Wishful Thinking Read online

  “But…But…” Phil felt close to panic. She was fairly certain her grandmother hadn’t meant her advice the way Cass was interpreting it. But her sisters were unstoppable. Even as Phil turned to protest some more, they shut the door in her face and she heard the click of the lock.

  It looked like she was on her own.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As Phil headed for the car wearing nothing but the tiny nighty all she could think about was the angry set of Josh’s shoulders and the tears in his true brown eyes. She almost turned back, but remembered her grandmother’s words. Josh loved her—really loved her in a way Christian never had. In fact, he was perfect for her, according to Nana. But how could she let him know that?

  Her fairy godmother’s malicious magic was standing between her and the man she loved. If this was a fairy tale she’d be the princess in the tower, waiting to be rescued or the fair maiden under a spell, waiting for love’s first kiss to awaken her.

  Phil squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. This is no fairy tale and I’m not helpless princess! she told herself. And I’ll be damned if I’ll sit around and wait for someone to rescue me. Nana’s right—it’s up to me to break this curse and get Josh back. She felt a surge of determination and glanced down at her watch. Crap! It was almost four forty-five—she had to go now.

  Phil ran to her car, not caring that the gravel driveway was sharp and pointy under her bare feet. She slipped into the driver’s seat, keyed the ignition, and gunned the engine. Normally she was a very careful when she drove—what Cass called a ‘granny driver’—but as she barreled out of Nana’s driveway, she would have put any NASCAR driver to shame

  Every light seemed to be red and every car in front of her seemed to creep but Phil finally found herself parked outside Josh’s apartment building. He had a second story apartment, just a little one bedroom mostly taken up with bachelor clutter and technical equipment. She pulled up in front of the wide tan building and looked for his car. Oh, thank God—his Hybrid was still there!

  Phil was about to jump out of her bug when she saw Josh on the second story landing, arguing with someone. It was a man she had never seen before—he had a huge bushy black mustache and was carrying a large tray in one hand. Her best friend was wearing a pair of jeans and a tight black T-shirt that clung to his muscular chest in a way that made her mouth water. He was carrying a suitcase and a laptop bag. Oh God, if he was taking his computer, he really was serious.

  Normally Phil would have been reluctant to go out in front of God and everybody dressed in a nighty which barely reached the tops of her thighs. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Gathering her courage, she hopped out of the car and, clutching her large beach bag in front of her as a shield, she marched up the steps.

  Josh was so distracted arguing with the man with the mustache and tray that he didn’t see her right away.

  “No, I’m telling you I didn’t order those,” he said, his voice annoyed. “I’m leaving to catch a plane—why the hell would I order something like that?”

  “It say right here!” the man insisted in heavily accented English. “Deliver to twenty-one B. So I deliver to twenty-one B. You live twenty-one B so you pay. You pay now.”

  “No! I’m not paying for those. I’m not…Phil?” Josh broke off his argument to stare at her wide-eyed.

  Phil gave him a little wave and kept her mouth shut, not knowing what she could say to keep him from going to the airport.

  “Phil, what are you doing here…er, dressed like that?” There was a faint spark of hope shining in his deep brown eyes and Phil was so afraid of extinguishing that spark she actually bit her tongue.

  “Josh,” she ventured at last and then didn’t dare to say anything else.

  As she and Josh looked at each other, the man with the tray was eyeing her up and down. His mustache twitched with disapproval.

  “You pay!” he said again, shaking his fist at Josh. “You can afford hooker lady, you can afford to pay for what you order!”

  “What? She’s not a hooker!” Josh protested, quick to jump to her defense. “And for the last time, I didn’t order those.”

  Phil dragged her eyes from her best friend to see that the man with the mustache was holding a bakery tray with a clear plastic lid like one you might get on a fruit or lunch meat arrangement at the local deli. But instead of fruit or cold cuts, the tray held no less than two dozen plump chocolate éclairs, all oozing yellowish custard. She felt her stomach turn over, but they couldn’t stand here arguing all night.

  “How much?” she asked the delivery man.

  “You pay, hooker lady?” He raised a bushy eyebrow at her.

  “I told you, she’s not a hooker,” Josh said insistently.

  “How much?” Phil asked again, digging in her beach bag and praying she had enough cash.

  “Forty dollar,” the delivery man pronounced with relish.

  Phil winced. No doubt about it, her fairy godmother’s malignant magic was at work again. But of all the years her éclair wish had been in effect, she’d never had to actually pay for the loathsome pastries before. Especially not forty dollars worth.

  “Phil, this guy is a con artist—you don’t have to pay for those,” Josh protested even as she shoved the cash at the delivery man and took the tray from him.

  The man frowned under his mustache at the crumpled twenty and two tens she had given him. “No tip?”

  “No, no tip! Now get out of here,” Josh growled. The man ambled off, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, “cheap hooker lady”, but by the time Josh turned to yell that she wasn’t a hooker again, he was gone.

  “I don’t understand why you did that,” Josh muttered, glaring at the tray of éclairs. “I thought you hated those things.”

  “Do you have a place I can set them?” Phil asked, trying to ask questions to avoid saying things she didn’t mean.

  “Sure, I guess. But I was about to turn my key in to the front office.”

  “Please?” Phil gave him a desperate look.

  “Well…all right. But I’m already late.” Even as he spoke he was unlocking the front door to let her in.

  Phil stepped inside and felt a chill run down her spine. Josh had a furnished apartment so the battered couch and coffee table were still where she remembered them, but there were dozens of cardboard boxes standing around the apartment, stacked and labeled and ready to be shipped. For the first time it hit her—Josh really was going. That was, unless she could stop him.

  “Uh, excuse the mess.” Josh made a path through the boxes so she could put the tray down on the counter separating the living room from the tiny kitchenette. “I have a moving company coming in tomorrow to ship the rest of this stuff back home.”

  Back home. Phil felt panic rising in her throat. “Josh,” she said dropping her beach bag and stepping close to him. “You have to go. You and I would never make a good couple.”

  The spark of hope she’d seen in his eyes died abruptly and he sighed. “I know that, Phil. You told me on the beach. Hell, you wrote it out for me.”

  “Wait!” She clutched at his arm, feeling like a fool. “Please…you’re not the only man in the world for me! If you leave now I know I won’t regret it for the rest of my life.”

  “What?” Josh was giving her a quizzical look. “Phil,” he asked carefully. “Are you, uh, on something? Because you’ve been acting kind of weird all day.” He glanced at his watch. “And I really need to go if I’m going to make my plane.”

  Phil was so frustrated she could scream. He was leaving! He was walking out of her life and there was nothing she could do about it! Then her eyes happened to fall on the tray of oozing éclairs and she had a sudden inspiration.

  “Josh,” she said, still hanging on to his sleeve. “Did you see Alison’s bikini today?”

  He shrugged. “Uh, yeah. I guess so. Pretty tacky, huh?”

  “No,” Phil said. “It was the most tasteful outfit I have