Page 2 of With This Wish

“Great. Egg salad sandwiches are on me,” I tell him. I enjoy the sound of his light laughter as I make my way out of the shed and cross the small expanse into the back door of Hodgepodge. The new look of the store is an ever-present reminder of why I now live in the space above the shop with Carter, but I have to admit the renovations my parents were willing to sacrifice our house for at least turned out nicely. Where there were once stark-white walls, cement flooring, and simple display cases, customers are now greeted with dark-gray walls, built-in shelving, birchwood floors that shine in the light pouring through the large front window, and new displays in a variety of shapes and materials. We not only display items from local artisans, but we take old items and make them new again. I wish someone could make me new again and give me that sense of belonging and family I’ve longed for the last two years. A small smile pulls across my face as I flip the sign on the front door to show that we’re now open. I think I just found my fountain wish for this year’s ceremony, and if my parents are watching over me like I think they are, it just might have a chance of coming true.

Chapter Two

Jake

The sun is shining, the air is crisp and clean, and large swaths of evergreen trees greet me as I wind my way through the Rocky Mountains back to Denver. It’s a perfect fall day, but I couldn’t be more miserable if I tried. Well, that last part may be an exaggeration, but I’m in a bit of a mood today. I’m not always so grouchy, but transitions are hard for me, even when it’s in order to fulfill the life plan I mapped out for myself a decade ago.

While it was one hundred percent my choice to leave my job in Seattle to work for my dad in Denver, I can’t help but feel a little irritated at the disruption in my routine. My life in Seattle was decent, and I liked working at Seattle Sustainable Solutions. After graduating with my MBA from Washington State, I was immediately hired and started as a low-level marketing consultant for the company, and after three years, I was really starting to make a name for myself. Even though my job didn’t leave me a lot of time to socialize, I made sure to attend happy hours with my colleagues and joined a few pickup soccer games to stave off any loneliness I felt due to a lack of dating prospects. Dating apps have never really been my thing. No one would ever call me a romantic, but I have always thought I would meet someone randomly and we would just click. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking, or maybe I’m not being realistic about how things work nowadays.

“Jake is a man with a plan.” That’s what my friends in high school and college would say to me. And it was true. My whole life has been planned out, first by my parents, and then by me. Alexander and Shelly Mackenzie have always been big on routine, and that extended to how they raised their son. From the moment I was born, I had a routine for everything. There was my feeding schedule, my nap schedule, my bedtime routine. Every moment of my young life ran according to plan. As I aged, the routines changed slightly, but they were still always there. School, soccer, clarinet lessons, homework, and meals all happened at a specific time and in a specific order. That lifestyle continued as I went off to college. I kept a strict schedule of classes and work, making sure to balance it out by socializing with classmates and dating. The girls that managed to hang on for more than a few weeks eventually grew tired of my inflexibility and routine, and I happily said goodbye, wanting to find someone who clicked with me exactly as I was. Admittedly, I was a lot more rigid my first two years than I was after that and in graduate school, but by then I was too busy to care much about dating. A life that predictable may drive some people crazy, but I thrived off the knowledge that certain things would happen at certain times and every move I made was part of a greater plan. It took choice out of the equation, but that never bothered me.

Even now, as I continue the long drive from my old apartment in Seattle to my new one in Denver, I can’t help but feel like the choice I’ve made to follow my life’s plan is the right one. My senior year of high school, I came up with the blueprint for the rest of my life. The plan was to graduate high school, do my undergrad and graduate studies at Washington State, then work at a smaller firm until my dad opened a position for me at his company in Colorado. Mile High Consulting is extremely successful and much sought after by large companies when it comes to business marketing, finance, technology, security, you name it. My dad started the company with his friend, Anton Kochev, and the two grew it from a start-up to a multimillion-dollar enterprise in just twenty-five years. While I have no doubt I can work well there, I’m more interested in helping small businesses like I had in Washington. I can’t just turn around and go back there, though. After giving my notice, they hired someone right away, even asking me to train the guy. The lease on my apartment was broken too, so I wouldn’t even have a place to live immediately. Besides, staying there long-term was never part of the plan, and that is something I have always been committed to. With a curt nod to myself as a reminder that the plan is what matters, I drive on toward my destiny.

The sound of a call coming through the Bluetooth speaker draws my attention to the screen on the dash, and I smile at the name flashing at me. “Billie,” I exclaim to my friend of over twenty years. “Calling to welcome me home?”

Biliyana Kochev is the daughter of my father’s business partner and my best friend in the world. The two of us were practically raised as brother and sister, though where I was raised on the strictest of schedules, Billie was what is commonly referred to as a “free-range kid.” Where she went and when didn’t really concern her parents as long as she was safe and not getting in too much trouble, which almost always was the case except for a few times in high school when she discovered her rebellious side. Covering the boy’s locker room in toilet paper our junior year and sneaking a flask filled with vodka into prom among her more notable crimes, though there were others. While I was busy keeping my head down and making plans, Billie was pushing boundaries and ruling over the school with her mix of wild ideas and genuine friendliness toward everyone. Most people still see her as a bit of a “party girl,” but she’s not that. She never has been really, but people don’t always look very closely.

The sound of a soft snort coming through the speaker brings me back to my friend. “Please. I’ve had much better things to do than sit around waiting for you to show your ugly mug,” she tells me, her voice teasing.

I chuckle at the harmless insult. “Come on. You know you missed me,” I say, making another turn through the mountain passage. I know for a fact that my friend will be happy to see me. We talked all the time when I lived in Seattle, but her calls have gotten more frequent the closer we’ve come to my return date. “Who else keeps you in check like I do?”

