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“So?” he asks.
It strikes me as odd that he seems like a completely different person right now, sincere and happy. A complete one-eighty from the other times we’ve interacted.
I also like this version better. I like it a little too much.
I lace my fingers together and squeeze away some of the tension. “Yes?” I plaster a smile to my lips and clear my throat. “I mean…yes! I do. It’s amazing. How did you know?”
He stares for the longest moment and then, “Fuck.” He shakes his head and marches off to the driver’s side of the truck.
“Where are you going?” I call out, surprised by how much I don’t want him to leave. Not before I find out why he came back. I thought I’d never see him again.
He slides behind the wheel, face red. “Where do you think?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
He slams the door shut and rolls down the window. “I don’t need your lies, Ginnie.”
“My lies?”
“This only works if you’re one hundred percent honest, which you’ve just neglected to do. Remember, I don’t like games, so don’t make me regret changing my rules for you.”
He changed his rules for me. I want to know why, but what does it matter when he’s about to leave and I don’t want him to?
I raise my palms in surrender. “Okay. Fine, the horse ranch isn’t something I’d wish for. Like, ever. But that doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly touched or that I don’t love the fact you, a stranger, put so much thought into making me happy. But me not wanting to insult your generosity doesn’t make me a liar.”
“Oh really,” he says, his voice deep and cocky.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Isn’t your wish and everything you wrote on that paper a lie?”
No. Maybe. Sort of? “I’m not accustomed to running around hoping for stuff to fall out of the sky, okay? I believe in deciding what you want and working hard for it.”
“A wish is not a hope,” he gripes. “It’s a plea to the universe to make your deepest desires come true. And while I hate to brag, I can help with that. So why won’t you simply tell me what you really want?”
“Because I don’t know…” how to say it.
He narrows his blue eyes. “You do know, but for whatever reason you won’t tell me. Perhaps it embarrasses you to say it out loud?”
I hate that he sees right through me. It’s unnerving. Which is why I say nothing.
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Whatever the case, you can relax. I’ve broken the rules and decided to meet your challenge.”
“Who makes the rules?” I can’t help asking.
“I do.”
“So why break them? Why me?”
“Maybe you deserve a happy ending. Maybe I want to give it to you.”
Blood rushes to my chest and face while my mind offers the X-rated meaning. It is impossible to look at this Adonis and not feel something carnal. Add to that: he’s mysterious, complicated, and, well, he’s more than just intriguing. He’s downright irresistible.
Likely noticing my blushing face, he suddenly frowns. “Stop it. I didn’t mean ‘happy ending’ in that sense. It’s clearly stated in the fine print that I am never on the wish list.”
That’s a damned shame. I try to mask my disappointment with irritation. “Wow. Look who’s full of himself. I wasn’t—”
“I did not ask for your opinion of me. I merely ask for honesty. If you lie to me again, this is over.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of abrasive for a genie?”
His eyes spark with subtle amusement—a first. “See you in a few days, Ginnie.” He rolls up the window and drives off.
Once again, I simply stand there, dumfounded by this man—his actions, his story, the source of his money—and watch him disappear.
Wait. I should follow him. He can’t be driving all that fast, towing a horse trailer.
I run inside, grab my purse and keys, and hop in my truck.
Chapter Twelve
“What the sweet baby Jesus?” Crouched down, I watch from my truck in the alley as Mr. Wish parks the trailer behind the thrift store where I found the bottle. I notice his black Mercedes is parked there, too.
He goes in through the back employee entrance and emerges a few minutes later, chatting with that blonde woman I saw the first time I came here. The two are smiling and laughing like old friends. Then they hug, and she waves as he leaves in his car.
What in the steaming-pile-of-secrets is going on? They know each other. Really well.
I tuck my falling loose hair back inside my big straw sunhat—the one I use for the farmers’ market—which looks pretty weird because it’s early evening and a chilly day.
I wait until his sedan is turning the corner before I crank up the ’80s love ballads on the radio and resume following him. I hate cheesy songs sung to synthesizer music, but anything to distract me from my nerves. If he spots me, I’ll die of embarrassment.
