Page 14 of The Fixer

I was hungry, both for the sustenance of a good meal and for a connection with another human being.

Since Dad died, it’d been only me. Brooke came by regularly, but she had her job and her fiancé and her wedding to plan. No matter how much she did for me, or how much she loved me, there was only so much she could give.

“Sit back,” Jet commanded, and I did. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

He left, the snug fit of his hips between my knees loosening as he did, and his absence was welcome and just in time. Tears welled in my eyes, and I turned my face away from the kitchen, shutting my lids tight as my emotions raged.

When was the last time someone had gone out of their way to take care of me? Who, other than Brooke and Eric, had bothered to check in on me since my father died? This man, one I didn’t know, one who saw through me clearly enough to know there was something wrong behind my walls, had given me more that I had a right to receive.

The sounds in the kitchen were both foreign and familiar. Sounds I was more used to making than hearing as I sat alone. The smells that swirled around my apartment had my mouth watering, and this time, when Jet touched my arm to gain my attention, I didn’t jump.

“Try this.” He lifted a wooden spoon to my lips and let it hover there as I took a taste. His gaze lingered on my mouth even as he removed the spoon. With all the self-consciousness of a teenage girl, I covered my mouth with my hand.

“That’s amazing,” I mumbled behind my fingers.

And he smiled, a smile that wasn’t wicked and dangerous, but still one that made my blood pump faster in my veins, my heart picking up its pace as if it wanted to race away from a different kind of danger, to find some semblance of peace. When he lifted those silver eyes to mine, he licked his lips.

“I’m glad you approve.”

Moments later, he was back at my side, sliding a plate full of spaghetti onto the table in front of me. At the spot next to me, he set down another full plate, then grabbed a couple glasses of water from the kitchen counter before returning and taking a seat.

“I’d prefer wine to water,” he said, raising his glass, “but in light of your lack of food, I thought it best to skip that until some other time.”

Heat rose inside of me, splashing across my chest before climbing to my cheeks. I tucked a hair behind my ear and glanced up to find him staring. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shook his head, then took a sip. “Wait until after you taste it to thank me.”

But any other thanks I could have given was delayed after the first bite. The famished monster that sat, ignored, in my gut for the past two weeks, came out raging and roaring, refusing to stop until every last empty crevice inside my stomach was filled to the brim. The taste was amazing, as I’d told him, but the food did more than quench my hunger.

The food and the company.

It filled the hole that sat vacant inside of me for so long.

Jet coaxed me into conversation as I started to slow, urging me to share the memories of Mr. Jingles, of my mom and my dad. It was cathartic, speaking to him. It broke me in two, brought me back to life, and gave me something to hold onto in the middle of the night.

“Thank you,” I told Jet as he stood at the threshold of my apartment, my stomach and my heart filled, my eyelids heavy and my brain in dire need of sleep.

“It was my pleasure, Eliza.” He reached for my face. His thumb ran across my lower lip, brushing at the corner of my mouth before he gripped my chin. He tilted my head up, and for a moment, I thought he was going to drop his lips to mine. Then, that moment was gone. “Call me tomorrow?”

Nodding, I pushed aside the disappointment that flooded me when he pulled his hand away. “I will.”

“I look forward to it.” He gifted me with another of his gorgeous smiles. “Sleep well.”

As he walked away, I let my eyes linger on the fine lines of his back. Underneath the jacket he’d worn all evening, his muscles rippled and smoothed. I closed the door, pressed my back to the thick wood, and closed my eyes as I fingered the phantom touch his hand left imprinted on my skin.

4

Eliza

Rested, relaxed, and well-fed, I rose the next morning with more pep in my step than I’d felt since my first semester of college. As I stepped from the shower and swiped the fog from the mirror, I couldn’t help but notice the smile on my face.

It felt like the grief that lived within my heart had lessened, even though I knew it would never go away. Like the fog I’d been living in for the past couple years was lifting, even if I wasn’t yet free.

For the first time in six long years, I felt truly happy.

I felt like me.

It was a gift, this feeling. And I let my parents’ wisdom guide me. I listened to the words they would have told me if they were here.