Page 52 of You Wish
Jake’s breathstuck in his chest waiting for her answer. Instead of answering him, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“I’ve been carrying this with me ever since I saw you at the wedding, waiting for the perfect time to give it to you, and I think that’s now.”
She held out the envelope. It was Nova Racing blue, had worry-worn edges, and a sealed back flap covered with a piece of tape to ensure that only the intended recipient read it.
He took the note from her and felt his lungs give out.
On the front, beneath a rudimentary Nova race car sketch was his name. In Connor’s writing.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know. He just made me promise that, if anything happened, I’d give this to you. I should have mailed it to you years ago, but I felt like it was the kind of missive that deserved to be hand delivered.”
Unable to speak, Jake just nodded.
He slid his finger under the flap and, ever so carefully, ran it along the opening until he reached the end. Even then he took another breath before he opened it.
Jake,
You’re my hero.
Maybe you can be my sister’s, too.
18
The Pine Village Speedway track had never looked like this before. Instead of the usual roar of engines and the smell of fuel, it was alive with holiday warmth.
Strings of twinkling white lights looped along the grandstands and shimmered across the sleek hoods of parked race cars, turning the entire venue into something that felt halfway between a winter carnival and a fairy tale. Garlands wound around the railings, velvet ribbons fluttered in the night breeze, and giant inflatable snowflakes bobbed above the pit lane like sentinels. The asphalt that usually pulsed with adrenaline had been covered in plush red carpets and scattered with vendor booths offering hot chocolate, cotton candy, and candy canes as long as a child’s arm.
Even better, children were everywhere—bundled in puffy coats and knit hats, hospital bracelets peeking out from under mittens, their excitement bubbling so brightly it outshone even the lights. They darted between the cars, gasping when volunteers lifted them up into cockpits or crouched low to sign hats, jackets, and the occasional cast. Cameras flashed from the professional photographers who captured every preciousmoment, while reporters lingered at the edges, careful not to intrude on the magic of a wish being granted.
And yet, beneath the laughter and glitter, there was still the polish of a gala. Waiters wove gracefully through the crowd balancing trays of sparkling cider and delicate hors d’oeuvres, while donors in tailored coats and jewel-toned gowns mingled beside the kids they’d helped sponsor. A string quartet tucked in the corner played carols with a soft, golden lilt, underscoring the hum of joy that vibrated through the night air.
In the middle of it all, Georgia stood still for a moment, her chest tight. This wasn’t just an event. It was proof that magic could happen off the track too, and she could feel it thrumming all around her—alive and unforgettable.
With the first part of the evening accomplished, Georgia reminded herself of the next steps.
One: Don’t trip in heels.
Two: Don’t dribble champagne down the front of her dress. It cost a fortune.
Three: Absolutely, under no circumstances, do not let them see you sweat.
But as Georgia stood there, in conversation with a man who sparked the faintest flicker of recognition, the sort you’d give a local weatherman who promised light showers and always got it wrong, she realized she was about to break step three.
Because there, across the track, near the glistening cocoa tower, wastheJake Evans.
Dressed in a tuxedo that looked like it had been tailored by the gods with very specific opinions about shoulder-to-waist ratios, he was attracting the attention of every woman in the room—and some of the men. With one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something sparkly, he threw his head back on a laugh.
Sweet Jesus, the man had the insolence to smolder in public.
He stood on the red carpeted steps with his family and next to a woman in head-to-toe sequins and a fur stole that screamed, “I’m rich, I’m bored, and I came for champagne and compliments.” Then his eyes met hers—and crinkled.
Georgia stopped and hit the pause button.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Meteorology said. “Is it just the champagne, or are you the sparkle in this room? I mean, I wasn’t sure if you’re a statue of a goddess or the most stunning creature the universe created.” There was a long pause. “Hello?”
“It was lovely speaking with you,” she said distractedly, although she wasn’t sure if he was mid-sentence or not, and added, “Thank you for coming out and supporting the cause.”
