The Twenty-First Wish

by Debbie Macomber

  Really? He was cheating on her with that? Celeste looked so much better in her bikini.

  “Not pizza delivery,” she snarled as she marched to the kitchen. “Chicken soup. For the sickie.” She slammed the container on the counter.

  Emerson was in the living room now, looking back and forth between the women, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Celeste demanded.

  He swallowed. “This is Becky.”

  “Becky,” Celeste said sweetly. “I’m Celeste. The girlfriend. Emerson and I have been seeing each for a year now. You know, hanging out, taking trips, going to the shooting range. Having sex,” she added, throwing him the look of death. “How about you, Becky? How long have you and Emerson been seeing each other?” Having sex.

  Becky’s eyes were slits, and she turned them on Emerson. “You … bastard.” She wheeled around and marched back to the bedroom.

  “Becky, wait,” he called, then he frowned at Celeste. “What are you doing here?”

  “I made you chicken soup because I thought you were sick. You’re sick all right, you rotten cheating douche bag.” She grabbed her offering. “You don’t deserve this.” And he sure didn’t deserve her.

  Emerson trailed after her. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  Yeah, that was why he’d lowered his voice.

  But she’d heard. She’d gathered her clothes and was steaming toward the door. “Thanks a lot,” she snarled.

  “Obviously, I don’t mean anything either,” Celeste said, and followed her.

  “Beck, I mean, Celeste, wait,” he called.

  Celeste stopped long enough to glare at him. “I wasted so many kisses on you. And a year of my life I’ll never get back.” She pointed a finger at him. “I thought you were so noble. A cop, for crying out loud. There oughta be a law against cheating and you oughta be sent to love jail. For life.”

  With that parting shot, she slammed the door after her and stamped down the stairs behind Becky, almost as fast as the tears racing down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” Becky said as the two women walked to the parking lot, fuming side by side. “I had no idea. He said he was divorced.”

  “Oh, he is. His wife was a bitch.”

  “Wouldn’t have sex with him,” Becky added. “Didn’t really care about him.”

  Celeste swiped away a tear and shook her head. What a pair of fools they were. “How long…?”

  “Three months.”

  Three months! For three months he’d been playing her, seeing another woman on the side. “So, you were those extra shifts he’s been pulling.” Enjoy the ride, he’d kept saying. He’d taken her for a ride all right.

  “He told me he had to work extra shifts, too,” Becky said. She stopped at the jazzy little convertible right next to Celeste’s Prius. “I really am sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Celeste assured her. “I just hope someday he gets what’s coming to him.”

  The smile blooming on Becky’s face looked positively evil. “He will. My dad’s his chief. And Daddy feels strongly about his men living up to the badge they wear.”

  Celeste gave her a smile in return. “Good. I’m sorry we met like this. I hope next time you find someone who’s not a … Emerson.”

  “I will,” Becky said with confidence. “You, too.”

  Celeste thanked her and got in her car. With her chicken soup. Then she cried her way home. Emerson had seemed so perfect. She’d wanted him so much, given so much of herself to the relationship, and all she’d gotten in return was a broken heart.

  “Girl, I don’t know how you do it,” her friend Vanita said later that night as they sat on Celeste’s little balcony. She’d called Vanita, who had come right over to be with her in her time of sorrow, bringing a listening ear and ice cream.

  “What is wrong with me that I didn’t figure out what was going on?” Celeste gave her chocolate cherry ice cream a stir. Her second bowl, but who was counting? At least she wasn’t eating out of the carton. She hadn’t stooped to that.

  “Other than the fact that you’re too trusting and figure everyone has principles? Nothing.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten serious so fast,” Celeste said with a frown. “Jenna’s right. I’m always rushing into relationships.”

  “Well, I gotta say, he did seem like a keeper.”

  “And to think I could have had his friend, Rob. He just got engaged.”

  “Easier to do that when you only have one woman to concentrate on,” Vanita said. “Gosh, what a pile of poop that Emerson is.”

  “Now I know why he never said he loved me. He didn’t.” Oh, boy, here came the tears again. Celeste wiped her eyes and took a big bite of ice cream.

  “And be glad you found out now. What if he’d finally asked you to marry him? You know if he’d cheat on you now he’d do it when you were married.”

