22. ~ Char ~
CHAPTER 22
~ Char ~
L ife had slowed down after Wednesday’s flurry of grant-getting, and me and James kissing. Was that because I’d been a lot more careful about not making wishes?
Or was it unrelated that I’d barely seen James over the past several days, and didn’t know if he was still interested in me?
Logically, not seeing James could also be explained by my sudden workload increase. Joan, my boss at the temp agency, had suddenly been sending me extra, urgent jobs on top of my usual load. I’d been working from dawn to dusk which hardly gave me time to make any wishes. Or to see James.
Maybe it was just my current life circumstances putting the brakes on our full-speed getaway into a relationship, and had nothing to do with magic. Although, if I’d accidentally wished for him to kiss me last Wednesday, that wish would have worn off at midnight, if the fairytales were correct. That would explain why he wasn’t banging down my door and sweeping me into his arms.
At least keeping up with our park plans kept me from thinking about the implications of my unbreakable wishing habits, having a fairy godmother, and also a sudden boyfriend.
The city had allowed me to buy the two lots with the grant money earlier today, and the girls and I had been calling in favours where we could to create a demolition schedule for the warehouse as well as forming our landscaping plan.
It was now after six at night, and I was eager to check out my new land purchase. Samantha had agreed to come along with me, as our other three roommates had drummed up various reasons for not tromping through the abandoned warehouse, plotting its demise.
I’d begged James to tag along and be our protector since I wasn’t sure what would be in the warehouse. But really, I needed an excuse to see him again and get a read on our relationship status. If there even was one.
While Samantha and I waited for him to arrive, she made us some decaf lattes in her fancy machine.
I was getting addicted. Her hot drinks were always perfect. Every time.
She handed me a mug, her metal bangles clanging against its ceramic surface. “Your latte.”
I inhaled its rejuvenating aroma; the steam dampening my face. Since her adoption of the machine, our kitchen smelled like a coffee shop on most days, the scent seeping into the old wood floors. Before taking a sip, having spied a carton of skim milk in our fridge yesterday, I said, “This had better not be ‘skinny’.”
Samantha snorted. “Like I’d waste our time.” She ran a flattened hand down her side, over the curves of her torso, and coyly batted her lashes. “I like my girlish figure.”
While I have some pretty feminine curves, Samantha officially had the market cornered. The woman could double as a 1940s pinup girl. Well, except for the piercings and changing rainbow of hair colouring.
I took a sip of the milky coffee. She’d made it sweet, just the way I like it.
“Perfect, right?” she asked smugly.
“Always.”
We took our cups and waited for James outside, just down the street to a spot where Randy wouldn’t see us from his front window and come out to shoot the breeze.
Samantha paused, the cup halfway to her mouth. I followed her line of sight: Caleb leaving the apartment.
I cleared my throat. “How are you and Malachi?” I asked.
“Mmhm.”
Clearly she was still crushing on our downstairs neighbour, and I feared that didn’t bode well for Malachi.
I got it though. Caleb had wavy, longish hair that brushed his dark lashes when he looked at you. He was tall, lanky, and always in a well-loved knitted sweater. He seemed genuine and kind. Oh, and he was Irish. Had I mentioned that was Samantha’s personal kryptonite?
He caught our eye from down the way, giving us a nod, his eyes sweeping over Samantha. Then he vanished into his car, Samantha’s gaze following like little lost puppies who’d imprinted on the man.
“Irish,” Samantha said on a sigh. “Hotness like that shouldn’t be allowed.”
“Samantha! You have a boyfriend.” I elbowed her, spilling her latte.
She shot me a dark glance and licked the coffee from her thumb. “I still have eyes. I can look.”
“You could make a wish to your fairy godmother, you know,” I said slyly. Tamara, Josie and I had floated the idea of fairy godmothers past Samantha and Gabby a few times over the past two weeks, but they didn’t seem inclined to start believing.
Samantha simply rolled her eyes, and I moved the conversation back to her boyfriend. “Malachi’s one of those nice-guy types.”
“Hm?”
“You know, he’s sweet. The kind of guy you’d rather stay in with on a Saturday night instead of go out bar hopping?”
Not that I ever wanted to stay in with a guy. I was too afraid of ruining it all. Being boring, getting stuck in a rut. All of that. Life needed a bit of excitement.
