Three Little Wishes

Chapter Three

Willow stood on her pink electric scooter, whizzing past the B and Bs and their rainbow-colored summer gardens and the eclectic mix of bakeries, bars, cafés, and shops that lined Main Street. It was just her luck that the sun had come out in time for the dinner crowd to fill up the patios.

Everyone from year-rounders to out-of-towners to waitstaff had an opinion of her five o’clock weather report, and they were only too happy to share them with her.

“What happened to Lucy?” “Why did you report the weather from inside the station?” “It was boring!” “So boring! Boo!” “We want Lucy!”

The questions and comments being shouted at her from both sides of Main Street affirmed Willow’s belief that, other than Amos and the over-seventy crowd, no one really cared about her weather reports. All they cared about was Lucy the Lobster giving them a few laughs.

Everyone needed a laugh now and again and she was happy to provide them with one if it made their day a little brighter. But the last thing she could afford was for Bennett Broadcasting’s acting CEO, Noah Elliot, to see her as a joke.

Despite the increasingly urgent to-do list on her phone, which included finding a place to live within the next two weeks as well as packing up her apartment, she’d wasted the entire day hanging out at the station in the hopes that Don would call her into his office to pitch the idea for Good Morning, Sunshine! while at the same time trying to figure out a way to prove she was up to the job.

It wasn’t easy with her interactions with Noah playing in her head. In the end, she’d hoped that by presenting herself as a professional weatherperson, she might make him forget that she’d accidentally accosted him with her claw—three times—and then basically accused him of stalking her. In her mind, she’d erased the part about reeling him in with her imaginary fishing rod, convinced, or at the very least positively hopeful, that he’d missed that part.

She’d scraped her hair into a serious bun for her dinner-hour broadcast, put on a pair of thick black glasses she didn’t need but that made her look bookishly smart—based on her coworkers’ reactions, she’d nailed the hot librarian look instead—wiggled into a black pencil skirt, tucked in a white shirt, and then thrown on the black blazer she wore to funerals.

According to Veronica, Willow’s efforts had been for naught. Noah Elliot had left the building while she was on the air and while Veronica had been fielding calls from unhappy viewers demanding that Lucy deliver the weather forecast instead of Willow.

Before leaving the station five minutes ago, Willow had poked her head into Don’s office in hopes of learning what had transpired in his meeting with Bennett’s acting CEO, but her boss had also been fielding calls from unhappy viewers, and he’d shooed her away with a disheartened look on his face. She would’ve preferred his usual scowl.

Since Willow couldn’t stick around or she’d be late for her shift at La Dolce Vita, she’d tasked Naomi and Veronica with finding out when Don had scheduled the Good Morning, Sunshine! presentation for.

“Okay, thanks for sharing,” Willow yelled, waving at Lucy’s fans on the patios while forcing what she hoped resembled her usual bright and cheery smile.

Up until a few weeks ago, she’d never had to force a smile. She had ridden around town with a perpetual grin on her face. She’d loved life and felt blessed to live close to family and friends. It was easy to forget about the debt piling up and her not-so-fabulous part-time career when she was surrounded by so much love and natural beauty.

As she turned off Main Street and took a shortcut through an alley, her phone buzzed. Steering around some broken glass, she removed the phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. It wasn’t her aunt or her assistant. It was Veronica.

Willow returned her phone to her pocket, stuck in an earbud, and connected the call. Without preamble, she asked, “When’s the presentation scheduled for?” Her question was greeted by muffled sniffing. “I can’t understand what you’re saying, Veronica.”

A second later, Naomi’s voice came over the line. “Because she’s not saying anything. She’s crying into a wad of soggy tissues.”

Willow briefly closed her eyes and groaned. Not the smartest thing to do while riding a scooter, she decided, when she hit a pothole and nearly fell off. She regained her balance and asked, “What happened?”

“A better question would be, What’s not happening? And if you haven’t already guessed by the fact Veronica is crying—again—that would be Good Morning, Sunshine!”

