Page 1 of You Wish
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If there were two things that Georgia Warren could count on, it was her gingerbread architectural prowess and her position at the top of Santa’s Nice List. Only this year was different.
In fact, if Santa kept receipts, Georgia was pretty sure this year hers would come with a footnote, an asterisk, and possibly a legal disclaimer. Sure, she’d helped her elderly neighbor bring in his groceries (nice), she’d also ‘accidentally’ slipped her ex’s cologne into the office Secret Santa (deliciously naughty). Then there was the time she told Art from accounting he had the look of a man dodging alimony payments (naughty, but not entirely inaccurate).
But her latest infraction was stealing a costume to sneak into Miami International Autodome, a Formula 1 racetrack in Florida.
She’d managed to secure a VIP pass, but had accidentally wrapped it in with one of the gifts she’d helped organize for The Wish Project’s holiday toy drive. And since unwrapping a thousand and one boxes wasn’t possible in her time frame, nor was putting them all through an X-ray machine, Georgia had to get creative. Because getting into that racetrack was imperative.
So there she was, a month before Christmas, dressed as an elf and infiltrating Santa’s posse. But as Junior Wish Coordinator at The Wish Project, a non-profit that fulfilled wishes for special needs children all over the great state of Texas, Georgia was determined to do her job. In fact, she had a PhD in wish fulfillment.
Not hers, mind you, but other people’s.
Getting through the guarded entrance was a breeze, but then she had to sneak into the paddock and make her way down the hall to the racers’ private rooms. Not just any racer, but Jake “Every Time” Evans, one of F1’s most popular drivers and Nova Motorsport’s lead racer. And the man who shattered her heart nearly a decade ago.
But today wasn’t about the past. It was about Benjamin, a ten-year-old who lost out in the health lottery and was born with spina bifida, a condition where the baby’s spinal cord and spine weren’t formed correctly, sometimes leaving holes in their back. Some people have minor instances that can be fixed with surgery. Not Ben. His case was so severe it would eventually turn terminal. Which was why she needed to make his Christmas wish come true.
Georgia had been standing for ten minutes in front of the paddock where the race cars were parked, waiting for the chaos of the race to die down. With dozens of engineers and mechanics cheering over the second-place trophy, she’d had to bide her time—be prepared when the right moment presented itself.
Her brain was fuzzy from the smell of gasoline and motor oil, and her pits were sweaty with anticipation. Then there was the green velvet hat that itched her head, her toes were permanently shaped into triangles from her pointy elf shoes, and every time she so much as breathed the jingle bells on her sack chimed.
Georgia pressed her back to the wall, peeking around the corner like she was casing a bank. She timed the rotation ofthe uniformed guard posted in front of Jake’s private changing room, then took a deep breath.
Three steps. Flash a smile. Improvise the rest.
The guard spotted her before she even made it past the velvet rope. “Restricted area, ma’am.”
Without missing a beat, she fluffed her hair and, in a honeyed voice infused with a sweet southern drawl said, “Oh, I know.”
“Then you’re going to have to leave.”
Adopting her bestisn’t this silly?laugh, she placed a hand on his overstuffed chest. “And normally, I’d never dream of barging in. But I’ve been sent on a very important mission.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “From his grandmother. Joy. Have you met her?”
He straightened his shoulders. “Sure. Everyone knows Meemaw Joy. She brings me her hot pepper jelly whenever she comes.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But she’s in Texas.”
“Exactly, which is why she sent me,” Georgia replied, nodding brightly. “Who doesn’t love a singing telegram?”
“Singing telegram.”
Georgia did a little tap and jazz-hand routine.
The guard didn’t blink.
Alright, time to switch tactics.
Georgia stepped closer, lowering her voice to a warm purr. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need two minutes with him. I promise—no autographs, no selfies, no throwing myself at his feet?—”
“Throwing yourself at his feet?”
She winced. “Figure of speech. Mostly. Anyway, if anyone asks, you can just say you thought I was part of the Santa brigade spreading Christmas cheer to all his Nice List achievers.”
That got the tiniest flicker of a smirk from him.
“Santa brigade, huh?”
She tilted her head, giving him her bestyou’re in on the jokegrin. “I can be very … morale boosting.”
He sighed, like this was the worst idea he’d had all day, but unclipped the rope. “Two minutes. If he throws you out, that’s on you.”
