Page 100 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

He took my hand, interlacing his warm fingers between mine. “We’d kiss and spend time together and see where it all goes.”

I pushed back in my seat. Not a guarantee. Not even close.

That was something a man under a spell would say, wasn’t it?

Or a man who wasn’t looking for long-term, which James was.

“We’re very different,” I stated.

“Are we though?”

“Yes!”

“Char, what if this works?”

I inhaled nosily through my nose.

“Does that scare you?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to become my mom, sitting around waiting. Waiting for love, and you, and life, and adventure, and something to snap me out of my funk. And then running off with someone else because I never once spoke up for what I truly wanted or tried to make it happen.”

I jolted at the revelation. From what I’d seen, my mom had never asserted herself or spoken up for what she wanted. Had she been denied so many times she’d given up? Or again, were she and my dad not meant to stay together?

James was frowning, a deep furrow on either side of his perfect mouth. “Are you in a funk?”

“No, not now,” I said distractedly, vaguely aware he was referencing my little rant. “But if I got married and was sitting at home while you work away and…”

Saying it out loud it sounded dumb. Putting the cart before the horse, and I wasn’t even sure if the cart or horse were mine. I was pretty sure I was more of a Ferrari girl, to be honest. Same with James.

I turned to face him. He was not my father. I was not my mother. We were both someone completely and utterly different.

“You’re the last person I could ever see sitting at home, Char.”

“I sit at home.” My voice was wobbling. “And I like it.”

He chuckled. “Okay, let me ask you…” He thought for a moment. “How many different jobs did your mom have?”

“In her life? I don’t know. Two? Three?”

“How many have you had this year?”

I snorted. Fair point. I wasn’t in a rut with my work. Although, more recently, I found myself wishing for something more fulfilling, something more stable…something that I could really dig myself into and get passionate about.

Was I maturing? Growing out of this excitement phase like I’d finally managed to prove something to myself and could move on?

“What’s your mom passionate about?”

“Brynnie’s perfectness. Traipsing the world with Damon.” I sighed at my bitterness.

A couple of our teammates walked past, knocking on the window and making weird gestures that were probably supposed to encourage us to get onto the field. Whatever they meant, I decided, should it come to it, I’d never choose them to be on my charades team.

“Has she ever cheered on runners that were dressed as cats and dogs?” James continued after giving his buddies a head nod. “Lived with a bunch of yahoos and tried to build a park for people to enjoy?”

“They’re all moving on! And out! And giving up on the park.” How was I going to do all of this on my own? Especially with the lots still tied up by the police investigation.

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