The Wish List

by Linda Leigh Hargrove

  The Wish List

  Southern Christmas Lights Romance Novella — Book 3

  Linda Leigh Hargrove

  Copyright Notice

  Copyright © 2019 Linda Leigh Hargrove

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permission, contact:

  www.TheFaithToWrite.com/contact

  Cover Design by Linda Hargrove

  Stock photography from depositphotos.com

  To those seeking refuge

  Linda’s Books

  Isaac Hunt Novel Series

  The Making of Isaac Hunt

  Loving Cee Cee Johnson

  Saving Tate Michaels

  Newland Road Novella Series

  History Lessons

  Walking Music

  Cooking School

  Southern Christmas Lights Novella Series

  Santa’s Secret

  Letters from Santa

  The Wish List

  Sign up for my email list to receive a free short story: http://eepurl.com/M7oT

  Chapter 1

  “You can’t do this to us,” Freddie Martinez’s mother said, near tears. “Let’s just have a nice Saturday dinner together. Just sit down, mija.”

  Freddie looked at the rest of her family, her father and two older brothers and sister-in-law, glaring back at her. “Do what, Mami? It’s not like I’m dragging the family name through the mud. I just want to expand my doggone flipping business.”

  “Don’t use those words in my house,” her father corrected, his dark brown eyes flashing challenge.

  “What words, Papi?” she asked, not caring one single bit that she challenged the patriarch of the family with her sister-in-law sitting across the table from her. Her father was a wise man …usually…but he was wrong on this thing. “My own business apart from Martinez Construction? My business? Those words?”

  Her abuela shuffled into the dining room carrying a tray with dishes of tembleque. Abbi’s pudding was the best but the opposition she was receiving at the moment had ruined her appetite for dessert.

  “Stop yelling,” her second-oldest brother Esteban yelled. “You’ll upset Abbi.”

  Smiling up at her, Abbi placed the tray on the table and sat down in the chair next to Freddie.

  “You don’t care about Abbi?” Esteban patted their abuela on her wrinkled hands.

  At a twenty-five-year old, he was helpful and dependable. Two traits she usually liked but not in this heated moment. She needed someone on her side. Just one.

  “What’s going on?” Abbi asked as she tried to adjust her hearing aid.

  Danny, her older brother sat forward. “Nothing, Abbi. Just Freddie pitching a fit ‘cause Papi wouldn’t loan her money for her crazy business idea.”

  “It’s not crazy,” she said. “It will work. I can make it work.”

  “On your own?” her sister-in-law, Carmen, asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I can.”

  “You’re still at Brighton,” Danny yelled back. “Been there forever. If you are all that, you could have left them years ago and started this business. What kind of name is Dandelion Homes, anyway?”

  She growled at him like she used to do when she was little. “I’ve built one tiny house already. I need capital for expansion. I just explained all this. Was anybody listening to me? I worked up the numbers.” She grabbed the print out beside her dinner plate.

  “Oh, Pequeñita,” her mother moaned. “Please…”

  Pequeñita?

  She wanted to shout that she was not pequeño anymore. No longer a little girl. No longer playing with dolls and climbing trees in the backyard.

  Why couldn’t they see she had done her homework? They were bound and determined to stand in her way.

  “You’re upsetting your mother,” her father said. “We voted.”

  “Tiny houses are on the way out, Papi,” Danny said addressing their father before turning back on her. “You can’t do it, Freddie. Not on your own. We, the owners of Martinez Construction, just sat here and took a vote. And your idea was voted down, Freddie. Accept it. Stop being a spoiled baby sister. This ain’t gonna work out. Just like all the other mess you’ve tried. Just like when you moved in with that Carlos dude. He wanted to start a tiny home outfit too. Look how that turned out? Didn’t even marry you.”

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything, Danny?”

  Their mother was crying now. “Oh, Danny. Please stop.” Her voice was weak, and her hands shook as she dabbed at her eyes.

