Second Hearts (The Wishes Series)

  “He doesn’t want me,” I snapped. “That’s why I’m here alone.”

  “Is that what he told you?” I played right in to his hands by saying nothing. “Exactly. He never told you that. Adam never told you a lot of things.”

  “You’re right,” I said sourly. “He never told me about dim Whit.”

  It wasn’t my finest moment. In my heart of hearts I knew that prior knowledge of Whitney wouldn’t have changed a thing. I loved him because I couldn’t help myself.

  “Dim Whit won’t be an issue anymore.” He said it darkly, like he’d done away with her himself.

  “Why?”

  “Because he dumped her, yesterday. Right before he took off after you. He pulled her aside and told her it was over. It was like a bloodbath, Charli.” Very inappropriately, he smiled. “Adam left and Whitney started howling like a banshee.”

  “Oh, that’s awful. The poor girl.”

  Appalled by the sympathy I was throwing her way, Ryan groaned, confirming what I already knew. If the Décarie brothers had been twins, Ryan would have been the evil one. “There’s nothing poor about her. She’s an idiot,” he insisted. “He’s wasted more than enough time with Whitney Vaughn.”

  “Are you really that callous, Ryan? He dumped her in front of an audience.”

  “I guess he just got caught up in the moment. I’ve been waiting years for it to happen.”

  I didn’t know what to make of Adam’s actions. I’d only ever known him to be warm and sweet. Those were the traits I loved. I wondered if they were the qualities Whitney loved too – before he smashed her heart to pieces in a crowded restaurant.

  “It was a brutal thing to do,” I insisted. Peeved, I walked back over to the kitchen bench to continue work on my first bouquet. I showed none of the care I had with the other arrangement, viciously snipping the stems and jamming them into the plastic bottle. It was hard not to think selfishly. As badly as I felt for dim Whit, the sole source of my ire was the realisation that by the time Adam had knocked on my door, he was free and easy – and still didn’t choose me.

  Perhaps sensing I was a menace with the scissors, Ryan announced he was leaving. He glanced around the stark apartment one last time. “Are you going to be alright here?”

  I glared at him. “Of course I am. I live here.”

  “Look, Charli, if you ever need anything, anything at all, I want you to call me.” He took out his wallet and handed me his business card. “Or Adam. If you can’t reach me, call Adam.”

  Like that was ever going to happen. If I were lying in a heap, bleeding to death, I wouldn’t call Adam. I thanked him and dropped the card on the bench. It was nice to know I had options outside the three Alex had given me.

  8. Humble In Victory

  Mama Sicily’s was nothing like Nellie’s. The only thing it had going for it was the fact that Paolo didn’t work there. It was a tiny, pokey place decorated with dark red walls and a brown tiled floor that felt sticky under my feet. The restaurant was packed with so many tables and chairs that it was hard to move. It was wishful thinking on Mama’s part. In the two days I’d been working there, I’d never served more than three tables at a time.

  Working only for tips meant that slow shifts were not very profitable. It left plenty of time for idle chatting, which is exactly what my only front of house co-worker, Sophia, liked to do.

  “Where do you go tanning?” she asked, munching on a handful of peanuts she’d swiped from the bar.

  “The beach, usually.”

  She guffawed like I’d told the world’s funniest joke. Sophia turned my stomach. She had to be related to Mama Sicily – there was no way the girl could have held the job otherwise. She was lazy, impolite and unkempt. For the second day in a row, she wore a tight-fitting white shirt with sweat stains under the armpits. Her skin-tight black jeans were at least a size too small. She was Just plain horrid.

  Apart from Sophia, the food, the atmosphere and the lack of patrons, something else bothered me. Roger, the manager, insisted we pool our tips and split them evenly at the end of the week.

  The tip jar was kept under the counter. Several times a day, Sophia would bring it out and count the money. I wanted to believe that she didn’t pocket it. Her clothing was stretched to the point of splitting. There was nowhere for her to conceal the cash.

