Chapter 9 #2
“I wasn’t planning on disgracing myself … just underperforming a little.” Daphne snorted and Sam cut her eyes away. “My cake pops would’ve been perfectly passable; I just would’ve lost points on creativity. Hannah would’ve felt like she earned her win and—losing doesn’t make you a loser, you know.”
“Hmm, pretty sure by definition it does.”
In the strictest sense, sure, but that wasn’t what Sam was talking about.
“I’m talking a permanent state of being, not temporary.
You can lose one dumb competition, and it doesn’t make you a dud for life or a—a total write-off.
I still would’ve been a successful chef; I just wouldn’t have been crowned winner. ”
She would’ve been a gracious loser, too.
She would’ve offered to buy Hannah a congratulatory drink to celebrate her win, and she’d have suggested a bar she knew Hannah liked, her knowing Hannah but Hannah not knowing her giving Sam a leg up, a competitive edge where it really counted.
And once they were at Hannah’s favorite bar, Sam would’ve ordered a gin martini, and she would’ve asked the bartender to make it as dirty as the Hudson because that was always Hannah’s go-to line when she ordered.
An intriguing coincidence, Hannah would’ve thought, or even better, fate.
Sam didn’t care what Daphne thought. She should’ve lost.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sam.”
Sam scowled. “You’re making it sound like I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t.”
Daphne said nothing and Sam’s ire rose.
“You know what? This conversation is pointless.” She had called shenanigans . The wish was over. She should just put the entirely contrived scenario behind her and start thinking about her next move. “It was just a dumb cooking competition.”
“No, it’s your life.” Daphne rose to her feet and walked over to a retro-looking gold bar cart with mint-green inlaid trays set against the wall. “Do you really want to make yourself small in hopes of making someone else happy?”
“Dramatic much? I hardly think making a few cake pops counts as making myself small.”
Daphne unstoppered a glass decanter and poured a full measure of ruby-red wine into a glass.
“It’s the principle of the thing, Sam. You throw one cooking competition to make Hannah happy, fine.
Whatever. What’s it going to be tomorrow?
Are you going to spend your whole life capitulating to Hannah’s every whim and desire? Where does it end?”
“ Now you’re concerned with principles?” Sam scoffed and shook her head.
“I’m not capitulating and—You know what?
Even if I were, Hannah doesn’t want me to be small.
That cooking competition from hell was an anomaly.
You concocted a scenario that would never happen if not for your interference.
The Hannah I know can’t cook to save her life, and she wants to be with someone successful and exciting, not someone small. ”
“Someone successful and exciting but not as successful and exciting as her.” Daphne swirled her wine and regarded Sam with a pitying smile. “Are you really going to light yourself on fire to keep someone warm who wouldn’t even bother to piss on you to put you out?”
Sam ground her teeth together, the fury that had smoldered in her chest stoked to life. “Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t know her.”
Daphne’s lips twitched and another spark of anger flared inside Sam at being mocked. “Do you ?”
They were together for two and a half years. They’d lived together, shared a life together, for two years. Sam loved her. “Of course I know her.”
Daphne took a slow sip of wine while staring steadily at Sam over the rim of her glass. “You know what I think you could use, Sam?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Right you are. But first, how rude of me. Wine?” Daphne dangled the decanter in the air, waving it in offering.
Sam shook her off. The last thing she needed was to have a drink and for the alcohol to go to her head.
She needed to keep her wits about her now more than ever.
“Suit yourself.” Daphne topped off her own glass before walking a few steps and leaning against a midcentury modern media cabinet.
A boxy retro television with two control knobs and bunny-ear antennae sat atop it. “I think you need a break.”
“A break?” Her brows rose. “A break from what?”
“You know.” Daphne shrugged, and, no, Sam didn’t know where she was going with this.
“I think you’re getting so caught up in the minutiae of it all that you can’t see the forest for the trees.
You’re clearly stressed. Pretty soon you won’t be thinking clearly.
You won’t be good for anyone if you don’t take care of yourself. ”
Sam was instantly skeptical. “What are you suggesting I do?”
“Maybe go on a vacation.” Daphne drummed a finger against her lips. “I’ve heard Reykjavík is nice this time of year. You could see the Hallgrímskirkja and grab a nice craft beer. Take a dip in one of those geothermal pools. Catch a glimpse of the northern lights, maybe.”