  “Both of you, stop,” Papi demanded. “Daniel, that’s enough. Frederica, sweetheart, we had each other when we started Martinez Construction. All of us together. None of this going off and doing your own thing, Pequeñita. This is nonsense. These small homes. It’s a fad. We need you to come back. Work for MC again. Stop this nonsense.”

  Nonsense?

  Ouch. That hurt. Just like that smirk on Carmen’s face.

  The corners of Abbi’s mouth turned down. “¿Frederica, no quieres casarte?”

  “Si, abuela. I want to get married,” Freddie said.

  Even Abbi was against her.

  “Sigues siendo bonita,” her abuela added, her smiling face beaming hope.

  You are still pretty.

  “Gee thanks, Abbi for making me feel so … so unwanted.” She left the dining room.

  Her mother called after her. “Where are you going, Freddie?”

  “Nowhere. I’m going nowhere. Fast!”

  In her wake, she heard Carmen’s voice. “She’s so opinionated and stubborn.”

  Double ouch. When was having an opinion something bad anyway?

  Angry tears streaked her face as Freddie collected her coat and purse and left. The drive from her parents’ home in Raleigh to Wake City where she was supposed to meet her bestie Chelsea Parker took half an hour.

  Thirty minutes to cry and vent her frustration over her situation. Thirty minutes to scream out in anger at her absent family. Thirty minutes to pour out her concern to God. No answers came. Not even from the Almighty. Was He punishing her for her past mistakes?

  By the time she pulled up along Crescent Avenue in Wake City’s historic district, she was better…on the outside, at least. That’s all that mattered for now.

  Dandelion Tiny Homes would be a reality. If her father and mother wouldn’t loan her the startup capital, she’d find the seed money from somewhere else. She ducked her head and dabbed at the moisture collecting around her eyes as she hiked up the sidewalk toward Chelsea.

  Freddie dodged a lady walking a friendly dog. Someone stood talking with Chelsea. It was Monica Ferguson, one of Chelsea’s old high school buddies. Monica was nice but she seemed to be perpetually perky and had a flair for the dramatic. Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader, Freddie supposed.

  Freddie drew a deep breath and pulled her happy face on.

  Show time.

  Monica clapped her hands and let out a squeal of delight when she saw Freddie. “Yay, here’s Freddie.”

  “Hello, y’all,” Freddie said. She let Chelsea pull her into a hug. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Everything okay?” Chelsea asked before releasing her.

  “Yeah,” Freddie said, adding a little laugh for good measure. “Why are you guys standing out here? I thought you wanted to go to the bookstore to hear Marc read to the crumb snatchers.”

  “Not yet. Monica is having a moment.” Chelsea nudged Freddie with her elbow. “Play along, Freddie. Monica means well. She’s an only child. Extremely spoiled, I suspect.”

  Smi
ling, Monica held up an index finger. “I resent that. I’m only slightly spoiled.” She giggled. “I can’t help it. I’m so excited for us. All three of us. I know you don’t know me that well, Freddie, but...I just feel so happy. I feel like a kid again.” She paused and turned to look at the long brick building across the street. She beamed and let out a sigh.

  Chelsea was smiling at the building too.

  “Somebody fill me in,” Freddie whispered.

  “This,” Chelsea said, pointing at the structure, “is the business incubator I told you Monica was opening. You are starting a business, right?”

  Freddie grumbled, “Not if you ask my dad.”

  “That bad, huh?” Chelsea asked.

  Freddie looked down and willed the tears away.

  No more crying.

  Unfazed, Monica kept going. “Although this is my brainchild, it’s for everybody in this community. People who were born here, like me and Chels, and for people who move into the area, like you Freddie. We each represent potential.”

  “This is getting deep,” Freddie said. Her comment earned her another jab from Chelsea.

  “When people count you out,” Monica said. “You’re not done for. Here…” She fanned her arms out to take in the expanse of the building. “Here is your room to put down roots, to grow, to expand your territory. Crescent Hub. That’s what I’m calling it.”

