“I know you won’t,” he said, and the line clicked dead.
Behind her, the soft clop of hooves followed.
“How did you—” Honey looked down and spotted the hole in the pen’s fence. She glanced once toward the house, where she assumed Ethan was busy getting the girls off to school. For a moment, she considered letting him know about the gap, but other than the brief encounter that morning, when he’d handed her a muffin and a cup of coffee with barely a word, they hadn’t spoken.
Truthfully, she was still a little mortified about how she’d acted after their pharmacy trip. One honest moment, a little kindness on his part, and she’d gone spilling her life story like they were old friends catching up instead of two people who barely knew each other. Mr. Aldridge would be appalled at her lack of composure.
Eventually, she’d have to talk to Ethan again, but right now, she had more pressing issues—like the fact that she was almost out of clean laundry, she needed to finish the audit, and Dean was vying for the position she’d been dreaming about for the last decade. She wasn’t about to slow herself more by pointing out a fence hole.
“Never mind. But if you get into trouble, it is not on me.”
The goat bleated, utterly unconcerned, and followed her back toward the well, stepping daintily through the mud as though he, too, had serious business to do.
Settling back in beside the stone well, she reached for the next wish in the pile and stuck it into the computer.
I wish we would win the wholesale contract.Already granted.
“This can’t be,” Honey said and inserted another coin.
I wish every roadside stand within fifty miles had to buy our produce.Already granted.
The goat stuck his head over her shoulder and peered at the screen.
I wish families would feel guilty for not shopping local.Already granted.
“Heavens.”
The goat bleated as if he were just as offended.
The surface-level problems—the contracts, the roadside stands, the shopping local—those were just distractions. Underneath them, the real pattern was starting to emerge.
All the wishes were about changing people’s behavior, essentially using magic to force them to spend their money on the farm, but there should be no reason to force them. Even Honey, who didn’t particularly care for nature beyond a brisk power walk through Central Park once a day, felt there was something special here.
The trees around her were massive and old, their trunks gnarled like arthritic fingers and their branches arching overhead to form a kind of natural cathedral. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the leaves. The air smelled of hay and soil, of sun-warmed wood and the faintest trace of sweetness. She could even admit that while she personally found the quiet a little unnerving, she could see how people would like it.
They shouldn’t need magic to bring people here.
Something nudged her shin. She looked down just in time to see the little goat shift his weight and lean fully against her leg before plopping down with a dramatic little sigh, already halfway to sleep.
Honey froze, caught off guard. His small, warm body pressed against her, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Then, she reached down and gently rubbed his side. The goat gave a soft snore.
She looked toward the trees again, this time picturingthe barn in the distance. She envisioned a fresh coat of red paint, white trim around the windows, a string of warm fairy lights glowing at twilight. Out front, a little farm stand with wooden crates piled with vegetables, handmade soap, maybe even jars of honey with gingham lids.
It could be something. They shouldn’t need magic. Not when the place had this kind of honest-to-goodness charm.
If she were going to get involved, and she was starting to feel dangerously close to it, then maybe it was time to shift the entire approach.
She looked down at the sleeping goat again, its tiny body nestled against her leg, and rubbed its side a little more.
If they could bottle this—the scent of sun-warmed grass, the softness of an animal’s fur, the quiet comfort of simply being—then maybe they wouldn’t need magic at all.
She resolved to talk to Ethan about it later.
Honey set back to work humming with the buzz of percolating ideas. She’d just dumped another batch of coins into the grass when little footsteps sounded behind her.
Looking over her shoulder, she spotted Emma and Brooke. “Shouldn’t you two be in school?”
“School starts at nine,” Brooke informed her, crouching down beside the pile of coins and picking through them.
