Chapter 21

twenty-one

ELLA

“When is the last time you made a wish at the wishing well?”

Luke kicks a small pebble on the sidewalk as we walk, carrying our to-go boxes of desserts. We couldn’t decide on one, so we have a box of fried peach cobbler bites and fried Oreos. I have plans to go back and try the churro sundae in the next couple of weeks.

The last time I made a wish was approximately four thousand three hundred and eighty days ago. Give or take. I’m tired, so math isn’t my strongest suit at the moment. But somehow I don’t think that’s the answer he’s looking for.

“I thought you didn’t believe in magic?”

“This isn’t about me.” He chuckles as he leads us toward the little garden off the main path where the wishing well resides.

The only thing that’s changed here are the florals nestled beside the stone benches. There are a few additions to the downtown area I don’t recognize, but it mostly looks just how I remember it. Most of the businesses are off one of the four main roads that form a square, with a fountain in the center. There are establishments that are on the roads that spiral off the main ones, like The Grotto, or a little garden shop we passed called Evergreen Enchantments.

I wonder if the owner tends to this area because the grass doesn’t look as worn as it should. It’s thick Bermuda, almost cushiony, as we step off the sidewalk and onto it.

“You have to make a wish, too,” I say as he digs a coin out of his pocket.

“Who’s rules?”

“Mine. Consider it peer pressure.”

“So if you jump off the bridge into Mirror Lake, I should too?” He angles his head and squints at me, the setting sun directly in his eyes.

“First off all, you wouldn’t catch me on the bridge to begin with.”

“Afraid of a little troll?” He nudges me with his elbow.

“They don’t sound like the most pleasant creatures,” I say with a laugh.

“Just tell them a little joke. They’ve got a pretty solid sense of humor.”

My eyes widen. “You’ve met one?”

“Maybe? Maybe not.” He holds a coin out for me. “We’ll save that story for another time.”

Magic has rules. I can’t walk up to the well and wish to get back our lost time or for my parents. Those aren’t things that can be changed or fixed. Most people wish for money or some variation of wealth because it’s a universal desire. Sometimes they wish for love, but I’ve always heard that one is tricky as well.

My wishes were always more simple than that.

I wished someone could see me beyond the persona my step-mother gave me .

I wished for normal teenage experiences like sneaky kisses and dates.

But today my wish is a little less frivolous. I wish someone could save me from Charlotte. I’m clearly not doing a great job at it, since I’m still working for her instead of finally starting my new life.

I pluck the coin from his fingers and press a kiss to the metal before tossing it over the edge. There’s not a dramatic plop as it hits the water on the bottom like in cartoons, but there’s still a small sense of satisfaction. I’m not sure it’ll actually come true, but even the slightest bit of hope is better than nothing.

“Done,” I announce. “Your turn.”

“Only had one coin.” He shrugs.

“That is so devious.”

“I prefer to think of it as gentlemanly. I literally gave you my wish.”

When he puts it that way, it definitely is. But I’m trying to follow rule five, so I’m choosing to ignore facts for opinion. Falling for him isn’t on my wedding agenda, and I don’t need more reasons to have non-friendly feelings.

“Devious.”

“If you insist.” He places a hand on my lower back, as if to guide me back toward the sidewalk. It’s a habit, I’m sure, a deeply ingrained one. But we only make it a couple of steps before he pulls his hand back.

The absence of his touch leaves me feeling vulnerable, and I can’t say that I like it all that much. It only furthers my inner conflict. Luke is supposed to stay on the other side of the shaky line I’ve drawn in the sand where I’ve neatly labeled it as “friend zone”. But he keeps smudging the line, sometimes jumping right over it into the “romantic lead” area .

Technically, I started it. But I’ve tried really hard to backtrack.

Mostly.

Then I slip back into a place where I knew hope. Tender moments in the pumpkin patch with Luke have seared themselves into my memory like a brand. It’s like my soul knows I can’t ever put him back in the “best friend’s brother” box. There’s still a tug on a cord that connects us, even though it’s weaker than it used to be.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Forgot about rule number one.”

