexciting.Sure, I had a huge collection of lipstick and bath salts like any other woman, but why on earth would she want to know about me? So, I asked.

“Me?”

“Of course, you!”

I eyed her cautiously. What did I share that wouldn’t make her run scared? That I was an FBI agent? That I put my own father in federal prison? That I got a brain tumor? That since radiation to make it go away weird things started happening to me? That I was blackmailing my boss so I didn’t lose my job while he framed my partner for illegal case work?

Based on the golden retriever look she was giving me, she’d love any and all of it.

“I, um…”

“What do you do for a living?” she asked, sensing I’d been too overwhelmed to answer.

“I’m an FBI agent.” I didn’t share that too often with strangers because I always got replies like,ooh, can we play with your handcuffstocan you make my speeding ticket go awaytolike on CSI?

Dottie seemed genuinely interested and if she said something dumb, I could kick her out.

Blackmail gave me a few months away from Trotter, but it’d also potentially give him time to figure out how to weasel his way out of his mess. Most likely, I would be out of a job by the end of all of this. It didn’t matter that I was good at it. That I closed all my cases. That I gave the prosecutors plenty of evidence to make their job easy.

My downfall? I wastoogood.

Which was fucking stupid.

If Dottie laughed, then she could leave her cheesy rice behind and just go.

Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together in obvious glee. It was not what I expected. “You are! You’re one of their super agents, bringing down bad guys wherever you go. I’m impressed. I’d like to think if I was forty years younger, I’d be just like you. Oh, I haveallthe questions. I love reading mysteries. You’d make a great heroine.”

I stood in the kitchen like a potato growing roots into the ground, stunned by her praise. To hide the warm and fuzzy feelings and the hint of a smile from her excitement, I lifted the foil on the side of the dish and peeked beneath. Yum.

She went to a drawer by the dishwasher and somehow knew that was where the silverware was stored.

“Here.” She thrust a fork at me. “You’re staying in Coal Springs for how long?”

I moved to the counter and stared at the rice. The waft of delicious scent hit me and made my mouth water. I wasn’t much of a cook. Okay, I wasn’t one at all. My breakfast was usually a container of yogurt and about four coffees. Lunch was from a restaurant, usually eaten from a to-go container at my desk at work. Dinner was whatever I felt like picking up. So, a real home-cooked dish?

Heavenly.

“Just dig in, sweetheart. Smart women skip plates. No dishes to wash.”

She made a good point. Taking the foil off all the way, I jabbed my fork into the yellow goodness. “Not sure, but I have the place for the month,” I said, then stuffed my face with a huge forkful of rice. Fuck, that was good.

Then another. Grabbing one of the high stools that were tucked beneath the small center island, I plopped myself down for the long haul of carb loading.

“Bob said you’re on vacation and that you’re hoping to meet someone.”

Pops blabbed like a teenage girl. I held up my hand and–with a mouthful of decadent rice–I said, “I’m not interested in Pops’ grandson.”

“Scott?” She shrugged. “He’s a nice boy but I think he has his eye on Wanda Shoemaker’s niece. He’s got a good heart, but he’s not man enough for you.”

I frowned, not exactly sure if she was insulting me or not.

“You need a man like in a romance book who can handle a strong woman like you.”

My mind instantly went to Mr. Suit from earlier. Nowhewas man enough for me. As for how he could handle me? I had ideas. Except I didn’t want to be handled by anyone. I was sick of it.

“I don’t need a man at all,” I countered. I didn’t. It was easier to say that than to think about how none wanted me.

She reached out and patted my hand. “Honey, you just have to meet the right one.”

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