  “I am so through with men.”

  “Your sister said the same thing and look at her now. They’re not all bad. Your perfect man will come along.”

  “There is no such thing.”

  Vanita pointed her spoon at Celeste. “Don’t you go talking like that. You’re gonna find someone who appreciates you. Meanwhile, don’t be such a pushover for a six pack and nice smile.”

  “I’m not that shallow,” Celeste protested.

  “No, but you’re just too … well, I don’t know. Eager.”

  Yes, she supposed she was. But darn it all, she only wanted a good man and that TV sitcom slappy, happy life she’d yearned for as a kid. Not that her mother and the grandparents hadn’t given her and her sister a good life. But there had been a key piece missing. A dad. Her father had died when she was a baby.

  So, was that her problem? Was she always looking for the dad she never had? Did she need therapy?

  No, darn it. She needed a man who wouldn’t cheat.

  “You gotta start protecting your heart, girl. And don’t be givin’ it away to every man who comes along with a smooth line.”

  “Hey, no shaming,” Celeste said irritably.

  “I’m not shaming. I’m lecturing. Get tough.”

  Get tough. Yeah. She could do that. Next time she was at the gym and saw Emerson… Eeew. She didn’t want to go to the gym any more. She’d be bound to see him.

  What if she did run into him? What if he told her he realized he’d been a fool and he wanted her back?

  Heaven help her, she’d probably take him with open arms. She had to get out of town.

  “Why don’t you go spend some time with your sister this summer,” her mom suggested when Celeste told her that she and Emerson were no more. “Life is always good at the beach.”

  “Life isn’t good anywhere right now,” Celeste grumbled.

  “It will be get better,” her mom promised. And if anyone should know, it would be Melody Jones. Widowed young and left with two little girls to raise, she’d carved out a happy life for herself. And all without a man. “Meanwhile,” she added.

  “I know. Look for the rainbow in the storm.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her mom was right. What was the sense in moping? When the going got tough, the tough… went to the beach.

  So as soon as school was out, Celeste packed her bikini and flip flops and drove to Moonlight Harbor, a small beach town on the Washington Coast to stay with her sister and niece and great aunt. Mom had brought Jenn and her there for many happy visits when they were kids, so it felt like coming home as she drove through the white stone gateway at the town’s entrance.

  There was Nora Singleton’s ice cream parlor, where their Uncle Ralph took them for sundaes. There were the cute cabana shops she’d enjoyed visiting her last time down. There were the deer, grazing on the grass in the meridian. They drove the town’s gardeners nuts, eating up flowers before they could bloom, but Celeste thought they were sweet. She loved their big, brown, trusting eyes. They all had brains the size of a peanut and often trotted out
in front of oncoming cars, but luckily for the deer, people always stopped for them. Yes, here people cared for the clueless and trusting. Moonlight Harbor was the perfect place to mend a broken heart.

  Or get stopped by a cop. She could feel her sunny smile slipping away as she pulled over. She was scowling by the time one of Moonlight Harbor’s finest came up to her driver’s window. He was cute, with sandy hair and hazel eyes. He, too, probably had a six pack just like Emerson.

  “What?” she demanded, making him blink.

  “Uh, you’ve got a taillight out,” he stammered, his cheeks turning pink.

  “Oh.” Okay, she needed to holster her guns. “Well, um, thank you officer. That was really nice of you. I’ll get it fixed right away.”

  He nodded and told her to have a good day, then returned to his car.

  “Everyone is not an Emerson,” she told herself. But she was so over cops.

  The very thought of Emerson put that frown back on her face, until she pulled into the parking lot of the Driftwood Inn. A one-story building with only twenty rooms, it was a relic from the sixties. But it was a refurbished relic with lots of charm, painted blue with white trim. The office had driftwood outside it and a fisherman’s net hanging on the front exterior. And the pool, that was the best. It had a mermaid swimming under a full moon painted on the bottom. The whole place called, “Come on back in time to when life was simple. Stay and have a good time.” She intended to.

  Her sister was working the front desk when she walked in and Jenna’s face lit up at the sight of her. “You’re here!” she cried and rushed to hug Celeste.

  “I am so ready to turn into a sand crab,” Celeste said.