I want that comfort back, so maybe I should revisit all these thoughts tomorrow.

“That can be considered platonic… right?”

Nervous, I mash my lips together. I don’t really have friends outside of Laila, Bridget, or Gaby, and it’s definitely not a common practice between any of us. A hand on the lower back is out of my frame of reference. But it seems safe enough. Gentlemanly even. Like back in the day when men tossed their coats over a puddle.

He scratches his beard. “I guess it could. Are you suggesting an addendum to rule one?”

I must be half delusional at this point because hearing him say that is way more attractive than it should be. My answer should be no. Nevermind.

“Yep, exactly.”

All I can do at this point is give my inner self a face palm.

He eyes me cautiously before his hand goes right back to where it was.

“As you wish.”

We walk in silence back to the bed-and-breakfast. It’s been an easy silence though, despite the ebbs and flows of dinner and the field trip afterward. The old Victorian home sits on a lot that backs up to the lake, only a street over from The Grotto. Streets veer and curve along the lake’s shoreline, so the town could make the most of the prime real estate.

The old house oozes coziness with a light robin’s egg blue paint job and bright white shutters. The cool color compliments the warm Earth tones of fresh pumpkins tumbling down the entrance stairs, with vibrant burgundy varieties of mums planted in whiskey barrels at the base.

I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels over the years, but this is my first time staying anywhere this charming. When I was waiting for my rental car—was that only this morning?—I pulled up photos online and fell in love. It’s just the right blend of history and modern convenience.

Sam appears on the doorstep, eyeing us both.

“How was dinner?”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Our replies jumble together as we climb the stairs, earning an even funnier look from Sam.

“Where’s the best place for us to get some work done?” Luke asks. “Charlotte expects a vendor list in the morning.”

My cheeks heat. I’m not used to sharing this part of my workload.

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Couldn’t you work on that tomorrow?”

“No,” Luke barks out before I can answer. He winces and lowers his voice. “Sorry. She’s being a little unreasonable.”

Sam steps back so we can cross the threshold into the entry. It’s every bit as cozy as the online photos look. Luke removes his hat and tosses it on the antique hat rack right inside the door.

I glance at Sam, taking him in for the first time since I’ve been back. There wasn’t much of a chance to talk before we went to dinner, and I marvel at how much he’s changed. He’s got dark chestnut hair like Luke, but it’s a little longer. Shaggier. It suits him.

There’s a clawfoot bathtub upstairs in my room, screaming my name. My eyes find the stairs and I calculate how quickly I could get into bed so I could get up early and whip together a list for Charlotte. My whole body aches with exhaustion at this point.

“I can help with suggestions,” Sam replies. “It’ll go faster.”

I turn my attention back to him. “This isn’t your problem, Sam. I’ve gotten pretty good at?—”

Luke wraps his pinky around mine, the gesture hidden by my skirt. I’d laugh at how cute he’s being if I wasn’t ready to cry about how tired I am.

“New people to rely on.” Luke reminds me.

I let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. He’s right.

“It’s really not a problem, Ella. We actually get a lot of weddings through here. A lot of brides book a stay for their weekend.”

This shouldn’t surprise me.

“He’s letting all those Most Romantic Bed-and-Breakfast in Briarwood County awards get to his head,” Luke says.

“Really?” I ask. That’s something I need to add to my list.

“Three years running. Be right back.” Sam heads over to the reservation desk as Luke gently pulls me toward the front lounge area.

If the whole place feels as cozy as it does here, I won’t want to leave. Over stuffed pillows in deep teals and oranges decorate the couches in the front lounge area, flanking bookshelves that are bursting with hardbacks of varying condition.

