Chapter 28
A few hours later, Sam was awed and impressed when Celeste arrived home with chili and pie, both of which she’d made herself.
“Did you know that chili is such a contentious topic it’s inspired wars?” Celeste asked as they sat down to eat their bounty.
“Really?” Sam asked.
“Yes, at least in the Montgomery household. Apparently when Maybe and Baird first got married, she made chili the way she’d always made it and he asked her why she put ground beef in her tomato soup. She thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. He told her chili wasn’t chili unless it was made with chuck roast.”
“This has both things in it,” Sam noted, staring at his bowl.
“Yes, apparently the way to compromise in Montana is to double the beef. But then the beans were an argument.”
“There are beans in here,” Sam said.
“Maybe won that one. Because fiber.”
“Ah, she played the constipation card,” Sam said, nodding. “My mother used to do that.”
“But then there were the spice wars.”
“India?”
“Chili powder versus actual chili peppers. And Maybe put sugar in her chili and she said that was the only time Baird has ever tried to sleep on the couch,” Celeste said.
“I guess when Shakespeare said ‘the course of true love never did run smooth,’ he must have been referring to chili,” Sam noted.
“You’re pretty hot for a nerd,” Celeste said, reaching for her glass of water.
“Maybe I’m just a nerd and everything is hot,” Sam said, also reaching for his water.
“They compromised on the chili by doubling that, too,” Celeste said, adding another dollop of sour cream to her chili to try and cut the heat.
“It’s good, though. So good,” Sam said, pausing to shovel a few bites. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am. I thought I would come here and be a recluse and look at me, peopling. Plus I learned to add something to my growing list of edible things. And, I don’t know, it was informative.”
“How so?” Sam asked.
He was one of those people who actually listened when he asked a question, as if he cared and had a vested interest in the answer. He set aside his spoon, focusing solely on her.
“I guess I had this vision of being a grownup as having everything together, no more problems. But Maybe’s had a lot of problems. And she and Baird don’t always get along. They hash things out and power through. It was like stepping inside a TV show, but better because it’s real.”
“You never watch TV,” he said.
“I’ve always been too busy. I’m pretty out of it, as far as pop culture goes,” she said.
“Me, too. I kind of have a thing for Bollywood, though.”
“Really? That’s what you’re into? Elaborate costumes and belly dance routines?” she said.
“I’m shocked I haven’t performed one for you,” he said, pushing her water closer when she choked. “Do you know what I overheard at the hardware store the other day?”
She shook her head, still too busy gulping water to answer. “Someone said Fletcher was on some kind of show.”
“Oh, is that why he believes he’s famous?” Celeste said.
Sam nodded. “How much do you want to bet he was an extra on some police drama ten years ago and still brings it up at parties?”
“I wouldn’t take that bet. The man has crazy eyes.” She wound her finger around her ear.
“He’s no Ranbir Kapoor,” Sam agreed.
She gave him a blank look.
“Famous Bollywood actor,” Sam explained.
“Ah. What did you do all day? You never said.”
“I read some of the books from your shelf, I hope that was okay.”
“Sure. I bought a bunch of stuff and never read it. I’ve never been a reader, can’t get into it,” she said.
“You should try reading picture books,” he suggested.
She froze, spoon held aloft. “Are you making fun of me? Because I can read. It’s not a learning disability, just a low boredom threshold.”
“Of course I’m not making fun of you. And picture books aren’t only for children.”
“They’re literally in the kid section of the library,” Celeste said.
“No, no, no. That’s all wrong. My mother was a professor of children’s literature. She loved picture books, thought they were the highest form of art and self-expression. They have stories and pictures. She believed if someone didn’t think they liked reading, they should start with picture books to spark their interest. Because you become captivated by the story, and then you want more stories. Like starting with milk before solid food.”
“That’s kind of brilliant.”
“So was my mother,” he said, shrugging.
They ate a few moments in contemplative silence until he spoke again. “Why do you believe there must be so much distinction in what is for children and what is for adults?”
“I don’t know.” She did know, though. In her world growing up, adults had all the power. She couldn’t wait to be an adult, when she was a child. And now that she was an adult, she associated childhood with her former misery. For her, there was a clear distinction.
“It makes me a little sad to think of you unable to do fun things because you regard them as childish.”
“Like what?”
“Playing in the snow.”
“That’s one example. Also, it was cold and wet. I’m fun.”
“What do you do that’s fun?”
“I…” Suddenly she couldn’t think of one thing she had ever done, merely because it was fun. “Sometimes I run.”
“Sometimes I do, too, if I’m being chased. Give me something else, an actual fun activity.”
“It’s classified,” she said, scraping up the last of her chili.
“Lies. You won’t tell me because you can’t, because you don’t believe in doing fun things,” he said.
