Saving Wishes (The Wishes Series)

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “You and I really need to talk.”

  “So, talk.”

  He grimaced. “Not right now.”

  Everything was becoming too serious.

  “What happened in there, Alex?” I asked.

  “We’ll talk when I get back from Stanley,” he promised.

  “Is it bad?”

  “Oh, Charli.” He spoke so sympathetically that I was beginning to regret not taking Adam up on his offer. Perhaps we should have kept driving. “I promise it’s nothing bad.”

  I deliberated for a long moment, still trying to make sense of nothing. I glanced across at Alex who was staring straight ahead at the road. His whole body was rigid and his expression was grim. Pressing him for information wasn’t the solution. I wasn’t sure what was. How do you fix something when you have no idea what the problem is?

  “Fine. We’ll deal with it later then,” I agreed, reluctantly.

  ***

  I managed to catch Nicole the next day at lunchtime.

  “Hey,” I said glumly, dumping my bag on the table.

  She was preoccupied, furiously texting. She glanced briefly at me, to let me know she’d heard me. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer,” I told her.

  “I know. I had an early night,” she replied absently. Finally she slipped her phone into her pocket and shifted to face me. “How was dinner?”

  “It sucked.”

  “Why?”

  I told her everything that had happened in great detail – just as I would have if she’d taken my phone call the night before.

  “Oh ,well.” Her tone grated on me almost as much as the way she shrugged her shoulders.

  “That’s it? Something huge is going on. I have no clue what or how to deal with it, and you say ‘Oh, well’?”

  Nicole started packing up her stack of books and her untouched sandwich, as if she was in a major hurry.

  “Look, families fight,” she reasoned, pausing for a second. “The witch obviously did something to upset Adam and he arced up. I doubt it’s anything to do with you.”

  “But nothing happened. He was having a spat with Alex, Gabrielle spilled some wine and Adam lost the plot, ranting at her in French.”

  She jumped off the table and I knew I had her attention for about three more seconds.

  “Maybe he caught her casting an evil spell on you.”

  The witch references were getting old. “Not funny, Nicole.”

  “You’re overreacting. No one was upset with you. Wait until Alex gets back on Monday and hear what he’s got to say,” she reasoned. “I have to go.”

  I checked my watch. We had another twenty minutes.

  “Go where?”

  Nicole slung her bag over her shoulder and flashed me a crafty grin. “Not class. I’ve had a better offer.”

  “You’re ditching me?” I asked, incredulously.

  She huffed. “Like you haven’t ditched me at least ten times in the last month?”

  She had a point. She wasted no time in walking away and I had to raise my voice. “Where are you going?”

  She turned, but continued walking backwards. “Tell you later. Have a good weekend.”

  “You too,” I called, but she was out of earshot.

  Mentally, I had reached my limit. On an ordinary day I would have chased her down, demanding to know what offer could be powerful enough to make her skip fifth period. It wasn’t as if Nicole never ditched school –I managed to talk her in to it occasionally – but it was not something she enjoyed. I usually had to spend the afternoon reassuring her that we weren’t about to be arrested for delinquency, while giving her my word that Alex would bail us out if we were. Something was going on. Pipers Cove was crazy town.

  The day had been rough from the start. I was sleep deprived and my brain didn’t seem to work properly because of it. Alex had laid down the law over breakfast, reminding me that my unsupervised weekend was conditional. One of the conditions was that I went straight home after school so he could give me the keys to the café. Nicole had agreed to work both weekend shifts, but it was up to me to lock up and secure the takings. That was condition number two. I had no idea what conditions three through sixty-five were; I lost interest long before he stopped talking.

  Keeping Adam and my brother separated for a few days seemed like a good idea, although I wasn’t entirely sure why. I drove my own car that morning, negating the need for Adam to pick me up after school.

  At least the weather was holding. I loved days without rain. It was still bitterly cold, but nowhere near as gloomy. My little car, temperamental at the best of times, started spluttering before I’d made it half way home.

  “Don’t you dare die on me,” I growled, whacking the dashboard to warn it. Angry threats gave way to pleading. I was still pleading when the car finally conked out at the base of our driveway, dead in the middle of the gravel road, in the path of anyone driving past.

  It took Alex all of two minutes to get there when I called him.

  Gabrielle sat in the passenger seat. School had only been out half an hour. She must have ditched fifth period too. It appeared that I was the only sap stuck indoors on a Friday afternoon for educational purposes.

  “Pop the hood,” instructed Alex.

  I flicked the lever under the ancient dashboard. He lifted the hood, shielding my view of him for a few seconds until he closed it, crashing it down with loud metallic clap.

  “I can’t see anything wrong,” he said, wiping his hands on an old rag he’d brought with him.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It just coughed a few times and stopped.”

  Alex smirked.

  “What?”

  “When was the last time you put fuel in it?”

  “Huh?”

  “Petrol, Charli.”

  I glowered at him. “Um, I don’t know. Sometime in June?”

  He rolled his eyes. I got out of the car as he retrieved the can of petrol he kept for stupid moments like this.

  “Are you leaving town now?” I asked, thinking of no other reason why Gabrielle would be with him.

