Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

December

Nova pulled a Christmas wreath from a storage box and positioned it on the door hanger, getting her front door in the holiday spirit. Usually hanging the door wreath was one of her favorite parts of decorating because it seemed to set the mood for decorating the rest of the house, but not this time, not this Christmas.

Something was wrong. Nova couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt as if her life was slipping out of her control, tilting away from happiness toward grief and loneliness. Nothing was obviously out of whack; her business was humming along and meeting her expectations. There were always up and downs but she had analyzed and anticipated, and nothing had taken her by surprise. Her holiday plans were coming together with only a few minor glitches.

Still.

She stepped back to observe her handiwork in the mellow glow of the porch light, straightened the wreath an inch to the left, then returned inside to start decorating the tree. The tree was the most labor intensive, but normally she loved doing it, loved decorating the house for Christmas. The door wreath was the opening move, the tree was the Big Deal, and the rest of the house was gradually dealt with.

She loved Christmas. Her older sister Celesta would arrive with her husband and three kids, her mother would take over in the kitchen and wonderful smells would fill the house. Her step-father Doc would be playing with the children as if he was no older than they were, the kids would be running and yelling and laughing, oohing at the decorated tree and all the pretty lights, the tableaus and figurines, the fake snow and fresh pine needles on the mantle, the bowls of treats and snacks — all of that was on track. There was no reason for her to feel so sad, almost panicked.

A trip loomed in her near future, as in two-days near. She had to go to the west coast before the holidays, to meet with a potential vendor. She wanted to go and yet she didn’t. Expanding her business was good for her finances, and she loved her work. She didn’t do anything earth-shattering, she owned a boutique that catered to the upper-middle income clientele base, but there was something satisfying in discovering unique pieces of clothing of good quality for her customers. Someone could walk out of her store with an outfit that wasn’t likely to be seen on someone else, because Nova also enjoyed putting together ensembles that might be a little unexpected but were always flattering.

The vendor in California had some really interesting pieces of his own design on his website, mostly wraps and tops suitable for a night of clubbing, but he also had some shoes that made Nova’s mouth water. Her own tastes tended toward classic but she really liked the combination of striking shoes with more subdued clothing.

The pieces were more expensive than what she usually carried in her store. She would be taking a financial risk bringing in items that raised her overhead and might not sell as well as the inventory she normally carried.

Dilemma: a non-risk taker needed to take a risk.

She spent two hours getting the multi-colored lights positioned just so on the tree, climbing up and down on the stepladder until she was so tired she called the light-hanging done, at least for tonight. Tweaking was allowed, after all. Next were the ornaments, and almost all of them were memories, safely wrapped in tissue paper and tucked into labeled boxes. Then she saw an unlabeled box, and that was so unusual she paused, frowning. She didn’t recognize the box, which was oblong in shape and made of a heavy gauge cardboard that had been stamped with the name WISHING WELL ORNAMENTS. She, who alphabetically organized her spices and arranged her closet by color, would definitely remember that box and she’d never have left it unlabeled. Celesta said she was OCD but Nova didn’t mind disorder as long as it didn’t cost her any time. Her schedule demanded she be as organized as possible.

“Huh. Wishing Well.” The name was oddly familiar but offhand she couldn’t place it. She picked up the mystery box, which was light for its size, but nevertheless felt as if it held a substantial weight. Nova resisted the urge to shake it, instead placing the box on the floor and lifting the lid away. The contents were concealed by black tissue paper that glittered with iridescent stars.

She folded back the tissue paper and the dragon stared at her. Memories of that hot July day flooded back, the white-haired woman, the sense of wonder she’d felt when she first saw the dragon.

“Oh, my,” she said softly as she lifted the gorgeous thing from the box. “How could I have forgotten you?”

The dragon’s jeweled eyes flashed at her, as if asking the same thing.

