Page 72 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

Samantha snorted. “Like I’d waste our time.” She ran a flattened hand down her side, over the curves of her torso, and coyly batted her lashes. “I like my girlish figure.”

While I have some pretty feminine curves, Samantha officially had the market cornered. The woman could double as a 1940s pinup girl. Well, except for the piercings and changing rainbow of hair colouring.

I took a sip of the milky coffee. She’d made it sweet, just the way I like it.

“Perfect, right?” she asked smugly.

“Always.”

We took our cups and waited for James outside, just down the street to a spot where Randy wouldn’t see us from his front window and come out to shoot the breeze.

Samantha paused, the cup halfway to her mouth. I followed her line of sight: Caleb leaving the apartment.

I cleared my throat. “How are you and Malachi?” I asked.

“Mmhm.”

Clearly she was still crushing on our downstairs neighbour, and I feared that didn’t bode well for Malachi.

I got it though. Caleb had wavy, longish hair that brushed his dark lashes when he looked at you. He was tall, lanky, and always in a well-loved knitted sweater. He seemed genuine and kind. Oh, and he was Irish. Had I mentioned that was Samantha’s personal kryptonite?

He caught our eye from down the way, giving us a nod, his eyes sweeping over Samantha. Then he vanished into his car, Samantha’s gaze following like little lost puppies who’d imprinted on the man.

“Irish,” Samantha said on a sigh. “Hotness like that shouldn’t be allowed.”

“Samantha! You have a boyfriend.” I elbowed her, spilling her latte.

She shot me a dark glance and licked the coffee from her thumb. “I still have eyes. I can look.”

“You could make a wish to your fairy godmother, you know,” I said slyly. Tamara, Josie and I had floated the idea of fairy godmothers past Samantha and Gabby a few times over the past two weeks, but they didn’t seem inclined to start believing.

Samantha simply rolled her eyes, and I moved the conversation back to her boyfriend. “Malachi’s one of those nice-guy types.”

“Hm?”

“You know, he’s sweet. The kind of guy you’d rather stay in with on a Saturday night instead of go out bar hopping?”

Not that I ever wanted to stay in with a guy. I was too afraid of ruining it all. Being boring, getting stuck in a rut. All of that. Life needed a bit of excitement.

Samantha got a far-off look. “We stayed in last weekend. No nightclubs. No parties.”

“Really? On purpose? Were you sick or something?”

She scoffed at me. “No. We wanted to.”

Wanted to. Because they were in love?

I caught myself looking down the street for James’s Range Rover, wondering if he’d have a similar effect on me. I was having trouble imagining it.

Who was going to be my adventurous role model if Samantha decided to settle down?

“We stayed at home—” her tone went dry “—when I wasn’t over here helping you plot the makeover.” She gestured toward the warehouse and trashy lot. She turned to me with interest. “Why do you like temping?”

There was something in her tone that made me knee-jerk my standard reply: “I love it. Absolutely love it. I like the constant change.”

Stay moving, don’t think. Excellent plan for a life of happiness, right? I would die with no regrets, just a memory filled with fun and adventure.

Plus, now that I’d earned a solid reputation with our boss, Joan, I was being sent places where they treated their temporary employees with a little respect. It was fun.

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