  “Yeah. I want to get to Hobart before dark. We’ll set off to Stanley in the morning.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the keys to the café.

  “Nic has a set too. She’ll open up but you need to close, okay?”

  I nodded, taking the keys. Nothing more was said while he funnelled the fuel into my parched little hatchback. He screwed the cap back and turned to face me. “Are you alright?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I replied, twirling the keys. I don’t know what made him ask me. Perhaps I looked battle-weary.

  “Say the word, Charli, and I’ll stay,” he offered.

  I replied without hesitation. “Go.”

  The look Alex gave me was the strangest I’d ever seen. It was as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find his voice.

  “I’m listening, Alex,” I whispered.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I’m listening to what you’re not saying.”

  He half-smiled. “What do you hear?”

  “That you love me and we’ll talk on Monday.”

  He kissed my forehead. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered.

  Whatever had happened at dinner was of epic proportion. I’d never seen him so conflicted. But whatever it was would have to wait. I waved as they drove away, hopeful that all the drama of the night before had left with them.

  I didn’t stay a second longer than I needed. I showered, grabbed my already packed overnight bag and left. I stopped for more fuel in town, only half filling it because I couldn’t be bothered, and headed to Snow White’s cottage.

  20. Weekend

  My mood had brightened considerably by the time I parked behind the suave black Audi. I sat in the car for a while, contemplating the next few days. I realised that I might have inadvertently cashed in my first ever wish – then decided that wasting a single minute of it by sitting i
n the car made it a very poor investment.

  I wandered to the front door, trying not to appear too eager. The effort was in vain. He wasn’t there. Prince Charming had stood me up.

  I marched across the lawn to the shed. The door was open, which was a pity considering part of my plan included furiously sliding it open. I stood in the doorway, watching him for a long time.

  Adam sat painting, high up on the deck, in a world of his own. The white earphones in his ears explained his trancelike state. His jeans and shirt were spattered with blue paint, indicating he’d been at it for a while. Even with a smudge of paint on his face he was obscenely good-looking. And he was supposed to be all mine for the weekend. I wasn’t meant to be sharing him with an ugly, rundown old sloop.

  Knowing he couldn’t hear me, I embarked on a frustrated monologue purely for my own entertainment.

  “Adam Décarie. If you think for one second I’m going to play second fiddle to this stupid boat tonight, you’re mistaken. I will burn it to the ground if that’s what it takes to get you out of this shed.” I paused to catch my breath, elated by how good it felt to unload without upsetting anyone. Adam continued painting; unaware he was on the receiving end of one of my best tantrums ever. “I will take every bit of my clothing off, piece by piece, risking frostbite, hypothermia and certain death until you notice me.”

  “Charlotte Elisabeth Blake,” he said smoothly. I stumbled back, grabbing the rusted edge of the doorway to keep myself upright. Adam continued stroking the paintbrush along the deck. “You play second fiddle to no one. But if you’re serious about taking your clothes off, I’m not going to stop you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be listening,” I gasped.

  He grinned. “Then why are you talking to me?”

  “You’ve got your headphones on. You’re supposed to be listening to music.”

  “The playlist ended ages ago.”

  “What kind of idiot wears headphones when he’s not listening to music?”

  He grinned down at me. “The kind of idiot who doesn’t want to touch his iPod when he’s got paint on his hands.”

  The concrete floor didn’t open up and swallow me whole. Perhaps I should have cashed in another wish to make it happen.

  “Can we go inside now, please?” I asked in a small voice.

  “I’ll go anywhere with you,” he announced.

  “Inside will be fine, for now.”

  He climbed down, wiping his hands on his shirt as he walked towards me. It was an awkward embrace as he tried to keep me paint free, resting his elbows on my shoulders as he leaned in to kiss me.

  “Hello,” he whispered.

  “Hi.”

  “You look tired today.”

  Damn. Irresistible and gorgeous was the look I was aiming for. I was wearing lip-gloss, for crying out loud.

  “And you look like a caveman,” I retorted. “Maybe I should belt you with a plank of wood and throw you over my shoulder.”

  He beat me to it, pretending to lean in to whisper something before throwing me over his shoulder in a move a fireman would have envied.

  “You’re covered in paint! I can walk! Put me down, right now!”

  “I think we both know that’s not going to happen, Charlotte,” he said, like he was suddenly the king of everything.

  He carried me all the way to the house slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Once inside, he lowered me on to the exquisite white couch and stepped away.

  “I need a shower,” he said, showing me his painty hands. “Five minutes.”

  I didn’t want to wait five minutes. I’d waited my whole life for him; surely that was long enough.

  Adam didn’t seem surprised when I walked into the bathroom. He turned off the water, reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

  My plan of playing it cool fell by the wayside very quickly. Cool was unachievable. The bathroom was full of steam, the most beautiful boy I had ever known was naked and the blood flowing through my body was practically at boiling point.

  “Adam Décarie, you have to kiss me,” I ordered.

  “I have to kiss you?”

  “I cashed in a wish for you,” I explained. “I’ve never done that before.”