Naomi didn’t handle emotional people well so it had surprised Willow when her friends had started dating the previous year. Commercials, puppies, and sunsets made Veronica cry. She was a sensitive person. But just because she cried easily didn’t make her weak. She was actually one of the strongest, kindest, most empathetic women Willow knew, which was why Naomi put up with her crying jags even though they got on her last nerve.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” After what had taken place earlier that day, she couldn’t really blame Bennett’s acting CEO but she had been hoping he’d give her another chance. After all, he’d nearly drowned her. “But Naomi, you and Don can do the presentation.”

Over the past few months, Willow had been pushing Naomi to step out from behind the camera and take a more active role in production. She had great ideas and had helped Willow put the Good Morning, Sunshine! presentation together.

“From what Don said, it didn’t have anything to do with you, Will. Elliot’s mind was made up before he got here.”

“So Don didn’t even bring up Good Morning, Sunshine! to him?”

“Nope. He said Elliot wasn’t interested in anything other than shutting down Channel 5 as quickly as possible. He’s supposedly meeting with a real estate agent to sell the building and contents as well as the Bennett family’s vacation home. He’s leaving Sunshine Bay tomorrow morning.”

Willow turned off the motor and hopped off her scooter, wheeling it toward the familiar weathered gray building up the road. “Okay. This is good. We can work with this.”

Naomi made an annoyed sound in her throat, and Willow pictured her throwing up her hands in disgust. There was nothing Naomi hated more than Willow’s ability to find the positive in any situation. As far as Willow was concerned, it was her superpower. A superpower that seemed to be running a little low these days, she had to admit.

“Ugh, you are positively annoying, Willow Rosetti.”

Willow laughed, surprised that she could given Naomi’s news. “Good one. But I’m serious. I’ll call Megan. If Noah’s looking for a real estate agent on the cape, he’ll go with her, and then we’ll…” Willow sighed at Naomi’s muttered aside. “I heard you, Naomi. This isn’t me and my magical thinking at work. Megan’s the best real estate agent on the cape, and Noah Elliot strikes me as a man who wouldn’t settle for anything but the best.”

He struck her as a jerk too but she wasn’t about to share that with Naomi. If she did, she’d have to share about their disastrous first meeting. “Megan’s been the top-selling real estate agent on the cape for two years running, and she lives in Sunshine Bay, so of course he’ll go with her.”

Willow crossed her fingers. Something had to go her way today, and her best friend taking on Noah Elliot as a client was the best possible outcome. Megan could stall him by convincing him he had to stay in town for at least another day to view and discuss the properties with her, especially the vacation home. Surely it needed some work before they put it on the market.

“Let’s say you’re right and Elliot hires Megan. How does that help us?”

Buoyed by Naomi’s question—if Negative Naomi was willing to concede that Noah would contact Megan, then Willow had to be right—she did a happy dance before opening the door to the restaurant. Midtwerk, she noticed a black Mercedes pulling into the parking lot.

She groaned. Seriously?

“What’s wrong?”

“I was celebrating you agreeing with me for a change, and Noah Elliot just pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. I’m pretty sure he saw me.”

“That’s great,” Naomi said, sounding disconcertingly cheerful.

“No, it’s not great. I was doing my happy dance. Don’t laugh,” she said when Naomi snorted. “He’ll never believe I’m anything other than a flake now.”

“Don’t worry about it. He probably didn’t see you. Besides, you’ve never worried if anyone saw you acting like an idiot before. Why worry about it now?”

“I said a flake, not an idiot,” she grumbled, wheeling her scooter inside the restaurant.

Her previous scooter had been stolen from the bike rack in the parking lot a year before, and she’d been parking her current—delicately used—scooter inside the restaurant ever since. She couldn’t afford to replace it.

“And Noah Elliot’s not just anyone. He holds our futures in his hands,” Willow reminded Naomi.

“Whatever. It can’t be any worse than him seeing you reeling him in on your imaginary fishing rod or you accusing him of stalking you. Which, by the way, you never did explain to us.”

All Willow could think about was Naomi confirming that Noah had seen her and her imaginary fishing rod in action. She swore. Obviously not under her breath as she’d meant to because she’d drawn the attention of the handsome bald man standing at the hostess stand in his white shirt and black pants.

Bruno raised a bushy silver eyebrow at her. He was her grandmother’s fiancé and one of Willow’s favorite people on the planet. She mouthed, Sorry, and he gave her an indulgent smile before confirming a couple’s reservation and ushering them to a table.

