Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (36 page)

I was in too deep to back down, even at the risk of looking stupid. “Like this?” I asked, tucking them behind my ears.

“Yeah, just like that,” she approved.

“Can I make a wish now?”

“Not yet.” Bridget climbed off the bench and scraped up a pinch of dirt off the ground. I might’ve stopped her if I’d realised what she was doing; it was damp and muddy and I had nothing to clean her with. “You have to paint it on your head, right here.” She rubbed her forehead with her clean hand. “Then you make your wish.”

I realised I didn’t have much to lose. I was already sitting on a park bench wearing leaves behind my ears. “Fine.” I edged forward. “Just do it.”

She reached out, but stopped. “What’s your wish?”

“I haven’t made it yet.”

“Tell me and I’ll make it for you,” she offered.

I didn’t even need to think about it. A few months earlier I might’ve considered wishing for true love. I wasn’t in the market for love any more. There was only one thing my heart desired.

“I just want a job, Bridge.” I sounded pathetic but she took no pity on me. Her little fingers ground the pinch of mud into my forehead while she repeated my wish out loud.

“There,” she announced, brushing her hands. “All done.”

I went to wipe the muck off my face but a firm little hand grabbed my wrist. “You have to leave it on.”

“How long?”

Anything longer than five minutes, I’m out.

“You can wash it off when we get home. The wish will be done then.”

I’d come this far so I might as well see it through. If I was stopped by the relevant authorities and committed on the way home, I was sure they’d call her parents.

***

Charli was home when we arrived at the apartment. Bridget leapt into her arms at the door and was showered with a ton of kisses. “I missed you today,” crooned Charli. “What have you been up to?”

“We found Bente some wishes,” she replied.

Charli looked at me for the first time. Her confused expression troubled me. If anyone should be accepting of a woman with leaves in her hair and mud on her face in the name of wishes, it was her.

“What happened to you?” she demanded.

I looked at my little charge as if that explained everything. Charli looked confused but cottoned on that it was to do with her daughter. “Bridge, go and hang your coat in your room, please,” she instructed.

The little girl took off down the hall, dragging her coat behind her. As soon as she was gone, I demanded to know the process of wishing on autumn leaves.

“You can wish on fallen leaves,” she confirmed, still staring wide-eyed.

“Okay,” I replied. “Job well done then, right?”

She nodded and shrugged, which was a gesture as clear as the mud on my face. “If a leaf lands on you, you’re entitled to a wish,” she explained.

I waved my hand, prompting her to elaborate. “And?”

She shrugged again. “And nothing, Bente. That’s it.”

“No, no, no,” I whispered forcefully. “What about the wearing it behind your ear and rubbing mud on your head to make the wish come true part?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I’d been duped. I swept my hand through my hair, flicking the leaves to the floor. “Your kid belongs on the stage, Charlotte,” I informed her.

She didn’t dare laugh until I did, and then there was no stopping her. “I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. She barely got the words out because she was laughing so hard.

“Don’t worry about it.”

I wasn’t mad. I was kind of impressed, but it didn’t seem appropriate to admit it. Bridget Décarie was a perfect mix of brilliance, wickedness and charm. It was a combination that made me want to kiss her and whack her in equal measure.

61. OLD TIMES

Ryan

Finalising our partnership with Tiger Malone was a welcome distraction from the wedding planning from hell. Adam and I weren’t keen on taking Tiger up on his offer of celebrating. He had money in his pocket now, which meant his whiskey would be cleaner and his stories would be dirtier.

We kept it professional and arranged to meet at the club to discuss the upcoming renovations with him. Adam bounded up the steps. “I can’t stay long,” he said, handing me the latest round of blueprints he’d had drawn up.

“It’s after five.” I double-checked the time. “You’re not seriously going back to the office?”

“No,” he replied. “Bridget starts a new dance class tonight. I promised I’d be there.”