“Reykjavík?” Her brows rose. “Really?”
Sam didn’t know what Daphne had up her sleeve, but it reeked of bullshit.
“Why not? Sam.” Daphne set her glass down and crossed her arms. Any traces of humor had vanished from her face, her expression verging on grave.
She stared beseechingly at Sam. “You have but this one precious life to live. Don’t you want to experience it to the fullest?
See the sights and taste the food and—you could have a whole Eat, Pray, Love experience if you wanted. What’s stopping you?”
The question was rhetorical, but Sam answered anyway.
“Coco would never give me the time off. I don’t have the money.
I’d have to board Nacho and Pumpkin at the vet, and they hate that.
My mom would have my hide if she found out I’d flounced off to Europe when I haven’t been home in over a year.
Taking a vacation by yourself is overrated and lonely if you’re not an extrovert.
Sightseeing is pointless if you don’t have someone to share it with.
Should I keep going or do you get the gist? ”
“You know what’s so beautiful about our friendship, Sam?”
Friendship? Don’t make her laugh. “You and I are not friends.”
“Sure we are,” Daphne chirped. “What is a friend if not someone who’s there for you?
Someone who tells you the truth, even when it’s hard to hear.
Someone who cares about your well-being.
Someone with shared interests. You have problems and I have solutions, and I love that for us.
You need someone to watch your cats for you?
I can do that. I adore all creatures, be they furred, scaled, feathered, or three-headed.
You want to take your mom with you on vacation?
She can be on the next flight to New York tomorrow morning, and you can meet her at the gate. ”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re not offering to transfer your SkyMiles points to me.”
“If that’s what you want,” Daphne said. “Or you could fly private. Hey, novel thought! You could skip the flight altogether if you want. All you have to do is say the two magic words and you can find yourself in the finest accommodations that Iceland has to offer.”
The penny dropped and Sam laughed. There it was. “If you think I’m wasting one of the four wishes I have left on a European getaway, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Three.”
“What?”
“You have three wishes left,” Daphne said, “not four.”
No, that wasn’t right. “The deal was for six wishes.”
“Yes.” One by one, Daphne held up her fingers, three on her left hand, three on her right. She wiggled them at Sam. “You’ve used three, meaning you’re down to three.”
Sam most certainly had not used three. That wasn’t something she’d forget. “I wished that I was wealthy enough to give Hannah the life she desires and then I wished that I were a successful, wealthy, competent executive chef. That is two wishes, not three. Two. ”
“And bread pudding makes three.”
“Bread pudding? But I didn’t wish for—”
Time slowed, and Sam’s vision tunneled to a teeny-tiny pinprick. At the end of that tunnel was a memory. Warm, gooey bread pudding slathered in thick, hot buttered rum sauce delivered right to the elevator.
I suppose the proof is in the pudding.
“No.” Sam shook her head vigorously. “That was a trial. I only made that wish because I needed proof that you could do what you said you could. It doesn’t count.”
Otherwise, she never would have wasted a wish on something as inane as dessert.
Daphne clicked her tongue against her teeth. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Sam.”
Free lunch— “I hadn’t even signed anything yet!”
How could she be held liable for something to which she hadn’t yet agreed?
“Let’s take a little look-see at your contract, shall we?
” Daphne snapped her fingers and from the ceiling a single sheet of loose-leaf paper fluttered.
She plucked it out of the air and from it read, “Page 222, article 4, section 3, subsection 2, paragraph 8. Retroactive effectiveness. The parties agree that the terms as outlined in this contract shall be effective retroactive to October 28, 2025 CE.” Daphne offered the paper to Sam.
“You can read it yourself if you don’t believe me. ”
Sam cradled her head in her hands and closed her eyes. Every time she thought this night couldn’t get worse, it did. “I can’t believe this.”
How could she have been so stupid? No, not stupid. She’d waved at stupid as she passed it miles back. They were going to have to come up with a brand-new word only for her, just to do justice to the new level of smooth-brained behavior Sam had unlocked.
“There, there, Sam,” Daphne said, crossing the room to pat her on the arm. “Don’t beat yourself up too badly. Des peration drives humans to do all kinds of foolish things. Foolish things you would not believe.”