I glow with a little smile. “You’re welcome, Mr. Wish.”
“You were following me, weren’t you?” he mutters, succumbing to my relaxation technique.
What do I tell him? It’s horribly embarrassing to admit the truth, but sitting here, touching him, smelling his sweet breath and my boob on his chest—I don’t think I can lie. It feels wrong to have your nipple touching someone and just lie. “It was nice of you to bring that woman groceries.”
He doesn’t speak, but one corner of his mouth curls. “I like you, Ginnie,” he says quietly.
“Do you now?” Does he mean like-like or just like? Either way, my body is getting hotter and the air in the car seems to be gone.
“I don’t remember the last time anyone did something for me,” he adds.
How sad. “Well, maybe they want to, but you don’t let them.” Just a wild guess.
“Perhaps,” he grumbles and nods off quietly.
“Mr. Wish?” I whisper to be sure he’s asleep.
He doesn’t respond, but his broad chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
I slowly pull my hands away and stare down at his face. He’s so damned beautiful I can hardly stand it. But unlike before, when I wanted to know his story, now it feels like a need.
Who is this gorgeous man? And why am I suddenly wanting to come clean about my real wish? No, I don’t mean having him deliver my groceries, although, that wouldn’t be so bad if it were part of a bigger package. A romantic relationship sort of package.
I eye his lips.
I know I shouldn’t. I really, really know, but I can’t help myself. I lean down and plant a gentle kiss on his resting mouth. His lips are soft and silky, and I can only imagine what it would feel like if he were giving kisses rather than me stealing one.
“Glad I could help,” I whisper.
I grab my purse and quietly slide from his car, leaving the flowers on the seat before locking the doors.
I’m going to go get him some water and a cup of coffee down the road at the gas station. My grandma always wanted both to help with a headache.
By the time I return in my truck, Mr. Wish is gone, and I’m not going to lie; there’s a little tick of disappointment in my gut. I still have so many questions.
I run my fingertips over my still tingling lips, wondering when I’ll see him again.
I can’t do this. I don’t even know this guy. After Greg and having my heart smashed to a million pieces, I’d be an idiot to be attracted to a man I know nothing about.
But what if I could change that?
Chapter Thirteen
Knowing it’s a little late, I decide to roll the dice and return to the thrift store. By the time I park out back and get to the front door, that blonde woman is flipping the sign to CLOSED.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling open the door. “I’d let you browse for a few minutes, but I have to leave. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“Actually, I’m not here to shop. I…” Crap. How do I explain why I’m really here? “I noticed that brand-new horse trailer out back and was wondering where you got it. I’ve been looking for one just like it. For my pony. It is yours, right?” What a bunch of contrived BS.
“Oh, that belongs to an associate. He’s actually returning it to—not sure to where, actually. But they’re coming by tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. He needed someone to sign, so he’s leaving it here. I can ask for details when they come by if you want to leave your number.”
I suddenly think of how Mr. Wish accused me of being a liar, and now I feel the guilt scratching at the pit of my stomach.
“You know what?” I whoosh out a breath. “That’s a lie. I don’t want to buy a horse trailer. In fact, that one parked out back was meant for me.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Her brown eyes go wide, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She throws a mask on. “I’m really not sure what you’re talking about. Look, I really gotta go.” She starts closing the door, and I shove my foot in the crack.
Ouch. “I just want to know who he is.”
“Sorry. Can’t help you. Please remove your foot.”
“Obviously, you know Mr. Wish. I saw the two of you hugging earlier.” I shrug awkwardly and crinkle my nose. “I may have followed him here.”
She gives a tug on the door, puckering her lips with frustration. My foot aches, but that door ain’t shuttin’ ’til I’m good and ready!
“I’m not here to cause problems,” I say.
“Then what do you want? Other than to make me late to my appointment?”
I don’t know how to answer her question without sounding a little crazy myself. “The truth is…” I shake my head at my own ridiculousness, “I’m trying to figure out if he’s trouble. Or dangerous?” I wince at that last word. I hate to even ask, because my gut tells me I’d never be attracted to him if he were, but that’s the problem; I don’t trust my gut anymore.