Samantha got a far-off look. “We stayed in last weekend. No nightclubs. No parties.”
“Really? On purpose? Were you sick or something?”
She scoffed at me. “No. We wanted to.”
Wanted to. Because they were in love?
I caught myself looking down the street for James’s Range Rover, wondering if he’d have a similar effect on me. I was having trouble imagining it.
Who was going to be my adventurous role model if Samantha decided to settle down?
“We stayed at home—” her tone went dry “—when I wasn’t over here helping you plot the makeover.” She gestured toward the warehouse and trashy lot. She turned to me with interest. “Why do you like temping?”
There was something in her tone that made me knee-jerk my standard reply: “I love it. Absolutely love it. I like the constant change.”
Stay moving, don’t think. Excellent plan for a life of happiness, right? I would die with no regrets, just a memory filled with fun and adventure.
Plus, now that I’d earned a solid reputation with our boss, Joan, I was being sent places where they treated their temporary employees with a little respect. It was fun.
“I keep thinking you’ll accept one of those offers that comes with a steady, reliable pay cheque and decent benefits,” Samantha said, watching me, something in her gaze that unnerved me. “You know, settle in, settle down.”
“Me?” I snorted, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Yeah. You’re the smalltown nesting type.”
“Am not!” The smalltown nesting type was Tamara. Not me. “I’m not related to half the people in any town, and me and my family haven’t lived in some little place since its inception. I don’t fit into small towns.” I knew how they worked. They were like functional families—something nice for other people to experience.
“Because you’ve barely stayed anywhere long enough for everyone to let their guard down and let you in. You’re a smalltown type.” Her tone was firm. “You like people, and have friends and connections all over the city. I mean, you think I have connections in Calgary, but you probably called over a hundred people you knew to see if they’d help with the park if you got the land. And most of them told you to either keep them in the loop, or said yes.”
That was true. A lot of people had offered to donate a few bucks, or to at least mention my park to a business they knew of who might help sponsor parts of its creation.
“You make everywhere feel like a small town. You’re always doing nice things for others, like helping that hurt kid and walking shelter dogs.”
Right. I’d started doing that this week, too. A mini backup plan in case the park thing didn’t help the old karmic bank account.
“And now you’re doing all this community building stuff.”
I paused, unsure if I should mention the fairy godmother thing again. At some point, she was either going to start believing, or think I was crazy. I feared the latter was looking more likely.
“Maybe I’m like Clarisa,” I said, referring to her stepmom, “and just like to do good things?”
“No. It’s something more.”
“Probably the fact that I owe my fairy godmother a lot of money?” I angled a look her way, and she laughed.
“No, you’re the family type. And temping isn’t you. It’s too transient. I don’t think it’s what makes you happy. It’s not what feels good and secure in here.” She held a hand to her chest, and I wondered what had gotten into her. We talked about money and what was hot around the city, not this sort of stuff. Had Tamara put her up to this talk? Because this sounded more like Tamara to me.
“Family type?” I echoed. We’d wandered back to our front step, and I set down my empty coffee cup. It was all I could do not to scoff at Samantha’s proclamation of who I was, even though a tiny part of me wanted it to be true. I loved the idea of having a place or group of people to call home. I had my roomies, yes, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever.
“Yeah.” She gave a small shrug. “I could see you as a really fun mom.” She laughed, and I stood, not quite sure what to say to that, grateful to spy James’s SUV coming down the block.
He popped out of his old Range Rover, looking handsome in a deep blue sweater, all smiles. “Congrats on getting the land!”
I gave a little squeal as he swept me into his arms, giving me a twirl there in the middle of the street. He twirled me like I weighed nothing. Absolutely nothing, and I swear I swooned a little, because who didn’t love a strong man?
Maybe he hadn’t been under a spell after all.
Then again, no hello kiss.
Were we back in the friend zone because my wishes had worn off? Or was it because we had an audience that he didn’t give me a kiss?
I felt like I couldn’t even look at him fully with Samantha’s words whirling in my head about how I was the family type. Was I actually like James, but didn’t realize it? Did I actually want a close-knit family, even though the idea terrified me, and I didn’t know how it worked? And even if I did manage to get it, would I screw it up?