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” she promised Naomi. Then, feeling as if she could use her friends’ emotional support, Willow added, “Unless you and Veronica want to stop by for a drink? On me.” Well, on her family, she supposed.

A muffled conversation between the two women ensued before Naomi came back on the line. “We’re going to pass, Will. No pressure, but I think we need to start looking at what’s out there jobwise.” She sighed. “Come on, Veronica, it’s not the end of the world if we have to move.”

“Don’t you guys dare give up,” Willow said, a touch of panic in her voice as she wedged her scooter behind the fountain with the gurgling statue of Venus at its center. “There’s a reason Noah’s coming to dinner here and my best friend is bound to be his real estate agent.”

“Yeah, he’s wants Italian food, and Megan is pretty much the only real estate agent in town.”

“Thanks, Negative Naomi. I expect a coffee and a doughnut when I see you in the morning and share my positively fabulous good news.”

“You’d better pray your forecast for tomorrow is right because we’re heading to the sand dunes for your morning weather report. I’ll bring Lucy,” she said with an evil chuckle.

“Remind me again why we’re friends?” When Naomi began listing all the reasons, Willow sighed. “I was being sarcastic.”

As she disconnected and pocketed her phone, Willow glanced at the coins glinting at the bottom of the fountain. She wondered if any of them had once belonged to her or her sister or her cousin. Their mothers and grandmother had drilled into their heads that they were responsible for making their own wishes come true, but that hadn’t stopped them from hedging their bets and making wishes every time they found coins while cleaning the restaurant.

They used to think La Dolce Vita’s customers must all be rich to be so careless with their loose change until one night they’d caught Bruno placing coins under the tables and chairs.

Willow smiled at the memory as she reached in her pocket and pulled out a lint-covered quarter. Thinking she could use all the help she could get, she tossed it into the fountain. The quarter bounced off Venus’s knee and rolled onto the floor.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered, bending to pick it up. This time, when she made her wish, she pushed up the sleeve of her blazer, stuck her hand in the water, and placed the quarter on the bottom of the fountain, snug between a nickel and a dime.

“Mommy, the lady is stealing money from the fountain!”

“No. No, I wasn’t. Honest. See.” She turned to the little boy, showing him her empty hands. “I just wanted to make sure my quarter stayed in the fountain this time.” She lifted her head to offer his parents a convincing smile, only to meet the dark, sardonic gaze of the man standing behind them.

Really?Willow yelled silently at Venus. She’d wished for an answer to her problem, and what did she get? Her problem standing five feet in front of her, looking at her with an arrogant eyebrow raised.

“You know what? Save your money. Venus is falling down on the job and no longer granting wishes,” Willow told the little boy while once again shoving up the sleeve of her blazer.

She stuck her hand in the fountain and pulled out the quarter, showing it to her audience. “It’s mine.” She put it in her pocket. The way things were going, she’d need it.

She turned and walked into her mother.

“Honey?” Gia Rosetti frowned, searching Willow’s face before leaning around her to offer their audience a sweet smile.

Noah Elliot, Willow noticed, wasn’t among them. She caught sight of his broad back, dark head bent, phone pressed to his ear as he walked out of the restaurant. A part of her wanted to chase after him and drag him back inside while the other part of her wanted to slam and lock the door behind him.

“Bruno will be with you in a moment,” her mother said to the family of three and an elderly couple whom Noah had held the door open for. Maybe he wasn’t a complete ogre.

Putting an arm around Willow’s shoulders, her mother steered her toward the back of the restaurant. “Is everything okay?”

Willow wanted nothing more than to share her worries with her mother but she couldn’t bear to tell her that in two weeks, she’d be homeless, most likely jobless—unless she counted working part-time at La Dolce Vita, which she didn’t—with little more than a quarter to her name.

But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, and the reason she couldn’t had nothing to do with feeling guilty about Camilla. Neither was she worried her mother would be anything other than fully supportive if Willow found herself homeless and jobless.

