Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series

by G. J. Walker-Smith

  “My daddy likes cake,” added Bridget.

  I didn’t feel the need to warn her that the building would be locked. If anyone could talk their way past security, it was those two. I opened the back door of the cab for them. “Have a nice night, ladies.”

  Bridget clambered in and Charli handed her the plate of cake before turning back to me. “Happy birthday, Ryan,” she said, kissing my cheek. “Spend your wish wisely. Buy only what you need.”

  I should’ve bowed out of the nonsense and walked away, but I couldn’t help asking my next question. “What do you think I need?”

  She flashed a smile. “Someone to bring you chocolate cake when you work late.”

  “Yeah, right.” I dropped my line of sight to the pavement.

  “It’s true, Ryan. You’re ready for her.” She dipped her head, chasing my eyes. “Find her. Go forth and find chocolate cake girl.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll work on it.”

  “You should,” she replied, suddenly serious. “I wish that for you.”

  “Me too, Ry,” called a little voice from the back seat of the cab.

  “Get out of here,” I teased, opening the door wider. “The meter’s running.”

  6. CHAPERONES

  Bente

  Nothing could be more pathetic than an unemployed twenty-six-year-old woman hiding out in her niece’s Hello Kitty-themed bedroom. Especially when said woman was sitting on the floor, debating whether or not to call the only man who’d ever broken her heart.

  And yet here I was. And that’s where I’d been for the last two hours. The whole situation was pathetic. Calling Ryan was a dumb idea, but I found myself doing it anyway.

  “Here goes everything,” I muttered out loud.

  I’d barely got the words out when he answered. “Bente. Hi.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “Lucky guess.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and instantly relaxed because of it.

  “I’m just wondering if your offer of dinner still stands.”

  “Yes, of course.” He punched out the words. “Tomorrow?”

  Pretending to check my schedule was pointless. After the events of that morning, he knew better than anyone that I didn’t have one. “Yes, something casual and low key, okay?”

  “You don’t want to be seen with me, Miss Denison?” His dark tone and cheeky words were reminiscent of the Ryan I used to know, the same Ryan who has a knack for turning my insides to mush.

  “Not in public.”

  “Okay, fine. How about we make it really low key and take chaperones? I’ll bring my little niece and you can bring yours.”

  Eight-year-old Fabergé wouldn’t even entertain the idea. My thoughts turned to dreadful Malibu. “Sure,” I replied, struggling to sound pleasant. “That sounds great.”

  Ryan told me to pick the time and place. “Just make an early reservation. Bridget has a curfew.”

  His serious tone made me smile. “Do you take Bridget out often, Ryan?”

  “No, she usually takes me out,” he joked.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow with the details, okay?”

  “I look forward to it,” he said. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Clearly he was gearing up to end the call, but I wasn’t quite done with him. “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Happy birthday,” I whispered.

  I didn’t breathe again until he spoke, which seemed to take an eternity. “It is now.”

  “Goodnight Ryan.”

  “Bente?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you like chocolate cake?”

  I had no idea how to answer him so I went with the truth. “Actually, I’m more of a pecan pie kind of girl.”

  “Good to know,” he replied. “Goodnight Bente. Sleep well.”

  That was impossible. I’d just arranged a dinner date with a mean, selfish monster – and Ryan.

  7. ANIMAL

  Ryan

  Something about Bente Denison had always fascinated me. She was nothing like the women I usually spent time with. She was a fiery, opinionated brunette. I usually favoured spending time with compliant blondes whose affections could be bought with expensive gifts and talking dirty.

  I’d been out of the game for a while. I can’t really explain why. Somewhere along the line, casual meaningless affairs had become boring. Bente was the first woman to catch my eye in weeks, and game playing was the furthest thing from my mind. I used to enjoy the fact that she had a low tolerance for me. Now just thinking about it made me break into a cold sweat.