“I’m fun,” she said, banging her spoon on the table.
“Prove it,” he said, one eyebrow quirking.
“How, exactly?” She said it slowly, suddenly wary. What if their ideas of fun were vastly different?
“Play with me.”
“Play what?”
“Hide and go seek.”
“Why? To prove I’m not stuffy?” she said.
“I never said you were stuffy. And the answer to why is why not? We have time, we have energy, I think it will be fun.”
“I don’t know if you’re normal,” she said sincerely, studying him. Celeste felt like she had spent most of her life looking for a yardstick, trying to find a baseline of normality. Sam seemed well adjusted and happy, shockingly so for someone who was essentially running for his life. But was he what she should aspire to be? And was the key to his happiness his willingness to embrace carefree fun?
“Let me assure you I’m not, but then who is?” He dabbed his lips with his napkin and carefully set it aside, waiting for her answer.
“All right. Let me clean up, and then we can go…play.”
“No. Play first, clean later.”
“That doesn’t feel right,” she said.
“You’re trying something new. Trust me.” He stood and reached for her hand, pulling her up beside him. “The dishes will be here when we get back. In fact dishes will always be here. Chores can wait, fun cannot.”
“Now who sounds like a motivational poster,” she groused, but she allowed him to lead her outside. He led her to the space beside the barn and put his hands over his eyes.
“I’m going to count to a hundred. You hide.”
“Hide and seek? That’s your brilliant…”
“One, two, three…”
“I can’t play hide and seek. I’m thirty thr…”
“Four, five, six…”
When it became clear he wasn’t going to stop until he reached a hundred, she squeaked and leapt to attention, scurrying for a good hiding place. And because she was small and had long ago learned to be good at hiding, he couldn’t find her. Not after he counted to a hundred, not after ten minutes of searching. She watched him from her space in the barn rafters, wandering in and out of the barn, checking behind equipment and in each stall.
“All right, I give up,” he announced at last. He stood in the middle of the barn, his back to her. Celeste pondered what to do. Should she keep hiding and make him work harder to find her? I miss him too much, she thought, rolling her eyes at her pathetic internal dialogue. She was not a teenager anymore, unable to function without her boyfriend, fake or otherwise. But they had been together all day every day for days. Being apart today took a toll, more than she would have expected.
She decided to give in, but she wanted the element of surprise. Spying a rope tied a few rafters away, she silently picked her way to it and grabbed on, planning to climb down. What she hadn’t counted on was the age of the rope and mildew. Only a few feet down, the rope snapped, sending her plummeting about ten feet. She landed on her back and all the air rushed out of her lungs so quickly it felt like they collapsed.
Sam spun in time to see her fall, a horrified expression on his face. He darted forward, but not in time to catch her. He knelt beside her and clasped her hand.
“ Ya eazizaa , are you all right?” His hand pressed to her forehead and he stared in her eyes, likely checking for signs of life.
For a second she felt panicked; there was no air in her body and she couldn’t seem to draw a breath. And then slowly, painfully, her lungs reopened. She gasped hard, taking in the max amount of air. It came out in a slow whoosh, and then she spoke. “I’m your darling?”
His lashes fluttered. “You know Arabic?”
“A few phrases.”
“I’m going to skip over the how and answer the question, but only because you’re injured. Yes, you’re my darling.” He lay down beside her, his hand making gentle passes over her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes to make certain.
He smiled at her.
She smiled in return.
His smile slowly slipped and he bit his lip, his eyes focusing on her cheek instead of her eyes. “Celeste.”
“Yes?”
“I think maybe I’m falling in love with you.”
“Oh,” Celeste said. The air left her in a whoosh again, like she’d taken another tumble off the rope. “I…”
He touched his finger to her lips, shushing her. “I didn’t say it to receive a reply, especially one you’re probably not ready to make. I just…felt it and needed you to hear it. You can think about it. Get back to me.” He shifted closer and kissed her cheek.
“All right,” she said. She felt muddled but also soft and fizzy all over. She hoped it was a response to his statement and not some latent nerve damage from the fall.
Instead of urging her to get up, Sam eased closer and slipped his arm over her, surrounding her with his steady warmth. She rested her head on his shoulder, nestling. “Even though I fell off a rafter, it’s been a good day,” she noted.
“Even though I don’t have a home and am being hunted by an international terrorist, it’s been a good day,” Sam agreed.
Celeste swiveled her head to face him. “Of course you have a home. This is your home. You are home.”
“I feel like maybe I am, which is rather extraordinary,” he said. His thumb traced a gentle path around her ear.
Playing hide and seek had been fun, but she liked this far better. “I might never get the hang of being normal,” she informed him.
“So what,” he whispered, giving her waist a squeeze.
“So what,” she repeated to herself, then she took his face in her hands and kissed him.