The mention of dance classes reminded me of an earlier conversation with the squealers. “Ivy said she’d quit.”

“Yeah, that class didn’t work out.” Adam grimaced. “Charlotte enrolled her in a different one.”

I didn’t ask why because I didn’t care. Bridget had Animal issues. Attending the same dance class as Malibu was begging for trouble.

“We’ll give Tiger ten more minutes,” I said, checking my watch again. “He was supposed to be here.”

The club took on a new feel when the crusty old owner was absent. I’d never admit it, but it was almost as if something was missing. Adam took an opposite view. It was hard to get anything done while Tiger was around. He appreciated being able to walk around and explore without the distraction of cigar smoke and dirty stories.

Exploring didn’t last long. Tiger shuffled through the front doors a few minutes later with Earl in tow. “Am I late?” he asked, looking surprised.

“No, you’re fine, Tiger.” Adam made his way to the door. “But I’ve got to go. Ryan can bring you up to speed. The builders start next week.”

“Stay a while.” The old man held up a bottle of whiskey in a bid to tempt him. “We’ll celebrate.”

Adam shook his head. “I can’t, Tiger. I’ve got a date with my little girl.”

“I respect that,” he replied, throwing a wily grin my way. “I’d leave too if I had somewhere better to be.”

***

It didn’t take long to work out that Tiger Malone wasn’t the least bit interested in hearing details of the renovations. Earl was even less interested. He sat on the dusty old chair near the stairs and promptly fell asleep. The lack of enthusiasm annoyed me but I forged ahead, explaining how the tin ceiling in the main room needed to be sandblasted. “It’ll be messy, so you’ll have to stay out of there until it’s done,” I instructed.

I wasn’t sure that he heard me. He was too busy prodding Earl with his walking stick. “Wake up,” he ordered. “We’ve got whiskey to drink.”

Staying here when I could’ve been at home with Bente was nonsensical. I was done. “Well, gentlemen,” I announced, “I’m out of here.” I gathered the plans and headed for the door. Tiger called out to me, just as I knew he would.

“See that hole in the wall?” He pointed to the left of the door. “Do you think that’ll get fixed?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Everything will be fixed.”

“It was a poker game gone bad.” He pointed at the wall again. “Harry Taylor was a dirty cheat.” I looked at the damaged wall, now realising it was a head-sized hole. “He was caught marking the cards,” explained Tiger. “We asked him to leave.”

“Head first,” added Earl, suddenly wide awake.

Both men dissolved into rumbly chuckles. “What year was that, Earl?” Tiger asked, barely composing himself enough to speak.

Earl didn’t even need to think. “’73.”

Tiger turned to me. “We haven’t seen him since.”

I refused to put too much thought into it. If I allowed my mind to wander too far, I would start wondering if
anyone
had seen Harry Taylor since 1973.

“We’ll fix it up,” I muttered.

“All the stories will disappear, kid,” called Tiger.

I dropped my grip on the door handle and turned back. “Are you worried about that?”

The old man’s posture crumpled. “My mind isn’t so good any more,” he replied. “If I didn’t have the hole in the wall to remind me, I might forget the story.”

It wasn’t just Harry Taylor’s head hole that reminded Tiger of old times. Every dirty glass, poker chip and feather boa was a visual reminder for him. Perhaps that’s why he’d fought for so long to hang on to them.

“Leave it with me, okay?” I asked.

He nodded stiffly. “You got it, kid.”

62. BUCKET FULL OF HOPE

Bente

It had been a good few weeks since Ryan had been an inconsiderate jerk, but I was still shocked when he called to tell me he’d be late home after his meeting at the club. “Something’s come up,” he said vaguely. “I shouldn’t be late.” He could’ve arrived at dawn and I wouldn’t have minded. For the first time ever, he’d thought to call me. I didn’t have to wait until dawn. Ryan arrived home just before eight.

