Chapter 18
The Pine Village Speedway track had never looked like this before. Instead of the usual roar of engines and the smell of fuel, it was alive with holiday warmth.
Strings of twinkling white lights looped along the grandstands and shimmered across the sleek hoods of parked race cars, turning the entire venue into something that felt halfway between a winter carnival and a fairy tale.
Garlands wound around the railings, velvet ribbons fluttered in the night breeze, and giant inflatable snowflakes bobbed above the pit lane like sentinels.
The asphalt that usually pulsed with adrenaline had been covered in plush red carpets and scattered with vendor booths offering hot chocolate, cotton candy, and candy canes as long as a child’s arm.
Even better, children were everywhere—bundled in puffy coats and knit hats, hospital bracelets peeking out from under mittens, their excitement bubbling so brightly it outshone even the lights.
They darted between the cars, gasping when volunteers lifted them up into cockpits or crouched low to sign hats, jackets, and the occasional cast. Cameras flashed from the professional photographers who captured every precious moment, while reporters lingered at the edges, careful not to intrude on the magic of a wish being granted.
And yet, beneath the laughter and glitter, there was still the polish of a gala.
Waiters wove gracefully through the crowd balancing trays of sparkling cider and delicate hors d’oeuvres, while donors in tailored coats and jewel-toned gowns mingled beside the kids they’d helped sponsor.
A string quartet tucked in the corner played carols with a soft, golden lilt, underscoring the hum of joy that vibrated through the night air.
In the middle of it all, Georgia stood still for a moment, her chest tight. This wasn’t just an event. It was proof that magic could happen off the track too, and she could feel it thrumming all around her—alive and unforgettable.
With the first part of the evening accomplished, Georgia reminded herself of the next steps.
One: Don’t trip in heels.
Two: Don’t dribble champagne down the front of her dress. It cost a fortune.
Three: Absolutely, under no circumstances, do not let them see you sweat.
But as Georgia stood there, in conversation with a man who sparked the faintest flicker of recognition, the sort you’d give a local weatherman who promised light showers and always got it wrong, she realized she was about to break step three.
Because there, across the track, near the glistening cocoa tower, was the Jake Evans.
Dressed in a tuxedo that looked like it had been tailored by the gods with very specific opinions about shoulder-to-waist ratios, he was attracting the attention of every woman in the room—and some of the men.
With one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something sparkly, he threw his head back on a laugh.
Sweet Jesus, the man had the insolence to smolder in public.
He stood on the red carpeted steps with his family and next to a woman in head-to-toe sequins and a fur stole that screamed, “I’m rich, I’m bored, and I came for champagne and compliments.” Then his eyes met hers—and crinkled.
Georgia stopped and hit the pause button.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Meteorology said. “Is it just the champagne, or are you the sparkle in this room? I mean, I wasn’t sure if you’re a statue of a goddess or the most stunning creature the universe created.” There was a long pause. “Hello?”
“It was lovely speaking with you,” she said distractedly, although she wasn’t sure if he was mid-sentence or not, and added, “Thank you for coming out and supporting the cause.”
“My pleasure. And if you’re free later to celebrate your hard work, I’ll be by the hors d’oeuvres.”
“Uh huh,” she mumbled.
She gave a confident nod and, like her limbs weren’t malfunctioning, walked toward a 007-inspired Paul Bunyon.
Halfway up the red carpeted ramp and dangerously close to a teenager in a wheelchair and racing gloves that screamed “Fastest Mo-Fo on the track,” Georgia nearly tripped on the hemline of her dress.
Barely managing to save herself from embarrassment, she clutched a towering gingerbread man and nearly took out the entire table of silent auction items. Her grace and regalness was on par with a Disney princess who suffered from mild vertigo.
She smoothed her dress and her eyes flicked inconspicuously across the ballroom.
Then—like a movie frame snagged on pause—everything in her simply stopped.
Everything else—laughter, music, the clinking of mugs—blurred into nothing but background noise.
His brows lifted in amusement, then ever so slowly, a smile played back and forth in his eyes.
And just like that, her brain hit the pause button—and forgot how to play.
Because that look? That searing look was the same one he gave her a decade ago, twisted in a weave of tangled sheets, with her lipstick smeared on the pillowcase, and right before they’d made love for the first—and only—time.