  “Where do you get your hair done?” She yelled the question across the empty restaurant while I tried to dust the tacky plastic flower arrangements on the tables.

  It was the first time I’d smiled since I began working there. “Chateau de Tate.”

  Mitchell had been my most recent hairstylist – under sufferance. After one disastrous attempt by my own hand, he had no choice. I’d cut it so crookedly that he had to lop four inches off it just to even it up and stop me bawling.

  “Is that in Manhattan?”

  “No, Sophia,” I muttered.

  “I went blonde once.” I looked across the room at her, trying to imagine her lanky black hair ten shades lighter. “It took three years to grow all the way out. I couldn’t be bothered changing it.”

  It was incomprehensible. Sophia had spent three years looking like a skunk because she was too lazy to do anything about it.

  I decided on the long walk home that it was time to quit my ghastly job. I couldn’t find a single reason to stick it out. Even Marvin agreed with me when I sought his opinion at the door.

  “Leave it in the past, Miss Charli. Blue skies tomorrow.”

  As far as I was concerned, Marvin was the king of the good advice.

  I forced myself to work one more day. The plan was to finish my shift, collect my half of the tips and kiss Mama Sicily’s good riddance forever.

  Roger wasn’t taken aback when I told him I’d quit. “You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he grumbled, in between hacking coughs that made me queasy.

  Sophia wasn’t exactly forlorn either. “You’re not cut out for this job.”

  “No, it’s too fast paced for me.” My patronising tone was wasted on her.

  She nodded in agreement.

  With an hour to go before the end of my Mama Sicily’s experience, I suggested that Sophia split the tips. I only kept half and eye on her as she counted it out, which was a mistake. She called me up to the bar to hand me my share – a measly twenty-eight dollars. There had been at least twice that in the jar the day before.

  “That’s not right,” I said, calmly.

  “I just counted it. That’s half.” She thrust the money at me and I snatched it from her.

  “Call Roger in here,” I demanded. “That’s wrong.”

  Sophia tipped her head back and boomed out Roger’s name. He skulked through the kitchen door.

  “Charli thinks I’m ripping her off.”

  “Well, are you?” He didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other.

  “No. I gave her half,” she lied.

  He looked at me and shrugged his grubby shoulders. “There you have it. She gave you half.”

  A revolted groan escaped me and I walked outside to get my temper in check. I wanted to rant, rave and throw things but my last tantrum was fresh in my thoughts. I couldn’t afford to pay for any more damages.

  It took only seconds to come up with a plan. Sneaking further down the street, out of Sophia’s sight, I called Ryan.

  “What do you need, Charli?”

  “I need you to come down here and help me with something.”

  “Something illegal?” I could hear the amusement in his voice.

  “Yes, yes, yes. Illegal, immoral, unethical, all of those things.” I rushed out the words, ticking all boxes, not wanting to waste a single second.

  I let Ryan finish laughing before rattling off my short but particular shopping list and giving him directions. He didn’t question it, promising to get to Mama’s as quickly as he could.

  Ryan didn’t disappoint, calling me half an hour later to tell me he was waiting outside. I walked out the door on the
pretence of needing some air, leaving Sophia folding napkins at the bar.

  “What are you up to, Charli?” he asked, handing me a tiny bag.

  In it was a cheap pair of diamante earrings pierced through a piece of cardboard.

  “Oh, perfect,” I cooed.

  “They’re junk,” he scoffed. “They cost me five bucks on the corner.”

  “Trust me, they’re perfect.”

  Ryan shook his head. His quizzical smile broadened as I laid out my plan.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I pulled one of the earrings off the piece of card and handed it to him. “I’m only trying to get what’s fair.”

  “What’s fair, Charli?”

  I thought for a long moment. “A hundred dollars.”

  “All of this for a hundred dollars? I’ll give you a hundred bucks, right now.”