  If Bente was having second thoughts about our dinner date, she didn’t let on. She texted me early the next morning to let me know the details of the kiddie friendly restaurant she’d booked. Everything was organised. All I had to do was ask permission to borrow my niece. I decided to do it face-to-face and corner Charli at work.

  She wasn’t surprised to see me. I’d bought a few pieces from the Merriman gallery since she’d been working there, and had my eye on at least ten more. That’s the problem with good art – the more you see, the more you want. I’d run out of walls to hang anything else so I was reduced to window-shopping, which I did quite often.

  The Merriman gallery was one of my favourites. It was sparsely stocked, very upmarket; and best of all, everything on display was for sale.

  “Good morning Fairy Pants,” I crooned as she walked toward me. “You look very grown up in your big girl clothes.”

  She pulled a face. She also tugged at the hem of her blouse so I knew I’d gotten to her. “Do you want something or are you just being painful?”

  “I’m here because I want something – namely your daughter.”

  She didn’t seem alarmed in the slightest. “So you’re really going through with this?”

  “With what?”

  She flapped her hand at me. “This little play date thing you’ve organised with Bente.”

  I didn’t bother questioning how she knew about it. Bente and Charli were friends. They’d probably chosen the time and place together.

  “You’re the one who told me to find chocolate cake girl.”

  “Yes, I did,” she agreed. “I just don’t like the interview process. Bente is my friend, Ryan. I don’t want to see her get hurt again.”

  “I like her, Charli,” I insisted. “What’s wrong with reconnecting?”

  She tilted her head. “Nothing, if it’s genuine.”

  I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honour.”

  She still didn’t look convinced. “Just play nice, okay? And keep an eye on Bridget. She doesn’t get along very well with Malibu.”

  “What the heck is a Malibu?”

  “Bente’s little niece,” she explained, screwing up her face. “She’s awful.”

  I’d been preparing to deal with Fabergé. I had no idea there was a Mark II.

  “How awful?” I asked.

  Charli didn’t answer. She walked away, leaving me no choice but to follow her to her desk at the rear of the gallery.

  “Tell me,” I demanded.

  She sat and momentarily leaned forward. “You’ll see,” she said ominously; then she leaned back and abandoned the creepy frown. “Bring my kid back in one piece or you’re in big trouble.”

  It may have been the first time she’d ever actually scared me, and it took effort not to let it show. “Thank you, Charlotte,” I said, edging away. “I’ll pick her up at six.”

  ***

  Bridget didn’t seem to share my excitement when it came to our dinner plans. She was, however, excited by the boots she was wearing.

  “See the sparkles?” she asked, pointing at her feet.

  Her penchant for wearing galoshes – even in the middle of summer – hadn’t wavered since she’d first learned to walk. Her parents didn’t discourage her, despite my mother’s warning that her feet would spread to fit the boots.

  “She’ll begin to waddle like a duck,” she moaned.

>   “But she’ll be a cute little duck,” defended Adam.

  The blue sparkly boots didn’t bother me. It was her slow walk that drove me crazy, but Bridget’s pace was still quicker than trying to get through peak hour traffic, so we got out of the cab a few blocks early.

  “Why do I have to come?” she whined.

  I’d asked myself the same question more than once in the last half hour. I couldn’t really complain considering it had been my suggestion in the first place.

  “You’re my wing girl, Bridge,” I explained. “It’s your job to make sure I don’t say anything dumb.”

  Her walk slowed to a virtual crawl as she thought things through. “Like whales?” she asked. She put her hands to her mouth and wiggled her fingers. “They go ‘squeep, squeep, squeep’.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know what kind of whales you have in Australia, sweetheart, but that’s not like any whale I’ve ever heard.”

  ***

  Bente had chosen a restaurant called Ginger’s. It wasn’t really my type of place. It was loud, bright and packed with small children and tourists – a bit like Times Square as a whole, which is why I usually avoided going there. Even Bridget seemed a little scared, especially when a person wearing a padded cow suit greeted us at the door.