“This looks like a great place. We’ll work here.” Without waiting for a response, Luke drops to the first leather couch and groans as he stretches his legs. He pats the cushion beside him. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” I reply with a snort, but there’s really no fight behind my comment. The urge to do exactly what he says and use him as a human pillow sounds like the best idea I’ve had in a year. But I want out of these shoes and this dress and into something way more comfortable. “I’m going to run upstairs and change.”

Luke’s head is propped on the back of the couch, his eyes closed. I imagine he’s exhausted, too. His only response is a grunt.

I hesitate for only a second before I ease myself beside him.

“Luke,” I whisper.

“Hmmm.”

“Go home.”

His arm circles my waist, and his hand squeezes right above my hip bone. He turns his head, one eye squinted open.

“You worried about me?”

“Yes.” More than I want to admit. Country roads are dark at night and I don’t want him driving home this tired. “I can get this list done by myself. It’s fine.”

He opens both eyes to fully look at me. “Long days are part of the grind this time of year. I’m no stranger to working on a few hours of sleep. I got a lot of practice when Lucy was a baby.”

It’s the first time he’s offered a snippet into his parenthood role and I’m conflicted about how I feel. He should be home eating dinner with her and tucking her in, not doing whatever this is. Though I’ve enjoyed most of it .

He’s missed the entire day of prep before the farm opens for the season.

“I’ve kept you long enough.”

“I’m choosing to be here,” he replies, a little more forcefully. “No matter who you are to me: friend, family, girlfriend… please don’t question where I want to be.”

My heart stumbles over the world girlfriend . I’ve lost count of how many times he’s ignored the fake part. It could be that Sam is only a few feet away, but either way, the term would raise questions. We’ve really got to iron that out.

“Ella. We’re in this fight together.”

I push to my feet at the same time Sam comes back.

“Who are we fighting?” he asks.

“It’s a long story,” I reply, then excuse myself to run upstairs and change.

By the time I get back down to Luke and Sam, papers scatter across the coffee tabletop. Some of the beautiful overstuffed pillows in teals and oranges that decorated the couches are still there, while some now decorate the floor.

“Don’t forget about The Tipsy Toad,” Sam says, tapping on a paper.

Luke is bent over, scribbling furiously. “What about The Jolly Roger?”

“Jax owns both. The Jolly Roger is more of a specialty mobile rum bar. Did you get the Pixie Dust Taqueria? We’ve had them out at the farm before.”

Luke sits up. “That’s the one with the, uh, the fairy fire tacos? The habanero and pineapple salsa.”

“You could’ve been a nice brother and brought back a to-go box for me, you know. I would’ve been great with a Grotto burger and sweet potato fries.”

“They’re still open.” Luke points in the general direction of the lake. The pulse of live music is barely audible through the walls.

“What is happening?” I ask.

Both men stop what they’re doing and look at me.

“You needed a vendor list, right?” Luke asks. He gestures to the paper he was just writing on. “We’ve been compiling one.”

Maybe you’ve been relying on the wrong people.

I cross back over to the couch beside Luke and glance at the list. There’s already well over a dozen companies listed.

“I didn’t even realize there were this many businesses here,” I say.

“We grouped his by type of business.” Sam gestures to Luke’s list. “Mine are Holly’s top favorites. You don’t need to look anywhere but The Spellbound Scone for her wedding cake though. They serve spice cake year round and she’s a big fan of the dulce de leche frosting.”

“I was only gone for five minutes.” I drop to the couch.

“Ten.” Luke pauses. “What’s the name of that newer food truck? The grilled cheese one. Lucy really likes it.”

“The Golden Griddle.” Sam says.

My belly is fit to burst, but somehow this sounds amazing.

“You look like you feel better,” Luke says.

“I do, thanks. Where did all these books come from?”

“A lot of that is Gaby,” Sam replies, without looking up. “She’s a firm believer that if you’re on vacation, you should be able to read to your heart’s content. I’ve had to kick her out more than once when we get a good rainy afternoon.”

I’ve only been back for a day, but I already feel more at home than I did for over a decade in Colorado.