Page 73 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“I keep thinking you’ll accept one of those offers that comes with a steady, reliable pay cheque and decent benefits,” Samantha said, watching me, something in her gaze that unnerved me. “You know, settle in, settle down.”

“Me?” I snorted, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yeah. You’re the smalltown nesting type.”

“Am not!” The smalltown nesting type was Tamara. Not me. “I’m not related to half the people in any town, and me and my family haven’t lived in some little place since its inception. I don’t fit into small towns.” I knew how they worked. They were like functional families—something nice for other people to experience.

“Because you’ve barely stayed anywhere long enough for everyone to let their guard down and let you in. You’re a smalltown type.” Her tone was firm. “You like people, and have friends and connections all over the city. I mean, you think I have connections in Calgary, but you probably called over a hundred people you knew to see if they’d help with the park if you got the land. And most of them told you to either keep them in the loop, or said yes.”

That was true. A lot of people had offered to donate a few bucks, or to at least mention my park to a business they knew of who might help sponsor parts of its creation.

“You make everywherefeellike a small town. You’re always doing nice things for others, like helping that hurt kid and walking shelter dogs.”

Right. I’d started doing that this week, too. A mini backup plan in case the park thing didn’t help the old karmic bank account.

“And now you’re doing all this community building stuff.”

I paused, unsure if I should mention the fairy godmother thing again. At some point, she was either going to start believing, or think I was crazy. I feared the latter was looking more likely.

“Maybe I’m like Clarisa,” I said, referring to her stepmom, “and just like to do good things?”

“No. It’s something more.”

“Probably the fact that I owe my fairy godmother a lot of money?” I angled a look her way, and she laughed.

“No, you’re the family type. And temping isn’t you. It’s too transient. I don’t think it’s what makes you happy. It’s not what feels good and secure in here.” She held a hand to her chest, and I wondered what had gotten into her. We talked about money and what was hot around the city, not this sort of stuff. Had Tamara put her up to this talk? Because this sounded more like Tamara to me.

“Family type?” I echoed. We’d wandered back to our front step, and I set down my empty coffee cup. It was all I could do not to scoff at Samantha’s proclamation of who I was, even though a tiny part of me wanted it to be true. I loved the idea of having a place or group of people to call home. I had my roomies, yes, but I knew that wouldn’t last forever.

“Yeah.” She gave a small shrug. “I could see you as a really fun mom.” She laughed, and I stood, not quite sure what to say to that, grateful to spy James’s SUV coming down the block.

He popped out of his old Range Rover, looking handsome in a deep blue sweater, all smiles. “Congrats on getting the land!”

I gave a little squeal as he swept me into his arms, giving me a twirl there in the middle of the street. He twirled me like I weighed nothing. Absolutely nothing, and I swear I swooned a little, because who didn’t love a strong man?

Maybe he hadn’t been under a spell after all.

Then again, no hello kiss.

Were we back in the friend zone because my wishes had worn off? Or was it because we had an audience that he didn’t give me a kiss?

I felt like I couldn’t even look at him fully with Samantha’s words whirling in my head about how I was the family type. Was I actually like James, but didn’t realize it? Did I actually want a close-knit family, even though the idea terrified me, and I didn’t know how it worked? And even if I did manage to get it, would I screw it up?

CHAPTER23

~ James ~

The three of us walked through the tall weeds of Char’s empty lot toward the metal-sided warehouse, and I was glad she’d asked me along. The former owner no longer had keys for the doors that faced the street, and Char was hoping we could get in from the back.

Near the warehouse’s foundation, years of packed down garbage had clogged the life out of anything that had tried to grow close to it. There was flaked-off paint, rust, holes and loose panels that clanged in the breeze like a slow morse coder. The sun lowered in the sky, and I felt like this was somewhere we shouldn’t be.

But the most troubling was Char. There were no signals that last Wednesday’s passionate kisses were something she wanted to repeat. In fact, she kept eyeing me as though she wasn’t sure about me and where we stood.

How could she not be sure? How could I have made myself any more clear? I’d introduced her to my parents and kissed her as if our lives depended on it. Did she need me to lay it all out for her?

And yet, if I did that, I was afraid I’d scare her off.

She was frustratingly impossible, and all I wanted was her.

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