  “Ginger, I presume?” I asked dryly.

  “Very funny, guy.” The gruff reply from inside the suit terrified Bridget even more. She clung to my leg and refused to take the colouring sheet he tried handing her. I took it instead and told him we had a reservation for six-thirty.

  “Sit anywhere you like,” said the cow.

  I’d already decided that if Bente wasn’t there, we were leaving. When I scanned the crowded room, I almost wished she wouldn’t show. Unruly kids were bouncing around, and there was a long queue at the self-serve soda machine and an even longer line to the bathrooms. Finally I spotted her at a table in the corner. With a firm hand on Bridget’s shoulder, we wove a path through the tables.

  “Hi.” She greeted me with a sheepish grin. Hopefully that meant she realised how ghastly her choice of venue was.

  “Hello,” I replied. “I’m sorry we’re a little late.”

  “It’s no bother.” She turned her attention to the little girl who was gripping my hand like grim death. “How are you, Bridget?” Getting no reply, Bente moved on. “Ryan, this is my niece, Malibu.”

  The little girl sat next to her aunt, paying us no attention as she fiercely scribbled on her colouring sheet. I was struck by how different she looked from Fabergé. Her snowy white skin and curly red hair reminded me of orphan Annie.

  I tried to speak but she beat me to it. In a barely comprehensible growl she demanded something to eat, and followed it up with a hardcore scream. This was no orphan Annie. She was more like Animal from the Muppets.

  “In a minute,” chided Bente. “Mind your manners.”

  “I want to go home,” whimpered Bridget in a tiny voice.

  Me too, I silently replied.

  I lifted her up and sat her between Bente and I. The further I kept her away from Animal, the better. If Bente noticed my strategy she didn’t let on. “I haven’t been here before,” she said, almost apologetically. “Ivy said it was a good place to bring the kids.”

  Her kid, maybe. I happened to like mine.

  “It’s fine.” I glanced around the room. “I’ve already come up with a counteroffensive, depending on how agreeable you are.”

  She looked around. “I’m prepared to hear you out.”

  I doubted her amenability had anything to do with my charm. She was probably just as desperate to get the hell out of there as I was.

  “Well, while the children are eating, I’m going to call for two cars,” I began. “In one hour, you’re going to deliver you kid back to her mother and I’m going to do the same with mine.”

  “I don’t want to go home!” growled Malibu.

  “I do,” whimpered Bridget, clinging to my shirt.

  Bente stared at me. “That’s some plan, Ryan.”

  I straightened up. “It’s an awesome plan.”

  “What happens after that?”

  “Well, that’s where things will take a turn for the better,” I explained. “The driver will then drop you off at a restaurant of my choosing, and we’ll start this date over.”

  She picked up a paper menu and pretended to read. “I never said this was a date.”

  I grinned. “We both know it’s a date, Bente.”

  She smiled at the menu she was holding. “We’d best order the girls some food then,” she suggested.

  8. BABY SHOES

  Bente

  My stomach was in knots, but it had little to do with the unappetising food that had just been served to the girls. Malibu pulled her burger apart, spreading her dinner so far across the table that her fries were mixed with her coloured pencils. But at least she ate. Bridget barely touched anything.

  “Please eat something,” pleaded Ryan, sliding her plate closer.

  “I don’t like it,” she replied in a tiny voice.

  “Do you want to take it home?” he asked.

  She nodded. Ryan called a server over and asked him to box up the left-over food.

  “This too, please,” I said, pointing at Malibu’s dinner.

  “I’m eating it!” she yelled, making me wince. I didn’t care. I was more than ready to shut the meal down and get out of there.

  “We can wait for her to finish,” offered Ryan.

  “Or we could get out of here and start enjoying the evening.”

  “I’m enjoying!” screeched Malibu.

  I cocked one eyebrow at Ryan. “Ready?”

  “Born ready.” He stood, picked Bridget up and grabbed her box of food.

