Page 15 of Three Little Wishes

Noah dragged his hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I’ll give you a ride but I’d like to be on the road within the hour.”

They didn’t get on the road in an hour. If they were lucky, they’d be on the road by two that afternoon.

The filming at the rocks hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Or, as Naomi explained to Noah after Willow’s up-close-and-personal encounter with the deep blue sea, it had gone as it usually did whenever Willow was involved.

It had started off okay. In fact, better than okay. Willow had been beyond happy with how well it had gone. She was seconds from wrapping up and warning herself not to do a happy dance as soon as she signed off when the fisherman, who they later learned had never fished before but had agreed to be interviewed by Willow and then remain in the background, caught a fish.

He could barely contain his excitement, and Willow had clapped and cheered along with him. She hadn’t cared if she looked unprofessional jumping up and down on the rocks, she was thrilled for him and got caught up in his happiness.

He’d had reason to be happy. He’d caught a blue fish, a big one, as in two feet long. Willow also knew it had to weigh at least fifteen pounds because, while reeling it in, the novice fisherman tried to swing it onto the rocks and hit Willow in the face with the fish instead, causing her to stumble and fall backward into the water.

The only positive thing to come out of it was that she’d gotten to hear Noah laugh again. The same deep, rumbly laugh she remembered from that long-ago summer. Except that when it came from the tall and exceptionally gorgeous man that Noah had become, she’d had an entirely different reaction.

She hadn’t laughed herself silly as she had when she was fifteen. Nope, she’d gotten all hot and bothered. And when Noah had pulled her from the water, her body ending up pressed against his, she’d wondered if he knew. If her face hadn’t given her away, she had a feeling her breathy “Thank you” had.

So that had been part of the delay. Noah went back to the hotel, showered, and changed, and Willow did the same at her place. Only she took longer because she had to help Naomi dry off the truck’s seat and floor and listen to her complain about it smelling like fish.

When Noah met Willow back at the station an hour later, Don got hold of him, locking him in his office for another two hours while Willow convinced Veronica to cover for her when she was in New York. Convincing Veronica took lessthan a minute. She’d been dying for the opportunity to get on camera.

The rest of Willow’s time was spent fielding suggestions about what to do with the five uninterrupted hours she had with Noah in the car. The longer she sat there waiting for him, the more outrageous the suggestions became. The one thing everyone agreed on was that this was the perfect opportunity to change Noah’s mind, and they were counting on her to do it.

Which brought them to now.

“I promise, it’ll take me two minutes at most,” Willow said as Noah pulled alongside the curb in front of her rental. She’d gotten distracted helping Naomi clean her truck and had forgotten to pack a bag. She’d be in New York for at least two days.

Noah gave her a look that made her grin, and before she could remind herself that they weren’t fifteen and best friends anymore, she launched herself across the console and kissed his cheek.

“Promise.” She then launched herself out of the car before she did anything stupid. Or more stupid than kissing his cheek.

She ran up the steps, opened her door, smiled, waved at Noah, and then hurried into the two-bedroom house. She took the stairs two at a time and raced into her bedroom, wincing at her unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, and the empty boxes scattered around the room.

Grabbing a duffel bag from her closet, she walked to the dresser and pulled out drawers, pawing through the meager contents. Apparently, most of her underwear and nightwear were residing on the floor instead of in the drawer. She lookedat the piles and, feeling overwhelmed, headed for the bathroom instead.

It was as messy as her bedroom but at least what she needed was sitting on the counter and the ledge of the bathtub. She swept her makeup into the cosmetic bag and tossed it into the duffel. As she turned to grab her shampoo, body wash, and hair products, she realized she needed to put them in a ziplock bag or the clothes she eventually packed would get wet. By the time she’d hunted down ziplock bags in her kitchen that was filled with half-packed boxes, she’d not only made a bigger mess, she’d gone over her promised two minutes by at least eighteen.

And she knew this because while kneeling on the floor in her bedroom, separating clean clothes from dirty ones in an effort to tidy up in case her landlord dropped by while she was away, she heard Noah yell into her house, “Willow, it’s been twenty minutes. What are you…?” His voice trailed off before he finished his question.

She tossed the clothes from the clean pile on the floor into the duffel bag. “I’m coming!” she yelled, jumping up from the floor and running out of her bedroom.

She was attempting to zip the overstuffed duffel bag as she reached the stairs to see Noah standing in the entrance, staring into the living room.

“I’m moving,” she said in an effort to excuse the disaster he’d walked into.

He didn’t acknowledge her, and she wondered what had captured his attention. Following his gaze, she looked at the painting on the wall and smiled. Her mom had gifted her the painting on Willow’s twenty-first birthday.

Willow hadn’t been in the mood for celebrating. She’d hada messy breakup with a man she’d thought was her one true love. In a family of cynics, she’d been a romantic. But he’d crushed her heart, destroyed her confidence, and made her feel like crap about herself and her life choices.

The painting was her mother’s way of showing Willow how she saw her and how she wanted Willow to see herself. She’d titled itThe Heart of You. In the painting, Willow lay on her stomach in the sand, her naked body gleaming golden in the sunlight, a pink floral scarf draped over her behind.

She looked as if she’d been caught midlaugh, her head thrown back in abandon, her blue eyes the same color as the ocean in the background, dancing with delight, her face lit up with happiness. The painting had become Willow’s touchstone, a way back to herself.

“My mom painted it,” she said as she walked down the stairs. “She’s an incredible artist.”

His eyes came to her. “She had an incredible subject.”

Her cheeks warmed at not just his compliment but also how he looked at her when he gave it. Flustered by the intensity of his gaze and her reaction to it, she murmured, “Thank you” and then lifted her chin at the door. “We should probably get going.”

He nodded, his gaze moving over the living room and kitchen. He shuddered.

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