Page 71 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“It’s risky!”

“Tam-Tam. It’s a little debt for a big gain.”

“What if the park doesn’t work?”

I felt a twinge of doubt. “It kind of has to.”

“But if it doesn’t?”

“Can’t I just wish it into working?”

“No! You’re about to buy two lots and sign agreements with the grant agency. Did you ever consider that the money might have worked out for us either way?”

“Er. No.” Could we have gotten the grant without the cost of making a forbidden wish? The agency had seemed pretty excited about our project. What if that was genuine, and I hadn’t needed to put Estelle on the case to get them to release the money to us?

“It feels like we’re playing with fire.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m scared, Char.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your wishes impact other people and their lives, too. There must be ripple effects with every wish. You need to stop interfering with fate, and just be happy with the life you have. Because what if Estelle makes a mistake? What if you’re breaking rules by making wishes that are related to paying off your debt?”

My body went hot, then cold at the thought that I’d missed a vital loophole, kind of like with being able to put both good and bad karma onto my account with Estelle. Had I possibly broken some rules and danced through a forbidden zone? And for what gain? Possibly more debt and trouble?

I blinked at Tamara, processing the idea that my wish habit could be interfering with fate. What if fate would’ve found a way to hand me the same cards, wish or no wish?

If I was influencing the future, was it possible that I was ruining my own life, sending it spinning off down a different tangent instead of the one intended for me?

And if I was, was I doing the right thing for my future self, or was I shortchanging myself—my imagination more limited than that of the Universe or whomever was in control? What if it was my own actions that were wronging my life so terribly?

My hand flew to my lips. What if I’d unconsciously wished for James to kiss me? What if none of tonight was what he wanted? What if he was under a spell?

CHAPTER22

~ Char ~

Life had slowed down after Wednesday’s flurry of grant-getting, and me and James kissing. Was that because I’d been a lot more careful about not making wishes?

Or was it unrelated that I’d barely seen James over the past several days, and didn’t know if he was still interested in me?

Logically, not seeing James could also be explained by my sudden workload increase. Joan, my boss at the temp agency, had suddenly been sending me extra, urgent jobs on top of my usual load. I’d been working from dawn to dusk which hardly gave me time to make any wishes. Or to see James.

Maybe it was just my current life circumstances putting the brakes on our full-speed getaway into a relationship, and had nothing to do with magic. Although, if I’d accidentally wished for him to kiss me last Wednesday, that wish would have worn off at midnight, if the fairytales were correct. That would explain why he wasn’t banging down my door and sweeping me into his arms.

At least keeping up with our park plans kept me from thinking about the implications of my unbreakable wishing habits, having a fairy godmother, and also a sudden boyfriend.

The city had allowed me to buy the two lots with the grant money earlier today, and the girls and I had been calling in favours where we could to create a demolition schedule for the warehouse as well as forming our landscaping plan.

It was now after six at night, and I was eager to check out my new land purchase. Samantha had agreed to come along with me, as our other three roommates had drummed up various reasons for not tromping through the abandoned warehouse, plotting its demise.

I’d begged James to tag along and be our protector since I wasn’t sure what would be in the warehouse. But really, I needed an excuse to see him again and get a read on our relationship status. If there even was one.

While Samantha and I waited for him to arrive, she made us some decaf lattes in her fancy machine.

I was getting addicted. Her hot drinks were always perfect. Every time.

She handed me a mug, her metal bangles clanging against its ceramic surface. “Your latte.”

I inhaled its rejuvenating aroma; the steam dampening my face. Since her adoption of the machine, our kitchen smelled like a coffee shop on most days, the scent seeping into the old wood floors. Before taking a sip, having spied a carton of skim milk in our fridge yesterday, I said, “This had better not be ‘skinny’.”

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