  Freddie smiled. “I like that, Monica.”

  Maybe this rich white chica wasn’t that spacy after all.

  Monica beamed. “Thank you. The sign was supposed to be hung today but the workers are behind schedule.” She sighed. “This Christmas is going to be magical, sisters. I feel it. And next year. It’s gonna be great for each of us. Just wait and see. Anything can happen. I feel it in my spirit. And I’m not just saying that because you and Marc are getting married next June.” She gave Chelsea a little hug.

  “You and Ciro are next,” Chelsea said.

  “I dunno about that.” Monica shrugged. “That man is dragging his feet.”

  “He’s got a restaurant to run,” Chelsea said. “Might be a little busy.”

  “Speaking of busy. I need to go check on this cleanup crew inside the Hub.” Monica pulled Freddie and Chelsea into a group hug. “Bye, loves. See y’all later tonight. Maybe.”

  Chelsea waved at Monica as she rapidly put distance between them. “You’re always busy, Moni. You need to slow down and enjoy yourself.”

  Monica gave them a backwards wave as she jogged across the street. “Not yet. I’ve got seven days to get ready for our big Christmas party. No rest for the weary. It’s gotta be perfect. You know me. A constantly spinning top.”

  “That’s for sure,” Freddie said when Monica was out of earshot. “Small doses.”

  “Be nice, Freddie.” Chelsea pulled Freddie into a side hug and started walking down the sidewalk. “She was our high school cheer captain all four years for a reason. Always spinning.”

  They walked past the entrance of Ciro’s Place, the restaurant Monica’s boyfriend ran. They’d had many happy moments in that place since it opened in January.

  “Where are you dragging me?” Freddie asked.

  “Dragging you to happiness.”

  “Chef Ciro cooks up happiness.” Inside the restaurant, Freddie saw stout white candles on each table and a string of tiny twinkling lights hanging in swags above the windows. The perfect place for drowning her sorrows in a big plate of cheesy lasagna. “And his peppermint latte is delicioso.” Chelsea kept walking. Freddie moaned. “I hope this little excursion has chocolate or coffee involved.”

  “Hmm hmm. The bookstore down the street has coffee.” Chelsea stopped walking and turned to face Freddie. “I don’t want to talk about coffee. I want to talk about you. Tell me what happened with your parents today.”

  Don’t go there, Chels.

  Freddie pasted on a smile and looked away. “I’m good. Always good. You know what? This little town is growing on me. I can see why you decided to settle here instead of coming back to Raleigh with me.”

  Up ahead city workers were hanging Christmas decorations. Tucked among a stand of bare-limbed oaks in the distance, Freddie spied the deep green triangular top of the city’s Christmas tree. City officials were planning a tree lighting on the upcoming Saturday. It was being billed as a big community event with line dancing and caroling and carnival games for the kids. The largest car dealership, Ferguson Motors, was even giving away a car. Sounded like something Monica Ferguson had pulled together. The woman knew how to make a big to-do out of the simplest thing. As long as there was good food there, Freddie was happy. Or at least distracted enough to not get too down about being stuck in a dead-end job and having her dreams dashed.

  My dead-end life.

  Chelsea has launched into her pep-talk tone of voice. Freddie’s mind went a little numb as she rambled on, praising Freddie for this and that work accomplishment. It only served to remind her of the stuff she hadn’t done in her life. She’d been with the same construction management company since college graduation. Yes indeed, she was good at what she did but her career accolades had more to do with fear of striking out on her own than her superior work ethic. Maybe that’s what her dad was getting at. He saw that she didn’t really have what it takes to succeed on her own. The thought sobered and infuriated her at the same time.

  You’re a chicken, Freddie.

