“Mason Ryan McMillan.” Rebecca shakes her head, her eyes filled with sadness. “I asked why he bought it, not that it’s horrible or anything, but it’s a little gloomy. Very emotional. He said it spoke to him.” She sighs. “Now I know why.”
He said he was trying to figure me out, so he bought a piece of my art. That’s all fine, but the piece he purchased was a representation of a dream that sounds eerily similar to his “death.”
Goose bumps erupt all over my skin. The coincidences are piling up. And now, hearing that I’m somehow triggering his memories is concerning. That’s what the woman in the thrift store meant! She said I was messing with his head. I just don’t know why that would be.
“Okay. Don’t panic,” I say, clearly starting to panic. “So your brother used to be a Scrooge. That doesn’t mean he’s going to start humbugging and go back to the way he was.”
“But you understand why I can’t risk it, don’t you?” she pleads with those sky blue eyes. They’re the same color as his: Mr. Wish. Mason McMillan. Marus Prospero. It only makes me miss him.
“I do, but…” No way in hell am I gonna say any of this out loud. Not even to myself. But there are too many serendipitous events, too many impossibilities to claim that any of this is random. By chance, I showed up at a garage sale, and he stole a bottle from me. I walked into a thrift store a day later and found that exact same bottle again. I dreamed about his “death” and made a mosaic about it, which he picked out of everything in my portfolio and purchased. We ended up on the same plane back to New York, right after I decided I still want him. It feels like we’re being pushed together.
The irony is that I wished for this. All of it. I wanted my faith restored in myself. I wanted to be able to trust my gut again. I wanted to meet a man who could erase what Greg did and prove that selfless people existed in the world. Everything I’ve asked for is coming true.
“But what?” Rebecca pushes.
Now or never, Ginnie. Decide. Do you believe in fate? Do you trust your gut?
I swallow a lump in my throat. “He might remember who he used to be, but he’s never going back to being that sad excuse of a human being.”
“How do you know?” she snaps.
“I won’t let him.”
She throws back her red hair with a laugh. “You don’t understand, Ginnie. No one gets in Mason McMillan’s way. No one. If he’s back, do yourself a favor and get the fuck out.” She turns for the door. “Run.”
If I did that, then I’d be turning my back on everything I’ve wished for. Yes, part of me wonders if I’m being naïve or crazy. I let my ex ruin my life because I wanted my dream so badly—a devoted husband, children, my art, and a life filled with love. But if my gut is right and all of these coincidences aren’t flukes, then I’d be giving up on something truly incredible.
I watch Rebecca leave and make my choice without so much as batting an eyelash. I’m all in. I don’t believe that Marus will go back to being the coldhearted man he once was because either way you slice it, whether he fully remembers who he is or not, Marus seems determined to leave his past behind. He wants Mason to stay gone, and that means something.
I turn straight for my fridge but find a vast empty cavern.
“Dammit. I need to go to the store.” This fuckall of a situation requires salt, fat, sugar, and fermented sugar.
Chapter Twenty
I wish…I wish…someone would stab me in the brain—with very pretty glass, of course—and put me out of my misery. I load my trailer for the farmers’ market, needing time off more than anything in this world. Since Rebecca’s visit a few days ago, I’ve been going apeshit over what to do.
The man Rebecca described as her brother frightens the hell out of me, even if I can’t imagine him and Mr. Wish being the same person.
“What are you doing?” says a masculine voice I’ve been longing to hear.
I turn toward a well-built silhouette. His tall frame blocks out the morning sun.
“Where’ve you been hiding?” I ask.
“I never hide.” He comes forward, and his face falls into view. He’s more gorgeous than ever—freshly shaved and freshly bathed from the smell of him.
The blood in my body starts moving a little faster. There’s no denying my attraction. “Then where do you run off to, Mr. Wish?” I tug on the neck of my long purple sweater, feeling my body heat up.
He steps in closer, our pelvises lightly touching. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Before or after I saw you on the plane and had the sudden urge to jerk off?”