Page 6 of One Pucking Wish

I pull in a breath and nod.

“On the count of three, make a wish and blow?”

I nod again.

Penny counts, “One, two.” She looks at me with a reassuring grin, and it does something to me. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of her kindness. “Three.”

She opens her mouth to blow and, with her eyes, directs me to do the same. I follow suit, and the pair of us extinguish the tiny flames of the candles. Right before the last candle is out, a vivid image comes to my mind. It’s not a wish, exactly, but it’s there in utter clarity, and if I’m honest, it freaks me the fuck out.

CHAPTER

THREE

PENELOPE

Pulling my jacket tight around my middle, I scurry across the tarmac as what can only be described as ice snow pelts me in the face. I hate being cold. I should’ve gotten a job working for a Florida team. What possessed me to stay in Michigan is beyond me.

I hurry onto the plane and take a deep breath, relieved Mother Nature can no longer assault me. My cheeks burn, and I’m sure I look like a hot mess. My fair skin has always been overly sensitive. Undoubtedly, my cheeks will be tomato red the entire flight to Vancouver.

I find my usual seat toward the back as the rest of the team files onto the plane. Opening my purse, I search for my compact to assess the damage. The pursuit is momentarily forgotten when a cup of coffee appears in my periphery. Not just any cup of coffee—a pumpkin spiced latte from Starbucks.

Dropping the compact into my purse, I take the paper cup from Iris, and a genuine smile finds my face. “Still?” I ask, already knowing the answer as the aroma of spices wafts through the air.

Iris takes the seat beside me and starts fiddling with her seat belt. “She says just a few more cups.”

Taking a long sip of the heavenly goodness, I savor one of my favorite flavors. The fact that Iris has a hookup at the local Starbucks—who has somehow managed to sneak away a few bags of the mix to sell to her friends long after the pumpkin spiced latte is out of season—is not the sole reason I consider Iris one of my best friends. Admittedly, a year ago, my icy exterior softened toward her when she brought me my favorite drink—even though it could no longer be purchased. Now, Iris is one of my best friends and, honestly, one of my only friends.

Working so many hours with as many men as I do doesn’t supply many opportunities to foster quality relationships with women. I don’t have much time for a social life. If it were really important to me, I suppose I could make time. But my life is my work. So it helps that one of the few women I get to work with is as cool as Iris.

I swallow down the warm coffee and sigh. “Really?”

Iris nods. “Yeah. She’s almost sold out of the mix she stored away.”

“And you have no other black market pumpkin spiced latte dealers?” I raise a brow, causing Iris to laugh.

“Unfortunately, no.” She tightens her lap belt. “Can you believe the hail outside? Taking off in a storm like that is kind of freaking me out.”

Hail. That’s what it’s called.

I lean my head back against the seat’s headrest and release a chuckle. “Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.

“What is?” Iris asked.

I turn toward her. “I’ve been referring to hail as ice snow all day. I’ve lived in Michigan my whole life, and I somehow completely forgot the word hail.”

“It happens.” Iris grins, and with a shrug, she states, “I mean, ice snow is pretty accurate, too.”

Wrapping my hands around the warm cup of coffee, I hold it to my chest like a security blanket. “It’s just been a weird week. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Iris wears a face of real concern, and I almost want to open up to her.

I could tell her I’ve been obsessively looking at the post and pictures of the love of my life’s engagement announcement to another woman on social media. I could tell her that my birthday tomorrow is sparking some kind of late quarter-life crisis, making me question every decision I’ve ever made. I could tell her that she’s my closest friend, and it’s not lost on me that our friendship is a hundred percent grounded in her feeding my coffee addiction. I could tell her that despite showing up every day and presenting myself as a badass businesswoman, I’m drowning in this feeling of mediocrity that I can’t seem to escape from.

Instead, I opt to say, “Eh, it’s nothing. Just normal work stuff.”

“Well, if you need my help with something, let me know.”

“I will.” I force the corner of my lips to tilt up into what I hope is an authentic smile before taking another sip of my coffee.

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