“No one. That’s what makes you’re coming back such a bummer,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Since you bring it up, does that mean you plan on coming with me to keep me out of trouble? It’s been a while since we went clubbing. I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“I would dispute that, but there is no doubt in my mind that if we did go out, you would run circles around me.” While Billie lives to go out and have a good time, I’ve always been more of a homebody. Being around that many people at once makes me a little anxious and trying to get to know someone one-on-one with an incessant bass line pounding through your ears isn’t exactly easy either.

“That I would,” she says proudly. I hear chewing on the other end of the phone and my stomach growls in reply. Breakfast was a long time ago and I haven’t eaten since then. It’s coming up on two o’clock and there’s no way I will make it to dinner without grabbing something. My eyes flick to a sign on the side of the road for a town and I decide a little rest stop wouldn’t put me too far behind schedule. “I called to ask if I could take you out for a belated birthday celebration. I know I called last week, but now that you’re back we can go somewhere fun.”

“I don’t know, Billie,” I tell her hesitantly. “I kind of want to just focus on getting settled in.” As hard as it is to transition to a new stage in life, it’s got to be done and the sooner I get started the better.

“Please,” she whines, and I can picture the pouty face she busts out whenever she wants to get her way. “We can totally do something your speed. I hear the senior living community down the street has the best boiled potatoes in the city. I’ll even throw in a bag of ribbon candy as extra incentive.”

“Very nice,” I say dryly. Billie loves to poke fun at me, but I know she likes things more low-key most of the time too. It seems she’s just determined to play the role she created for herself when we were younger and pretend she’s all about partying. “We can definitely do dinner tomorrow, but right now I’m thinking about lunch. I’m going to grab some food before I head back on the road.”

“Fine, go feed your face,” she says with a chuckle. “Call me tomorrow and I can help you get settled in your apartment before we go out to dinner.”

“By help me get settled, you really mean go through my clothes and make fun of my wardrobe, don’t you?” Billie loves to give me shit at every opportunity, especially when it comes to how I dress. I don’t see anything wrong with my jeans and sweatshirts, but apparently they’re not up to snuff.

“One hundred percent,” she sings to me. “See you soon, Jake.”

“Bye, Billie.” I end the call and shake my head at my friend. Billie is someone I will love until the day I die, but sometimes her jokes hit a sore spot that I wish she would just leave alone. So what if I wear the same thing all the time? It’s not a big deal, though now that I’m at a more prestigious firm, I’m going to have to step up my fashion game. No doubt Billie will volunteer to help me with that. The thought of having to go shopping at all makes me groan, but luckily I’m saved from having to think about it any longer when I see my turnoff.

Flicking on my turn signal, I exit the Interstate and make my way toward the small town of Starlight Lake. The name of the town sounds like a place from a children’s bedtime story, and I half expect to run into fairies and ogres as I drive into town. “Oh, wow,” the sentiment escapes my mouth without permission as I take in the sight before me. Nestled in a small green valley is Starlight Lake. The tree-covered mountains make a beautiful backdrop and are reflected in what looks to be a crystal-clear lake at the base. As I get closer, red brick buildings line the street that cuts through the center of town, and I turn my head slightly to check out the people walking along, shopping, or out sweeping in front of their businesses. It looks idyllic, and while I’m not a big believer in magic, if it did exist, it would probably be in a place like this.

After soaking in as much of the town as I can from the car, I pull into a parking space in front of an eatery called Fran’s Place, at least I’m assuming it’s an eatery based off the sandwich board advertising specials on the sidewalk out front. With one last look around, I hop out of my SUV and head into the café. The walls are pink and white with matching booths lining them and a long, black counter running in front of an open window into the kitchen. Black-and-white photographs are scattered over the walls depicting a time long since passed but one that is clearly held in esteem by the owners. A place like this could easily look dated or kitsch, but instead it evokes a sense of nostalgia. For what, I’m not sure, but even though I probably won’t like much on the menu, I find myself drawn further into the space, finally taking an open seat at the counter.

A woman breezes by, dropping off a glass of water and a menu, acknowledging me with a simple, “Be right with you,” before she’s off to the other end of the café.

“Thanks,” I mumble, far too late for her to hear me. Opening the menu, I scan the list of items in search of anything that will fit my eating plan. Food isn’t something I necessarily restrict, but I like to exercise and eat to fuel my body, only occasionally veering off my meal plan. I also don’t have a lot of time or the inclination to cook, so I rely on meal prep services. I ask for lean, nutritionally dense breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. Nothing on this menu seems to fit that description, but to quell the intense growling in my stomach, I can make due. The smell of crisp potatoes and salt hits my noise and my eyes wander over to the plate of the person next to me. My mouth immediately starts watering at the sight of the man’s French fries and my stomach protests even louder than before. Sadly, as much as I’d like to partake in some fried food, I don’t want to deal with any negative side effects when I get back on the road.

“All right, hon. What’ll it be?” I look up, seeing that my waitress is back, pen in hand ready to jot my order down on her pad.

With one final glance at the menu, I pick the item that’s most like what I normally eat. “I’ll have the grilled chicken salad with a vinaigrette on the side, please.”

Her pen scribbles quickly, and she peers at me momentarily. “Anything to drink?”

My eyes flick to the water glass to make sure it looks potable before I commit to anything, but it’s as crystal clear as the lake outside. “I’m good with water, thanks.”

“Great,” she says, ripping off the slip of paper and spinning around to slide it across the barrier between the dining area and kitchen. “That’ll be right up.”

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