I groan audibly.
“What?” Vi asks.
I press the heels of my palms to my temples. “I don’t know. Maybe he is dying. Maybe he’s seeking redemption for something. But his motive for granting wishes doesn’t explain all of the other bizarre crap we’ve witnessed.” For example, why did he rip the bottle from my hands at that garage sale? How did I end up finding it again at some random thrift store? There was no way he knew I’d be at either location. The list of the inexplicable goes on and on.
“Agreed. So what do you want to do?” she asks.
“I’m not sure, but,” I whoosh out a breath and run my hands over the top of my head, “it’s like he’s a pile of broken glass and somewhere in those fragments is a colorful story.” And for some totally absurd reason I want to find out what that story is.
“Awesome.” Vi throws her hands in the air. “Some dude in a suit invades your home and you want to turn it into crafty-puzzle-time.”
“Come on. You can’t deny that this guy is incredibly interesting.” Sexy, too. I mean, a man who lives to make your biggest wish come to life? It’s something from a fairy tale. Or a very erotic, dirty book, depending what you wish for.
“I wouldn’t use the word interesting. Try ‘spooky as hell.’”
“It’s only spooky if you actually believe spooky things exist. I do not.” I grab my coffee and sip. Delicious. Not even a hint of spookiness.
“Fine. Believe whatever you want, but I don’t like any of it for the simple fact that he’s aggressively generous. It’s like he wants to shove this wish down your throat or up your ass.”
“I’d be okay with that. He is pretty gorgeous.” I hold my mug to my mouth, hiding my dirty little smirk.
“Ginnie! Now look who’s making stupid jokes.”
“Sorry. I can’t help it.” I’m starting to enjoy this whole thing. “I’m just saying there’s a reason for everything, and that includes his unorthodox ways.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Name one. Give me any reason for why he’s doing all this or wants you to wish so badly?”
“I don’t have a clue.” Didn’t I make that clear? “But are you here to help, or are you here to put me down because I’m not someone who sees the world in black and white, like you?” It’s true. With Olivia, it’s always good or bad. Like it or hate it. Slap it or hug it. There is no in between.
“Seriously? You’re questioning my motives for being here?” She huffs and picks up her mug, taking a big gulp of coffee.
“Well, what do you expect, Vi? I feel like you’re putting me down because I can’t make a legal argument for how I feel. Sometimes you just go with your gut. Like when you told Jay it would work out if you put an offer in on that diner. You knew it was meant to be even if the logic said otherwise.” Of course, in her mind that was all about commitment. You’re all in and determined to see things through or you’re not.
“This isn’t even close to that situation because that diner isn’t showing up in my kitchen at eight o’clock in the morning, demanding I make a wish.”
“And making coffee,” I add.
She looks down at her now empty cup and slams it on the counter. “My hangover feels like World War III exploding in my head. So if you’re intent on doing the opposite of exercising sound judgment, then I’ll take a shower and head home.” She marches off toward the bathroom.
“Vi! Come on…”
She slams the door, and the pipes rumble in the wall, announcing the shower running.
“Crap.” I brush the loose strands of hair from my face and take a seat at the kitchen island on my hand-painted wooden stool with little flowers. I know this is insane. I know I should run or hide, but no amount of reasoning is going to change how I feel. It’s like when I tell myself not to eat the last chocolate in the box. My brain says no. My body says, “Walk away from the chocolate, Ginnie,” but deep down inside, I know that chocolate’s going in my mouth.
This is happening.
I’m going to find out who Mr. Wish is, how he’s doing all this, and why. Also, I think it’s time to make that wish. Why not?
Chapter Ten
That evening, after spending the morning giving several apologies and reassuring goodbye hugs to Vi, I finally finish working and sit down to reread “the rules.” Unfortunately, the fine print, including the terms around property ownership, is a little confusing.
For example: say I wished for a private island. It would be completely mine to do with as I like—decorate, build, neglect, whatever—but only while I’m alive. Property doesn’t carry over to anyone else. Friends, family, and children included, though they are allowed to visit as long as they like. The wish has to be solely for my enjoyment. “A wish that will fulfill a personal dream.”