The problem was that over the past year, Willow had come to the uncomfortable realization that she was the only Rosetti who hadn’t made something of herself. If there were a photo under “Failure to launch” on Wikipedia, she swore it would have her face on it. As much as she doubted her family members were surprised—after all, when their mothers used to ask them what they wanted to be when they grew up, Willow had said “A beach bum”—it was important to her that she prove to them as much as to herself that she was a contributing, responsible, independent member of society. In other words, that she could adult with the best of them.

“I’m fine, Mom.” She smiled and put an arm around her mother’s waist, giving her a side hug.

Her mother, who was routinely mistaken for actress Eva Mendes, arched an eyebrow. “You were stealing money from the fountain.”

“A quarter, and it was mine.” She fished it out of her pocket and held it up. “I realized at the last minute it was my lucky quarter.”

“You can’t fool me, honey. We’ve heard the rumors that the station might be closing, and I understand how worried you must be. But it might not be the worst thing that could happen.”

“How can you say that, Mom? I won’t have a job, and I’ve been working at Channel 5 since I was in high school. It feels more like home than a job.”

“I know, and I know how much you hate change and how much you love your friends at the station, but you’re only getting part-time hours. At least if you were working for one of the big networks, they could offer you full time. Your first year at college, all you talked about was becoming the host of a morning show. It’s not like you’d get the opportunity at Channel 5, even if someone else buys the station. And think of it: if you got a job in Boston, you could live with Sage. You two would have so much fun together.”

Willow adored her sister, who was a high-powered divorce attorney. But as much as she loved Sage, Willow hated the idea of living anywhere other than Sunshine Bay. She hated it so much that the thought of moving from her beloved hometown made her heart race, and not in a good way. She felt faint, swamped by a wave of panic and sorrow.

And those feelings only intensified when her grandmother, who could pass for her daughters’ older sister, walked over and shoved a bowl of gnocchi at Willow. As much as she’d hate to leave Sunshine Bay, the station, and her friends, it was Willow’s love for her family that anchored her to this place.

“Mangia. You’re fading away.” Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed behind her stylish red-framed glasses as she looked Willow up and down. “Who died, and why weren’t we invited to the funeral?”

“No one died, Nonna. I decided to deliver the weather as my professional self instead of a lobster for a change.” She kissed her grandmother’s cheek and took a seat at the long table, the window on the back wall providing a spectacular view of the golden-sand beach and whitecapped waves in the turquoise bay.

The table was reserved for the family, their initials carved into the honey-colored wood. Each and every one of them, from Willow’s mother and aunts to Willow and her sister and her cousin, had grown up at this table. They’d eaten their meals here, done their homework here, played restaurant and Barbies and done crafts here, talked about friends and boyfriends at the table. Some of the most meaningful moments of her family’s lives had happened here, in a restaurant that had been owned by the Rosettis for generations.

She got a little emotional thinking about all the good times they’d shared and what her family meant to her. It didn’t matter how desperate she’d been to save the station; she never should’ve reached out to her aunt. She should’ve found another way.

And as she sat at the table, lifting a forkful of gnocchi to her mouth, inhaling the fragrant basil scent, she promised herself she’d find one. As soon as she finished eating, she’d call her aunt’s assistant, asking her to let Camilla know the matter had been resolved and thanking her for her time.

Then would come the hard part, convincing Noah Elliot to give them until the end of summer to find another buyer for the station. Willow pulled her phone from her pocket to call Megan, unable to resist taking another bite before she did. She moaned her appreciation. “This is so good, Nonna. What’s the sauce?”

“How do you not know this? Pistachio pesto.” Her grandmother pointed at the grainy olive-green sauce drizzled over the gnocchi and creamy white rounds of ricotta cheese.

“I don’t need to know because I have a nonna, mom, and zia who are magnificent cooks and who love to feed me.” She smiled at both her grandmother and her mother.

Ignoring their silent exchange—they were always on her case about learning to cook—Willow pointed at her phone and pressed an icon. “I just have to make a quick call.” It went straight to voicemail. “Megan, get back to me as soon as you get this. It’s an emergency.” Willow disconnected and wolfed down the rest of the gnocchi. “So good. I wish I had time for seconds, but I don’t.” She pushed back from the table and stood up.

Her mother and grandmother said, “Sit.”