  Further down the sidewalk beyond Chelsea, Freddie saw a man walking toward them. He was on his cell phone, but she was able to see one side of his dark attractive features. The tails of his black pea coat flapped in the breeze. What looked like expensive snakeskin boots covered his feet and dark glasses shrouded his eyes. Who wore a wool coat on such a warm December day? There was something about his swagger that caught her attention. It was sexy and alluring. This stranger held her interest a little too much.

  Dear Lord, if you’re still listening to this poor sinner …

  Was she really about to ask the Almighty to orchestrate a meeting with a stranger?

  Nevermind, Lord. Forgive me.

  Chelsea swatted her arm. “Freddie, you’re not even listening to me.”

  “I uh …”

  Chelsea glanced back in time to see the man duck into the bookstore. “You were ogling a dude. Really?”

  “No … well, only a little. He had on a pea coat. That caught my attention, see. Like, who wears a thick wool pea coat in this weather? He could be a real bad guy. A stalker or sex traffiker or day trader, or something like that.”

  “You’re too much.”

  “And he was kinda cute.”

  “Not your type.”

  “Since when are cute guys not my type?”

  Chelsea chuckled. “You’re crazy to think you can just walk into a bookstore and find a guy.”

  “You found a guy in the library. A big strapping specimen of a man too. Choco-Santa Baby. Apparently, guys who are interested in books are okay. At least he’s literate. He’ll be able to read my texts.”

  Her friend put her head back and laughed. “Your texts can be very cryptic with all those emojis. He’s going to have to be a Ph.D. in linguistics to decipher your text language.”

  “Hey, I’m complicated.”

  “Yes, you are. My complicated, wonderful friend who is not a failure.”

  “Chels, please.”

  “I’m only trying—”

  “Listen, I’m okay. Sure, things are not going great with my fam right now. They’re all against me. And my love life. Gee, what love life?”

  “You are out-going and funny and pretty.”

  I haven’t had a real date in over six months. The Starbucks guy and I talk regularly but that doesn’t really count, does it. But I’m good.”

  “You are sweet and kind and hard working.”

  “Stop it, Chelsea Parker. Stop giving me positive feedback. It’s getting a little freaky. I’m a tad down and mad at my family
for ripping my business idea to shreds but I’m good. For all I know, I could walk into this bookshop and bump into mysterious coat-wearing guy with loads of money and nice boots.”

  “Oh, now he has nice boots. You were really checking this guy out, weren’t you?”

  Freddie shrugged. “They were nice boots, actually. Reminded me of a pair my dad bought when we lived in Texas.”

  Chelsea linked arms with Freddie again and started walking. “We’re going to do that girls trip to Texas, remember?”

  “Yeah sure.”

  “No really. But today, we’re going to go in this bookstore to support Marc during his Santa Story Hour.”

  “This shows me how much you love this man.”

  “I can love Marc without agreeing with his stance on that particular Christmas myth. Love isn’t about thinking the same way on everything. As far as you are concerned, you will keep me company because I’m bribing you with coffee and a big honking chocolate chip cookie.”

  “The ones as big as a cat’s head?” She made a circle with her hands. “Like the size of one of those Maine Coon cats.”

  “You watch too much nature TV. Yes, a big ole cat-head cookie for you, my dear.”

  “Lead me on, sister. And if I come out of here with a date to the Wake City Christmas shindig, all the better. Anything to take my mind off my troubles.”

  Chapter 2

  Coffee cup in hand, Freddie followed Chelsea toward the rowdy laughter in the children’s section of the bookstore. Marc Waterman, Chelsea’s fiancé, sat on a wooden barstool at one end with a red Santa hat perched on his head. A small crowd of tykes sat cross-legged on the multi-colored carpet around him.

  Marc raised both hands in the air and addressed his happy preschool audience. “Do you guys want another story?”

  The group of children erupted into applause and yelps of delight. Some parents cheered too. Santa Marc laughed and motioned for them to settle down. “Okay. Okay. Just one more. But first I want to introduce you to my new friend, Elf Zeus. He’s a software whiz from Texas.”