Page 2 of Three Little Wishes

Willow sighed. No one did guilt like an Italian grandma, even if she was only in Willow’s imagination.

But all thoughts about the eventual showdown with her family vanished the moment she spotted a familiar black Mercedes idling in the parking lot next to the station.

Her antennae bobbing in front of her face, Willow ran into the lot, unable to avoid a pond-size puddle. Water seeped into her clawed feet, and she looked longingly at the station. Right about now, she’d kill for dry clothes, a cup of hot coffee, and the doughnut her friend and camerawoman had promised her.Ha!It was going to take a lot more than a coffee and a doughnut for her to forgive Naomi for making her walk back to the station.

Willow marched to the Mercedes, ignoring the thought that her anger at the inconsiderate driver might be a tad over the top. The occupants of the luxury vehicle needed to know the speed limit on Main Street was not fifty miles per hour before they once again ventured onto the roads, putting innocent pedestrians’ lives at risk.

The town council had lowered the speed limit on Main Street to twenty-five miles an hour in early June. Motoristsgoing over the new limit wouldn’t start being ticketed until the end of summer. Something that Willow had no intention of sharing with this particular speed demon.

She spied the Mercedes’s license plate and rolled her eyes. A New Yorker, figured. She couldn’t make out much more than a shadowy torso through the fogged-up windows but she heard a deep, muffled voice that seemed to confirm her initial impression that the driver was a man. Since she couldn’t make out another occupant, she assumed he was on the phone.

She rapped lightly on the fogged glass. The shadow moved, and her gaze narrowed. Did he just turn his back on her? If he thought she’d let his dangerous driving go unchecked, he had another thing coming. He was a menace on the road. He had to be stopped, or at the very least schooled on proper driving etiquette. She also expected an apology—a genuine, heartfelt apology. Some groveling wouldn’t be out of place.

As she lifted her hand to knock on the window again, a gust of wind shoved her into the car, causing her lobster claw to slam onto the glass. The shadow jerked away as though she’d terrified him. Then, just as quickly, he went back to carrying on his conversation on the phone as if she weren’t there. Of all the nerve.

“I can see you in there, and I’m not going anywhere so you might as well lower the window.”

It went down a few inches. Dark, long-lashed eyes under inky brows stared at her. “Yes?” he drawled, his voice smooth and deep. It was the kind of drawl that insinuated she was wasting his precious time.

Well, too bad for him. “Are you aware that you were going fifty in a twenty-five?”

“I’m sorry, are you a crosswalk monitor? Traffic control?”

“Do I look like a crosswalk monitor or traffic control?” She gave her head a disbelieving shake at his condescending tone, the water flying off her antennae unintentionally hitting him in the eyes. She pressed her lips together. It took a moment before she was able to say, without a gurgle of laughter in her voice, “Sorry. I have no control over my antennae.”

He raised an arrogant eyebrow, holding her gaze as he brought a starched white handkerchief to his face. Wiping the water droplets away, he ignored her apology, responding instead to the question she’d asked in a tone as superior as the look in his eyes.

“No. You don’t look like a crosswalk monitor or traffic control, which is why I asked. Because unless you are, I have no idea why it’s any concern of yours. But I assure you, I wasn’t driving over the fifty-mile-an-hour speed limit.” His voice was as dry as the desert.

“Ha!” She pointed her lobster claw at him, and he jerked back. “The speed limit is twenty-five miles an hour.”

“No, it’s—” His window went up.

“Seriously?” She rapped on the glass.

He held up a finger while typing on his phone.

She had no idea who this guy thought he was and raised her hand to knock on the window again, only he suddenly lowered it and her lobster claw clunked him on the forehead instead of the glass.

She winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to smack you.”

Rubbing his now-damp forehead with his handkerchief, he drawled, “You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

He was as bad as Amos. Her apology had been heartfelt.“No. But if you apologize for nearly drowning me when you drove through the puddle like you were an extra inFast & Furious, I’llconsiderforgiving you.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought there might be a hint of amusement lurking behind his dark eyes. Then he angled his head and, in his smooth, superior voice, said, “I didn’t think it was possible to drown a lobster.”

Huh. She hadn’t expected him to have a sense of humor. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile or hearing her laugh, she once again cleared the amusement from her voice. “Don’t give up your day job.”

“What makes you think I’m not a stand-up comedian?”

“You’re not funny.”

“Or perhaps you don’t have a sense of humor.” He reached for his ringing phone. “Except the fact you don’t mind walking around in public dressed as a giant lobster suggests that you do. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to take this call.” The window began going up as he greeted the person on the other end.

“I most certainly do mind,” she said, sticking her lobster claw through the window to keep it from closing. She winced. She’d unintentionally punched him again, this time in his ear.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. But you owe me an apology, and I’m not leaving until I get one.”

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