Walking into the apartment after a long day didn’t bring either of us much joy these days. The place looked like a bomb had hit. Ivy’s dressmaking clutter had multiplied over the past week. She’d temporarily abandoned my dress and moved onto creating the bridesmaid’s dresses. There were now three little dummies keeping Dora company in the living room.

Ryan had been a trooper, never once complaining, but it wasn’t hard to tell it grated on him. He never usually paid the dummies any attention, but tonight they caught his eye. He walked over to get a better look.

My only input had been choosing the colour. The idea in my head was much simpler than the actual works in progress. Pretty, simple, age-appropriate burgundy dresses were what I wanted. Ivy stuck to my vision for as long as it took her to sew them. Then the glue gun came out.

“Do you like them?” asked Ryan. I chewed my lip while I deliberated. “You don’t,” he concluded. “I can tell.”

“I’m trying to pick my battles, Ry.” I tweaked one of the dresses. “They’re just dresses.”

It wasn’t just Ivy I had to contend with. After seeing Ivy’s pageant room, Fiona had developed a penchant for glitter. She thought the creations were beautiful, and they were. They just weren’t what I wanted for my wedding.

Ryan picked up the hem of Fabergé’s dress, feeling the weight of it. “The dresses are heavier than the girls.”

I pulled him away. “Forget the dresses,” I ordered. “Tell me where you’ve been.”

I forced him onto the couch and flopped down beside him. He looked worried. “I called you, Bente. Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” I assured, amused by the terror I’d incited. “I’m just trying to shift the topic away from the wedding.”

Ryan relaxed and loosened his tie. I went a step further and dragged it off his neck. “I caught up with an old friend of mine,” he explained. “I wanted to run an idea past him.”

“Anything you’d like to share?” I twisted the top button of his shirt undone.

“I saw Tiger today,” he began. “The man has fifty years of memories invested in a place that we’re preparing to tear up.”

His tone led me to think he was having second thoughts. I tried to reassure him that the renovations would only improve the place. “He’ll love seeing it look so amazing again.”

“He’s worried that he’ll forget how it used to be,” he said pensively. “But I might have solved that problem. I thought maybe you could spend a bit of time with him. Just listen to him and write his story. One of these days, Tiger will be gone and the history of the place will go with him.”

I felt the sudden urge to kiss him to within an inch of his life, but I needed him alive so I kept it short and sweet with a quick peck on the lips. Ryan had other ideas. He pushed me back into the cushion, covering my body with his. “Don’t start what you’re not prepared to finish, Miss Denison,” he murmured.

It was a blissful position I could’ve held all night, with a few minor adjustments, but I wasn’t quite done with the conversation. I held his face in my hands, keeping him at bay while I questioned him. “Do you want me to write a book for him?”

“Not exactly.” The corner of his mouth lifted forming a handsome crooked smile. “I contacted a guy I know. He’s an editor at The Manhattan Tribune.”

I wasn’t feeling amorous any more. He’d just doused me with a bucket full of hope. I was back to being ambitious and desperate for employment. I wriggled beneath him, trying to force him to sitting position. Thankfully, he helped me out and moved. “You know someone at The Tribune?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“How?”

“We went to school together,” he replied casually. “We were ballroom dancing partners.” He winked at me, making me smile. “I asked him if he’d consider pulling a few strings and running a story on the club as the renovations progress – sort of a riches-to-rags-to-riches story. Tiger would get a kick out of it, and the publicity would be good for us.”

“It would be huge,” I agreed.

“I also asked him if he’d be interested in letting a gorgeous up-and-coming young journalist write the article.”

“Me?” I asked with wide eyes and a tiny voice.

“No sweetheart, some other gorgeous journalist I know.”

“And he said yes?”

Ryan nodded. “If it’s good, he’ll run it. That’s the best he could promise.”

Unable to contain my excitement, I threw my arms around him and forced him back into the cushions “All I want is a chance,” I choked. “I won’t let you down.”