With the tip of her forefinger she stroked the exquisitely shaped head, then the powerful wings. The ornament should have felt cool but a subtle heat emanated from it as if it was a living entity.

The dragon liked being stroked.

She laughed out loud, amused by the fantasy. Cupping it in both hands she lifted it to eye level. Where should she place this beautiful piece? It didn’t exactly fit with the more traditional decor of her tree, but it was so eye-catching she wanted it to be somewhere it would, well, catch the eye.

“There’s something about you,” she murmured to the dragon, rising to her feet to cross to the mantle and try out a position there, amid the greenery. Nope, still too traditional. “You look as if you would dare anything. You even seized the world and look as if carrying it in your talons is no more strain than carrying an egg. Me? I don’t dare anything. Security is important to people. Well, it’s important to me. Doc has some heart problems. If something happens to him, will Mom be okay financially? And there’s Granita, she’s a force of nature but she’s even older. If I have to, will I be able to take care of them?”

It wasn’t just the three older members of her family, either; it was her employees, all four of them, and their families who depended on their salaries. Owning a business wasn’t for the careless or the faint of heart.

“Not here,” she told the dragon, lifting him from the mantle. “This isn’t your place. You need center-of-attention space. How do you feel about being the centerpiece on the table? I can do wonders with some books for different heights and covered with a piece of velvet, make you a dramatic perch with some battery- operated fairy lights circled around your cliff. Some velvet, some lights, a little bit of magic.” Sighing, she held him at eye level again. “I wish I had your balls. Not literally. I’m not built for dragon balls. I don’t know if dragons even have balls.”

The darkly iridescent eyes flashed.

“Okay, so you have balls. Congratulations.”

She was obviously too tired for clear thinking, because she was having a one-sided conversation with a dragon. Softly she said, “I wish I had your courage, your self-confidence. I bet you don’t second-guess your decisions. You go after what you want, and what you wanted was the world. What I want isn’t that ambitious, but it’s my world.”

You can’t win if you don’t play the game.

The words boomed through her, because though the sound was soft they seemed to come from outside her, not a thought but something that came from . . . the dragon? Now, this was a major flight of fancy but the words were still sinking into every cell, every strand of DNA, and she knew damn good and well she hadn’t spoken them.

Not a flight of fancy.

Something magic.

Something magic imbued in the dragon she held in her hands.

Something magic that the dragon was giving to her, a gift of spirit, a granting of her wish . . . from the Wishing Well Ornament Company.

Her instinct had told her from the moment she saw the dragon that it was different, that it belonged to her on a level that went beyond an exchange of money. Her instinct hadn’t told her the dragon would make her hallucinate, make her think it was talking to her.

You can’t win if you don’t play the game.

Except her life wasn’t a game, it was responsibility that was based on love, not duty. The underlying theory was the same, though: if she didn’t dare, she’d never know if the outcome would be better. She needed to reach for more and not merely protect what she already had. She needed to take a risk.

The dragon had grown warm in her hands.

Yes, damn it, she’d fly across the country to make personal contact with someone who made his own type of magic that might or might not resonate with her customers. She had to evaluate him, his products, do some cost of doing business calculations, and make a decision based on knowledge. And while she was there, she’d do something else that was alien to her: she’d take a driving tour of the Southwest, see the desert, no itinerary, stop when she wanted to. She’d carve the time out of her holiday schedule because her heart needed that private adventure, the time for herself. Even as a child she’d often thought how much fun that would be, to just drive and see the country and please herself. As an adult she’d stuffed that wish away, focused on stability and responsibility. Those two things were important and she had done what was needed to establish them.

Now she needed more. Now it was her time to fly.

“You watch over things here,” she told the dragon. “I’m going to take two weeks and see what happens. You’d better be right because I really don’t have two open weeks and I’m blowing a hole in my schedule. If things don’t work out, I’m going to paint you yellow and put you in a yard sale.”

Could a dragon ornament look smug?