  Unfazed by my madness, he stepped closer to me. “You spent a wish on me?” he whispered so close to my ear that I could feel his words on my skin. He was warm and smelled divine, like soap.

  “I’m wish rich, Adam. I’ve been saving for years,” I reminded him, craning my neck as he kissed a long, slow line from my ear to my throat.

  His free hand drifted to my shoulder, sweeping slowly down the length of my arm.

  “I can’t believe I found you,” he said, murmuring the words against my mouth.

  I was certain my bones were about to ignite at any second. I couldn’t even fake confidence. My whole body was shaking.

  “I’ve been here all along,” I pointed out.

  I felt his smile on my skin.

  Abandoning his grip on the towel, his arms wrapped tightly around me and his lips finally pressed mine. Blood raced through my body as I tried to slow my breathing. When we finally did break our embrace, I was fighting for air.

  “Flee-itis, Charli?” His voice was slow and controlled but his hard, shallow breathing betrayed him.

  “No.” I inhaled deeply. “Décarie-itis; it’s different.”

  He laughed, kissed me as if his life depended on it – then scooped me into his arms and carried me to his room.

  ***

  The sheer curtains in the tiny bedroom blocked out none of the morning light and I woke early. I lay listening to the rain peppering the tin roof, caught in a perfect moment, tangled around him, listening to him breathe as he slept beside me.

  My head rested uncomfortably in the crook of his arm but I didn’t care. Every other part of my body felt blissful – heavy and weightless at the same time. I would have floated to the ceiling if his arms weren’t around me. His hold on me didn’t waver as I twisted to see his face. Tracing a light line around his lips with my fingers made him flinch, enough to loosen his grip but not enough to wake him. He murmured my name – not the shortened, preferred version but the extended, ridiculous version that was more suited to a character from a Jane Austen novel.

  “Are you awake?” I whispered.

  The silence made my heart fly. He’d whispered my name in his sleep. Running my hand down the length of his arm made him move just enough to free me.

  Moving slowly and quietly, I gathered my clothes and made my way to the bathroom.

  My overnight bag hadn’t made it out of the car, and everything I needed to make myself look human was in it. Fossicking through Gabrielle’s cabinets looking for a hairbrush seemed more intrusive than going through her handbag, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  A bag of toiletries on the counter brought me a little hope. Obviously it wasn’t Gabrielle’s. The black leather bag contained everything from razor blades to cologne that reminded me of him – even without smelling it. The small comb I found had no hope of making it through my hair so I gave up, repacked the bag and repositioned it on the counter, hoping it looked as it had before.

  Determined to elevate my status to smug but pretty, I headed to the car to retrieve my bag. But the mission was all but forgotten when the sound of the ocean pounding on the base of the cliff distracted me. Some days it couldn’t be heard from the house and other days the waves were deafening. This day was different, a happy medium. Even without seeing them I knew the waves were rhythmic and slow.

  I walked across the back lawn. The minute I saw the surf I was sold. I wondered if leaving would be misconstrued as regret if he woke and I wasn’t there.

  Glancing around quickly to make sure I was alone, I dropped the towel and dragged on my wetsuit, which had a permanent home in my car. The overgrown trees lining the side boundary shielded me from anyone lurking in the neighbouring garden – an unlikely scenario considering the early hour. I
dragged my brush through my hair before pulling it into a messy bun.

  Carrying my board under one arm and everything else with the other, I stumbled barefooted down the crude track to the beach. Gabrielle was spoiled rotten by the easy access, yet I couldn’t remember ever seeing her down there.

  Standing ankle deep in the icy water, I couldn’t help turning to look up at the house perched on the cliff to make sure it was still there. Shaking all thoughts of him from my head, I refocused on the ocean. The dark water, greyed by the overcast sky, crashed in slowly. The rain had dulled to a light sprinkle that I couldn’t even feel.

  “Charli Blake,” called a smooth voice from somewhere behind me.

  I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to. I knew exactly who it was. If there was a chance the little cottage on the hill might disappear in a puff of smoke this would have been the time.

  “Mitchell Tate.” I tried to keep my voice even.

  “Did you miss me?” He sounded closer, right behind me.

  I shrugged my shoulders as I worked on my lie. “Were you gone?”

  “Aren’t you going to look at me?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I saw him in my head. Scrappy shoulder length sandy blonde hair bleached by the sun, broad shoulders and a year-round tan that his sisters would have killed for.

  Turning around, I paced the few feet necessary to get back to the water’s edge. Nothing was said for a few seconds and I made no secret of the fact I was staring at him. The unkempt blonde hair was gone, replaced by a short buzz cut. Other than that, nothing had changed. He was just as I remembered him. Tall, tanned and handsome. Mitchell loathed the Beautifuls moniker, yet he was the only one who deserved the title.

  “Where have you been, Mitch?” I asked, working to sound casual.

  He clasped his hands, blowing a warm breath into his clenched fists before launching into his reply. “Everywhere. South Africa, Bali, Tahiti, California – ”

  “So why did you come back?” I cut him off. I got the impression his list of conquered surf beaches was long.

  “Ethan’s back too. It was time,” he said simply. His grin was infectious and I smiled at him for the first time. “You look good, Charli.”