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nice.
    So nice.
    He murmured, “‘Fat’ is a very subjective word. In many parts of Africa, you would be considered a raving beauty.”
    He paused for it to sink in.
    “You can’t control how people will perceive you or how they think about you . . . but you can certainly control how you feel about it. No one can make you feel bad about yourself if you don’t want to feel bad about yourself. Am I making any sense?”
    She thought about it. She had been feeling bad about herself for so long that she hadn’t stopped to think about this.
    It made plenty of sense.
    In fact, it made incredible sense. How she felt about anything was entirely in her hands.
    So was how she felt about Cole Devereaux. Even if he thought she was fat, she had the complete power to not be upset about it. And she was fat. There was no denying it. Her BMI was over 26. There was no denying that, just as no one could deny she was a blonde with blue eyes who had two dead parents.
    Tentatively, her arms crept around his neck. Such nice, molded shoulders he had. How nice it was to hold him – to have his body against hers, to have his scent cling to hers, to have his warmth seep into her flesh.
    She never wanted him to let her go.
    They held each other for a long time. Silently, wordlessly. And all her hurt and worries slowly ebbed away.

17
     
    Ellen stared at the newly found artifact.
    It was a bracelet. And what an unusual bracelet it was. It was made of ivory, and it had delicate carvings of half-men, half-goats on it.
    She was at the bottom of the excavated pit. She felt like a real archeologist, with her arms and legs covered with dirt up to the elbows and knees. It was a warm day, and sweat beaded her dusty brow. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had never felt happier.
    “What do you think?” Cole asked her. He was just as sweaty and dirty, but she thought he had never looked more roguish.
    “It’s beautiful,” she said in awe. “I mean . . . it’s beautiful for its time, which I suppose is ancient. Not that the concept of beauty is ancient, I mean . . . I mean it’s beautiful even it was hanging off the rack of a contemporary gift shop.”
    She caught him smiling.
    “Uh, I’m babbling again, aren’t I?”
    “Yes, you are.”
    She blushed. “I’m trying not to do it that often, but I’ve been doing it all my life. Like when I’m nervous. Like now. Not that I’m nervous around you . . . or maybe I am . . . ”
    Ohhhhh !
    He was smiling more broadly than ever. “You don’t have to stop doing it. It’s cute . . . and I like it.”
    OK, now her cheeks were really hot.
    He held up the bracelet in the sun. “This specimen is almost intact. I’ll have to have it carbon-dated. But it’s the second artifact we’ve found on this site.” His eyes sparkled. “You know what it means, don’t you?”
    “Um . . . that you have found two artifacts so far?”
    “This means that I’m right.”
    “Like in . . . everything?”
    His excitement was actually contagious. If she could figure out what he was trying to say.
    “I’m mostly right,” he said, “but not in everything. I will reserve that for the domain of my father, who is definitely right all of the time. No . . . it means that I’m inching towards being right about my theory.”
    She had heard a lot about his theory this past week, but she still let him continue.
    “You see, my research into arcane shifter lore – contributed mostly by the Annals of Jupiter, which is kind of like the Dead Sea Scrolls for shifter history – tells me that there was truly a shifter community here. They might have lived here for a while. Left some jewelry and decoration items, certainly. That’s why we have to dig deeper. Find pottery, latrines and stuff.”
    His eyes were dancing again like a kid at Christmas.
    “Latrines are good.” She smiled, her heart warming up. He was so fun to watch when he was immersed in his work.
    For the past week , she had been helping him