He lifted his finger in a casual, too-hot-for polite-company come hither and her nipples popped their corks.
Bad idea, remember?
But then there was the other day. And that kiss, which stretched time and rewrote gravity. Which was why she’d been avoiding him today. It was why she’d called a ride share instead of arriving with him.
Refusing to let him see his effect on her, Georgia did the only thing a grown woman could do. She spun around and walked straight into one of the garages acting as a coat closet.
“What are you doing?” she asked herself, leaning against the wall and clutching her chest—which was pounding like she’d run a four-minute mile in stilettos. “He’s just a man.”
“And here I thought I was God,” a sexy-as-sin voice came back.
Georgia climbed behind a rack of coats and made herself as small as possible.
“Your shoes are sticking out,” he said. “Peek-a-boo toes. My favorite.”
“Foot perve.”
“I wear the title proudly.”
As he should. The man could guide a woman across the checkered flag line without even reaching her ankle.
“Of course you do. Pervs always do. And what was that look you gave me?”
“The one that said I want to peel your dress off with my teeth?”
“That one. It’s not an appropriate time.”
“Then you give an appropriate time and date, and me and my teeth will be there with bells on.”
Her belly pinched and a warm glow began to radiate from her chest. “Remember, tonight is about the kids. And only the kids.”
“Then why don’t you come out like a good girl and let me introduce you to someone I think can help.”
She peeked her head out from between a wool coat and feathered shawl. “So, that come hither look was you wanting to introduce me to someone?”
His smile went full tilt. “What did you think it was for?”
“Never mind.”
“Now, shall we go before he decides to leave?”
“Yes.”
He crooked his arm. “Madam?”
“I can walk by myself.” She started forward but he rooted himself in place. “Fine.” She begrudgingly took his arm. “But this doesn’t mean it’s a date.”
“Darlin’, the second you came in wearing those shoes, it was a date.”
He escorted her across the room to a man who was ninety-percent mustache and ten percent caviar. When he caught Georgia’s gaze, his face lit up.
“You must be the lady of the hour,” he said in a French accent.
“Pierre, this is Georgia Warren, a wish maker for The Wish Project. Georgia, this is Pierre Luran.”
Georgia swallowed her tongue whole. Not only was he the owner of Nova Racing, he was a billionaire, who could, with one check, float the foundation for years to come.
“Nice to meet you.” He took her hand in his, and she nearly cried. He could be the possible savior she’d been looking for. And Jake had made it happen. Not because she’d asked him, but because he knew how important this mission was to her.
Pierre looked down at the hands which she was still holding, and she realized she hadn’t spoken.
Right. Open mouth. Form words. Blink like you’re human. All things she used to know how to do.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said, slipping her hands away. “I’ve been watching your team, and it looks like you have a great shot of winning the Constructor’s Championship.”
He clapped Jake on the back. “It’s all riding on this one.”
She watched some of the easygoing joy in Jake’s eyes fade. Not a lot, but enough for her to notice.
She’d never really thought about how much responsibility he carried. How he was the make-or-break for an entire team, which included hundreds of people with mortgages and 401(k)s and college tuitions. All relying on him to pay the bills.
The weight must be staggering. It was similar to the weight she carried all those years with her own family. Weight she hadn’t known to let go of, so it just transferred into her professional life.
After the way his parents raised him, he must be terrified of letting someone down.
“This is an amazing event,” Pierre said.
She felt her face pinken. “It was a team effort.”
A strong, delicious arm slid around her shoulder.
“Actually, Georgia did all the heavy lifting,” Jake began.
“Including getting me on board with one of the finest nonprofits in the country. In fact, Georgia alone has granted over five hundred wishes and raised over three million dollars in just five years.”
Georgia stood there in awe as Jake went on about all her accomplishments. But what squeezed her heart was that he knew the facts about her career. He must have looked her up on the company’s website or asked Jane. It touched her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
“That’s impressive,” Pierre said. Using two fingers, he twisted up the end of his mustache. “I donate to a lot of charities. What makes yours any different?”
Georgia’s chin tipped a little higher and her shoulders squared. This was where she shined.