  My escape was a little more complicated. First I had to wrestle Malibu’s box of food from her, then suffer the indignity of watching her roll around on the dirty floor while her epic tantrum played out. All eyes were on her, which was the exact reaction she was aiming for. The pink sundress she was wearing was now filthy, stained by the mucky floor she was writhing on. I stood, dumbfounded and unsure of my next move.

  Ryan hitched Bridget higher on his hip, handed her the box of leftovers and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

  “I can’t just leave her here,” I replied, appalled.

  “Trust me,” he murmured. “She’ll follow.”

  We’d almost made it to the door when Malibu crashed full force into me, throwing her arms around my legs.

  I’d heard her before I felt her. “Don’t leave me!”

  “Keep walking then,” ordered Ryan without looking at her. Unbelievably, Malibu released her grip and trailed us out the door, but victory was fleeting. Once we were outside, she took her shameful display up a notch by setting her sights on Bridget.

  “I hate your dumb baby shoes.”

  Bridget didn’t reply but her little knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on Ryan’s shirt.

  “Baby shoes,” repeated Malibu, throwing in a poke of her tongue for good measure.

  Ryan had had enough. He lowered Bridget to her feet and took a step forward, towering over the little horror. “You listen to me,” he demanded in a low tone. “Do you like your aunt?”

  “Yes,” spat Malibu, unperturbed.

  “I like her too,” he replied. “Do you like me?”

  “No!”

  “Well here’s your problem,” he explained. “If you don’t start behaving yourself, I’m going to marry your aunt. You know what that will mean for you?”

  Malibu shook her head.

  Ryan leaned down closer to her. “It means I’ll be your uncle,” he menaced. “I’ll move into your house and you’ll have to see me every day.”

  “No!” She finally sounded appropriately terrified. “Don’t do it!”

  Ryan glanced at me and winked. I managed a small smile. “Behave yourself then,” he ordered.

  Malibu nodded madly but said nothing.
It was Bridget who found her voice. She tugged on Ryan’s sleeve, making sure she had his full attention. “Non, tu ne peux pas la marier, Ry.”

  Ryan smiled down at her. “Dans ce cas, d’accord, Bridget. Je ne la marierai pas ce soir.”

  He pronounced her name differently when speaking French. Unlike me, she wasn’t enamoured by his gorgeous tone. Her worried frown remained.

  We loaded our respective children into the waiting cars. I glanced around, convinced that people were staring. Patrons at Ginger’s generally don’t depart in chauffeured town cars. The Décaries didn’t seem to share my embarrassment; obviously it was nothing out of the ordinary for them. I’m sure dining at Ginger’s was, though.

  “So I’ll meet you in an hour?” asked Ryan.

  “Yes, where?”

  “Your driver has the details.”

  I tilted my head and sighed. “I don’t know about this, Ryan. You’re so secretive. Secretive destinations, secretive conversations …”

  He put his hand to his heart. “I am completely transparent.”

  “Yeah? What did Bridget say?”

  He looked back at his car, making sure his niece was in it and out of earshot. “She asked me not to marry you. I don’t think she’s keen on having Malibu in the family.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I told her I wouldn’t marry you tonight. That’s the best I could do.”

  I nodded, slightly dumbstruck. “I’ll see you soon,” I stammered.

  He held a finger up. “One hour.”

  9. CONQUER AND KEEP

  Ryan

  I don’t know what possessed me to call Bridget’s parents and let them know that she was on her way home – but I was glad I did. We’d obviously interrupted something very non-PG. The first thing I noticed when Adam answered the door was his inside-out T-shirt.

  Bridget wrapped herself around him like a vine. “I’m back again!”

  “Yes you are,” he beamed insincerely, putting his hand on her head. “It’s as if you only just left.”

  Bridget abandoned her grip on her dad and took off into the apartment. I was afraid to venture further than the doorway. “Thanks for the nice time, Bridge,” I called. “I’ll see you later.”