Willow’s knees went weak. Praying Camilla hadn’t called them and ratted her out, she slowly lowered herself onto the chair. “What’s wrong?”

Gia and Carmen took a seat on either side of her. “We’re worried about you,” her mother said, taking Willow’s hand in hers. “Mr. Lowell called. He said he asked you to move out two weeks ago and that you haven’t been looking for another place to live. He’s concerned you won’t leave.”

Willow couldn’t deny that the thought had crossed her mind. Channel 5 had done a story on a couple who wouldn’t move out of their rental, and they were still there a year later. “I can’t believe he told you guys. And how does he know I haven’t already found a place?”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us? We’re your family,” her grandmother said.

“I know, Nonna. But come on, I’m twenty-eight.”

Her grandmother muttered something in Italian. Other than a few swear words and the restaurant’s menu, Willow didn’t speak or understand the language but she had a feeling Carmen might’ve said something along the lines of Twenty-eight going on twelve.

Her mother sent Carmen a quelling look, which seemed to support Willow’s suspicion. “He felt bad he had to ask you to leave. He knows July is a terrible time to find something to rent. Which is why your nonna and I wanted to suggest you take over your zia Eva’s apartment.”

Carmen nodded. “Sì, and you don’t have to pay rent.”

“I can’t take advantage of you like that. As much as I appreciate the offer, and I really do, I can’t take handouts anymore.”

“So no more free food and drinks then?” Carmen asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“Ma, they need you in the kitchen,” Willow’s mother said, clearly exasperated with Carmen.

“Nonna’s right.” Willow traced her initials on the table as her grandmother walked off, yelling, “What do you want?” at the kitchen staff.

“Don’t listen to her. There’s nothing Ma likes better than feeding you girls. She’s just upset you didn’t come to us as soon as Mr. Lowell gave you notice. You know how much she hates being the last to know when it comes to her family. She didn’t talk to your zia for a week when she found out from Bruno that they were spending the month in England.”

Willow’s aunt and uncle were in England for his daughter’s wedding. Willow’s cousin and her family were there too.

“Thanks, Mom. But Nonna has a point. I’ve got to get my act together. And I promise, I’ll set some time aside this week to find an apartment.”

Her mother leaned in and gave her a hug. “The apartment is yours if you need it. But look, there’s Megan. Maybe she has something for you.” She waved at Willow’s best friend, who’d walked into the restaurant with none other than Noah Elliot at her side.

“Wish me luck.” She kissed her mother’s cheek before hurrying to where Megan and Noah waited by the hostess stand. “Megs!” Willow nodded at Noah and grabbed her best friend’s hand. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Megan gave her an are you kidding me? look while pulling her hand free and placing it on Noah’s arm. “Maybe later. Bruno’s holding a table for Noah and me. Have you two met?”

Willow held back an eye roll. Megan got all coolly professional when she was in the company of a potential client, especially one with money. And Noah looked and smelled like money.

Willow forced a smile, at the same time praying Noah didn’t say anything about their disastrous first meeting to Megan, and held out her hand. “Not formally. Willow Rosetti, Mr. Elliot. I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you earlier but you’d already left the station.”

His dark gaze roamed her face as he took her hand in his. Frowning, he said, “I thought your name was Lucy.”

Megan laughed. “Everyone calls her Lucy because she reports the weather as the Lobster Pot’s mascot. You have to see her in costume. It’s hilarious.”

“I have seen her in costume,” he said, and Willow braced herself, waiting for him to out her to Megan. But instead, his gaze came back to her, and there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her feel as if she’d gulped down a glass of prosecco, all warm and fizzy inside.

“Are you the Willow from Hidden Cove? The summer of 2011?” he added when she simply stared at him, trying to process what he seemed to be suggesting.

Could it really be him? The Noah she’d hung out with at Hidden Cove for three weeks during the summer of 2011? The boy who’d worn glasses and had a mouthful of metal? The boy she’d thought was her best friend until he left Sunshine Bay and she’d never heard from him again?

She stared at him. “Noah?”

His dark eyes, which she’d thought were black but were really a deep indigo, crinkled at the corners, and a warm smile curved his lips. “Yeah. It’s me.”