Chapter 26
A s soon as she glimpsed the new arrival, she tucked her gun away. They parked and a man, or maybe boy, stepped from the driver’s side. Ever since she reached thirty, Celeste had a harder time transcribing the age of anyone younger. The girl who stepped from the passenger side was definitively a girl, short and petite with a heart-shaped face and distinctively auburn hair.
“I recognize you,” Celeste called.
The boy and girl froze and glanced at each other.
“You’re Maybe’s son,” Celeste continued.
The boy, Jack, pointed to his chest. “Me? I’m the one you recognize?”
“Yes. You look exactly like your mother, except taller. It’s uncanny.”
“Do you recognize her?” he asked, pointing to the girl. Celeste gave her a once over. She was pretty in that unique way that made everyone do a second look, but her face didn’t look familiar.
“Sorry, no. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Celeste.”
“I’m Jack,” he said. He slid an arm around the girl and cinched her against him. “This is Mare, my neighbor, best friend, lamp post, and all around light of my life.”
“I see what you did there,” Mare said, giving his chest an affectionate pat. To Celeste she called, “It’s so nice to meet you. My dad has told me a lot about you.”
Maybe that was why they expected Celeste to recognize her; she had apparently met the girl’s father. “Oh, who is your dad?”
“Fletcher Reed,” Mare said, tensing as if for some sort of reaction. Poor girl. It couldn’t be easy to be the daughter of the town eccentric. Celeste tried not to let the pity come through in her tone when she replied.
“Right, yes. We’ve met a couple of times.”
“Yes, he told me. He told everyone,” Mare said, now sounding amused.
“Okay,” Celeste drawled and Jack choked back a laugh before composing his features.
“My mom said you have some equipment that’s giving you a bit of trouble,” he said.
“Yes, but only if it’s no trouble for you to look at it,” she said, still feeling uncertain over the imposition.
“I’d love to take a look. I have a bit of downtime while Mare is…” he paused and glanced down at Mare who shook her head imperceptibly, warning him away from whatever he was about to say. “…doing what Mare does. I’ve always admired this place. Anything I can do to get it up and running would be a bonus.”
“Great,” Celeste said. She motioned to Sam. “This is Sam.”
“I’m not sure there’s a lot left to do,” Sam said. “I took a look at all the machinery this morning and tightened a bolt. That probably fixed it. I mean, it didn’t when I tried it, but there’s probably some sort of delayed effect that will only take place after you try your hand at it a few hours.”
“I’ll make sure and give you the credit,” Jack said and Celeste knew right then she liked him. He was a decidedly gorgeous boy, tall and sandy blond with piercing blue eyes, a good counterpart to Mare’s exotic beauty. But there was no conceit in him. He appeared as humble and hardworking as Celeste guessed he might be, after meeting Maybe and Baird.
They walked together to the barn, Sam and Celeste in the lead, Mare and Jack bringing up the rear.
“This place is so great,” Mare exclaimed. “I can’t believe I lived here my whole life and never knew it existed.”
“My mom brought us here once,” Jack said, looking around the interior of the barn with a fond smile. “Actually she got lost here once and my sisters and I spent a few hours pretending we ran the place.”
“Was Tansy the one in charge?” Mare guessed.
“No, actually that time it was Caldwell. It was her birthday so Tansy threw her a bone.”
“Caldwell is your sister?” Celeste exclaimed.
“One of them,” Jack returned. “I take it you’ve met her. Do you have a pet?” He looked around a if a horse or llama might suddenly appear.
“No, but, um…” Celeste glanced at Sam for a rescue.
“Her husband married our friends yesterday, sort of an impromptu wedding. They’re nice people, Caldwell and Mitch,” Sam said.
“Yes, they are,” Jack agreed, but the words trailed away as he caught sight of the machinery he’d been dispatched to inspect. He began to roll his sleeves up, already calculating where to begin.
“I just took some bread from the oven,” Celeste announced unable to snuff the note of proud disbelief from her tone. Bread. I made bread. With my hands. Unbelievable. “I’ll check back later, please let me know if you need anything.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jack assured her, tossing her an absent smile as his attention returned to the equipment.
