She walks away, and I'm left alone under the tree with a blank piece of paper and a pen.
Wishes aren’t my thing. I believe in strategy, planning, execution. In making things happen through effort and intention, not hoping the universe will provide.
But.
I pick up the pen and write:
To stop feeling like a guest in my own life.
I fold it quickly, before I can second-guess the words. Reach up and hang it on a high branch, tucked behind other wishes where Holly won't see it.
“Got them!” Holly is holding two cups, steam rising in the cold air. “One peppermint mocha for you, and one for me.”
“I didn't say I wanted?—”
“You're in Pinewood Falls during festival weekend. You're having a peppermint mocha.” She hands me the cup. “It's a requirement.”
I take a sip. It's sweet, aggressively sweet, with that artificial peppermint she loves so much.
It's also perfect.
“See?” She's grinning. “You like it.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You're smiling.”
“I'm tolerating it.”
“Sure you are.” She takes a sip of her own, looking up at the wishes fluttering above us. “Thank you. For all of this. For helping with the show, for being here, for—everything.”
“You don't have to keep thanking me.”
“Yes, I do. You didn't have to do any of this.”
I turn to face her. The tree lights are reflecting in her eyes.
“I wanted to,” I say. “I haven't had this much fun in ... years.”
“Come on,” I say, before I can do something stupid like kiss her in front of the entire town's Wish Tree. “I'll drive you to your sister's.”
* * *
I'm getting ready for bed when my phone buzzes.
Holly
Emma says hi. She has approximately 47 questions for me.
I smile, type back.
Hi to Emma. No questions here. Just the lake.
* * *
Peaceful?
* * *