  “And we’re all so ready to have you. Perfect timing, too, since my latest maid quit.”

  “You’re going to work me to death in housekeeping on my summer break?”

  “Only mornings,” Jenna said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go over to the house.”

  “Don’t you have to stay in the office?”

  “No one’s due to check in,” Jenna said. “Besides, my cell number is posted in the rooms. If anyone has an emergency they can call me.”

  “Just so they don’t call me.” Only the week before Jenna had cut their phone conversation short because she’d been summoned to a room to deal with an overflowing toilet. Her sister was a saint.

  Her great aunt’s house where Jenna and Celeste’s niece lived was an old, two story charmer complete with gables and a big front porch. Jenna had focused her first summer on getting the motel up and running. This summer the house was getting a face lift with blue paint and white trim to match the motel. Work had begun, and the second story was already half painted.

  They went inside to find Aunt Edie settled on the couch, crocheting granny squares for an afghan, Jolly Roger, her parrot perched on the back of it, supervising. She was wearing her favorite elastic waist jeans and a pink sweatshirt that clashed with her cherry red, tightly permed hair and her coral lipstick.

  “Look what I found,” Jenna announced.

  “Oh, Celeste darling!” Aunt Edie cried, pushing herself up from the couch and coming to greet her great niece. In her early eighties and still active and happy, she was an inspiration.

  “Thanks for letting me come,” Celeste said, bending over to hug her. What there was of her. Father Time had stuck Aunt Edie in a compactor, shrinking her.

  “You know you’re always welcome here,” she told Celeste. “Isn’t she, Roger?”

  “Always welcome,” Roger repeated. “Call the cops.”

  “No more cops,” Celeste cracked.

  This made her aunt look at her in concern. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” Celeste assured her. “I had a lucky escape.”

  “Well, not all police are like that. We have some good ones here. And they’re single.”

  “Oh, yeah,” put in Jenna with a grin. “Frank Stubbs would be more than happy to help you heal your heartache.”

  “I was thinking of that nice Victor King,” said Aunt Edie.

  “I might have met him on my way in,” Celeste said. “Kind of tall. Blushes easily?”

  “That would be the one,” Jenna said. “He is a sweetie.”

  “There is no such thing.”

  “Oh, my,” said Aunt Edie, worried.

  “Call the cops,” advised Roger.

  “We have to teach him some new words,” Celeste said. “Emerson’s a rat. Can you say that, Roger? Emerson’s a rat.”

  Roger shook out his feathers and shut his beak.

  “You men all stick together,” Celeste muttered.

  “Well, Aunt Edie said briskly. “You know where to put your things. I’ll get some lemonade and cookies.”

  “And I’ll call Sabrina,” Jenna said. “She and Tristan are at the tennis courts with Jennifer and Hudson, trying to play tennis.”

  “Don’t drag her away,” said Celeste. “I’ll see her soon enough.”

  “No, she’s going to want to see you. Anyway, she’ll just bring the whole gang here. They’re all addicted to Aunt Edie’s cookies.”

  Lemonade and cookies and her family. What more did a girl need?

  Sex.

  Sigh.

  THE SUMMER RETREAT

  by Sheila Roberts

  Available April 30, 2019

  from MIRA Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Sheila Rabe

  “Debbie Macomber writes characters who are as warm and funny as your best friends.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

  Looking for more from Debbie Macomber? Don’t miss a single moment in her beloved Blossom Street series:

  The Shop on Blossom Street

  A Good Yarn

  Susannah’s Garden

  Back on Blossom Street

  Twenty Wishes

  Summer on Blossom Street

  Hannah’s List

  A Turn in the Road

  “These involving stories, along with Macomber’s familiar characters, continue the Blossom Street themes…that readers find so moving.”

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  Navy Grooms

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  An Engagement in Seattle

  Looking for a Hero

  Between Friends

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  “Prolific Macomber is known for her portrayals of ordinary women in small-town America. [She is] an icon of the genre.”

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  Alaska Skies

  Alaska Nights

  Alaska Home

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  ISBN-13: 9781488052088

  The Twenty-First Wish

  Copyright © 2011 by Debbie Macomber

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor Toronto, ON M5H 4E3 Canada.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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