“I’m going to stay and watch for a while,” Sam said. “Bestow my wisdom and such.” He stared at the machinery, too. Maybe it was a guy thing. Celeste didn’t see the draw and Mare was already withdrawing a book and what might have been a manuscript from the bag she’d brought. Celeste eased away and headed toward the house, feeling restless. She checked her bread, assured herself it was still real, and headed for the living room.
The bookshelf caught her eye, along with her journal. She headed there now, withdrew it, and sat down, pulling one of Sam’s blankets over her lap. Her pen hovered over the paper. Where had she left off? Fourth grade. That was a bad year, and one that needed to be addressed, but suddenly she didn’t want to. All of a sudden she wanted to write something good and happy, so instead of dredging up past trauma she wrote about everything that happened after Leo and Esther arrived, spending a long time talking about the bread, the burst of stress relief she’d felt as she kneaded and shaped the dough.
When she was finished, she felt as drained as ever, too much to re-shelve her notebook. I’ll close my eyes for a minute, she thought, curling up on the couch like a squirrel settling in for winter.
Seemingly only a moment later, Sam sat beside her on the couch, smoothing a hand gently over her hair. “Hey. You had a big weekend. No wonder you’re sleepy.”
She didn’t tell him that while on a job it was routine for her to go days without slumber, mostly because she enjoyed the tender ministrations a little too much. So she nodded instead. “How’s it going in the barn?”
“Good. Jack made a list of all the parts he’s going to need.”
“Does he think he’s actually going to be able to fix it?”
“Looks like. Apparently he’s some sort of boy genius with a wrench. Although he did say my bolt definitely needed tightened, so I think I have some latent instincts as a natural mechanic.”
“You’re very talented,” she said. His hand was still smoothing the hair off her face. The gesture was so soothing her eyes slid closed again.
“Hey,” he nudged her. “Is your bread for eating or only for looking? Because it looks and smells as good as its maker.”
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or creeped out,” she said.
“Probably both. But I’m suddenly starving.” He took her hand and began insistently tugging. Her journal slid off her chest and landed on the floor with a hard smack.
“Oops, sorry.” He bent to pick it up as she lunged and they barely avoided knocking heads. “I can put it away for you. I know where it goes,” he offered.
Celeste sat up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her heart was beating hard at seeing all her most personal history in his hands. “How do you know where it goes?”
“Because there’s a gaping hole on the shelf and I saw it there before,” he said. In contrast to hers, his tone was calm and smooth, likely because he didn’t understand the dire importance to her. The pages within contained her worst memories, all the bad things that had ever happened to her, along with the most shameful things she’d done. Her cheeks burned with the thought of all the things she’d so carelessly written. She should probably burn it before anyone read it, but she couldn’t. Bad as it was, it was as if she needed some written record of her life, if only to bear witness to the atrocities.
Sam shelved the book and spun to face her, head tipping as he studied her tense features. “How do you wake up so pretty? It’s uncanny.”
“I do?” she said, pressing her hands to her overheated cheeks.
“All flushed and girly.”
“I don’t think of myself that way,” she said. She thought of herself as tough, capable, and independent. But seeing the warm approval in Sam’s eyes made her understand the value in the girly flush, and now she wasn’t certain which she preferred.
“Celeste,” he whispered.
“What?” she asked, staring at him with big eyes, heart thumping. She had no idea what he was going to say next and she was both terrified and excited to find out.
“Let’s eat bread.”
She blinked a few times, clearing her sleep-induced fog, then, laughing, led the way into the kitchen.
S am sat at the kitchen table and watched Celeste bustle back and forth, trying so hard it made everything inside him turn to a full, rolling boil. She was so earnest in her attempt to be domestic. He had no idea why the bread was important to her, but it was. He could see it in her expression as she unmolded the bread, gazing at it in rapt fascination when it turned out perfectly.
After staring at it a while, she searched the drawers until she located a knife, attempted to make a slice, realized it was the wrong sort of knife, and returned to the drawer again. After finally making a slice, she placed it lovingly in her hand, turned toward him, stopped short, and pivoted back to the cupboard for a plate. She put the bread on the plate, started toward him again, stopped short once more, pivoted away, and spread the bread with butter. When she finally came toward him, plate of bread in two hands like a beloved pet, he thought his heart might burst.
He took the time to properly appreciate it when she set it gently before him, picking it up to sniff and inspect like a fine glass of wine. “This looks incredible.”
She clasped her hands behind her back, flushing again, and now he was caught up staring at her.
He had only loved one woman in his life, the woman he thought he would love forever. Maggie had burst onto the scene like a sunbeam, filling his life with her warm energy. She was bright, confident, witty, and fun. He had loved those things about her, but she came to him whole and unbroken. Though they’d had a good relationship, she hadn’t needed him, not really. That was how he was able to walk away, because he knew she was resilient enough to eventually recover.
Celeste was something altogether different. There was something so incredibly vulnerable about her, something that made him want to wrap his arms around her and protect her from life’s blows. And though she wouldn’t tell him what they’d been, he knew she’d received more than her share of them. Too many, perhaps. She was trying so hard to get wherever she was going, and he wanted to help in any way possible. Maybe forever.
He’d been a good kid. He respected his parents, got good grades, had a pleasant, happy-go-lucky attitude. And then life pigeonholed him into being the bad guy, or maybe he pigeonholed himself. For a while he’d tried to find redemption working for the government, and he thought he had, as much as such a thing was possible. And now with Celeste he felt he once again had the chance to be the good guy, to stand in the gap and protect her. More than that, he wanted to. Plus he hadn’t been joking. She was certifiably adorable, but with a hint of toughness that made her over-the-top hot. Like a woodland creature wearing a leather jacket and riding a tiny Harley.
“Is it not okay?” she asked, making him realize he’d been staring at her too long.
“Let’s see.” He picked it up and bit into it while she tried to pretend she wasn’t waiting anxiously on his judgment. “It’s perfect,” he said, mouth still full. “Why don’t you have some and sit with me?”
She jumped to attention and cut herself a slice, sans plate this time, and sat beside him. They ate in companionable silence until their bread was finished. Celeste stood to clean up, but Sam pulled her into his lap.
“Thank you for the bread.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her went straight to the heart of him, and when she nestled closer and relaxed into his embrace, he thought his heart might actually explode. He wanted more. In fact, he wanted everything. The care she bestowed on him was nice, but earning her trust seemed like a bigger coup, a clear indicator that he wasn’t in this alone. “Why does the bread matter so much?”
She tensed, as she always did when he asked her a question. When she relaxed and let out a breath, he thought perhaps this was it: she was finally going to let him in and give him a real answer.
“Everyone loves bread,” she said.
He tried and failed not to be disappointed by the flippancy. On the other hand, she was letting him hold her and he also understood that wasn’t something normal for her, not if the way she’d held herself carefully away from him in the beginning was any indication. Maybe he needed to back off, be patient, and allow things to take place in incremental stages.
“What are you going to work on next?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make a list. What about you? What are you going to work on?” she asked, tipping her head back to inspect him.
You, he thought. If he wanted a project that would make his life better and bring happiness, it would be seeing Celeste open up and succeed. Out loud he said, “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
“Confidence is key, at least according to that Fletcher guy,” she said, resting her head on his good shoulder again. “You know he thinks he’s famous. He can’t believe I don’t recognize him.”
“Let him have his delusions. Maybe he’s been through a lot.”
“I suppose, but famous in Paradise? Come on. What would he be famous for?”
“Cow herding?” Sam suggested. Celeste did that giggling thing he was beginning to adore, as if she couldn’t stop the laughter from escaping and immediately wanted to recall it, but it was too late. Someday maybe she would laugh freely and without hesitation. “Butter carving,” he added, biting her neck when she tried to stop her laughter again. This time she was unable to. Her whole body shook with it, spreading an answering warmth through him. This, he thought, giving her a squeeze. I want more of this; I want all of this.