  “No. I earned that money, fair and square,” I growled, slapping his arm as he reached for his wallet.

  “I get it, Charli. Let’s go.”

  Sophia barely cast a glance in my direction as I walked back inside. When Ryan walked in a second later, she sparked back to life, leaning forward to give him a perfect view of her cleavage. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” replied Ryan, smoothly. “I was in here last night with my girlfriend. I can’t remember the name of the gorgeous girl who served us.”

  Sophia stared at him, stunned. “That would have been Fatima.”

  “Yes!” He clicked his fingers loudly. “That was her name.”

  “Fatima’s not gorgeous,” she scoffed. “She’s two hundred and sixty pounds and has a moustache.”

  I was pretending to straighten the table settings while I listened to my brilliant plan unravel. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault. I’d never had the pleasure of meeting gorgeous Fatima either. I couldn’t have warned him that for the first time ever his sweet-talking would backfire.

  “Anyway, my girlfriend lost an earring while she was here,” he said, getting back to the story.

  “What does it look like?” she asked, dubiously.

  Ryan handed the junky gem earring to Sophia. “It was the same as this one.”

  We both watched in silence as she examined it with the precision of a gem dealer. “How much is it worth?”

  “Practically nothing. The value is purely sentimental.”

  Predictably, Sophia quickly lost interest, dropping the fake bling into his palm. “Well, we haven’t found it here.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, returning the earring to his pocket. “Let me write down my number.”

  Sophia reached into the bowl of peanuts on the bar, and shovelled a handful into her mouth. “You’re cute and all but I don’t date customers.” Her chomped out rebuff made Ryan retreat as if she’d just whacked him. “I’m not giving you my number. I’m leaving my number here in case you find the earring.”

  I could tell he was in danger of losing his patience – and his lunch – so I intervened in the hope of wrapping it up quickly. “Are you offering a reward?” I asked, stepping toward the bar.

  “Why, yes. Yes I am.” His overacting was terrible but for some reason, Sophia didn’t notice.

  “How much?” she asked.

  “Two hundred dollars,” Ryan announced, sticking to the plan.

  Sophia reached for the notepad she kept under the counter.

  “Write down your number. If we find it, I’ll call you.”

  Ryan wrote down his phone number, thanked her and got out as quickly as he could without running. As soon as he was gone, Sophia tore the page off the pad and stuffed it into her bra.

  “Sophia, I have to tell you something,” I began.

  “I don’t think he was interested in you, Charli. I’m not giving you his number.”

  “No, I wanted to tell you that I found this while I was setting the tables this morning.” I reached into the pocket of my apron and pulled out the ‘missing’ earring.

  Sophia’s greedy eyes lit up and she lurched across the counter to snatch it from me.

  A quick step back was all it took to ward her off. “Uh-uh,” I scolded, wagging my finger at her. “Finders, keepers.”

  “Fine. We’ll go halves,” she spat. “When he gives me the money, I’ll give you half.”

  “Like you gave me half of the tip jar? I don’t think so.”

  I was almost at the front door when she called me back. “Okay, okay, listen. I’ll give you half right now.”

  She squeezed between the tables to get to me, waving a hundred dollar bill.

  “That’s fair,” I agreed, snatching it from her grip.

  “The earring,” she demanded, holding out her pudgy hand. Keeping my end of the bargain, I handed it to her.

  I stood long enough to see Sophia scuttle back to the bar, groping herself to retrieve Ryan’s number. I walked out of Mama Sicily’s for the last time, triumphant. By the time I met my accomplice at the corner, the skip in my step had transitioned into a happy dance.

  “I think you’re supposed to be humble in victory, Charlotte,” Ryan chided.

  “Impossible! I’m never gracious in defeat, either.”

  “I doubt you’ve ever been defeated.” Ryan grabbed my coat from my arms and held it for me. “What do you have planned for the next hour or so?”

  I almost laughed at his question. I had nothing planned for the next six months or so. “Nothing important.”

  “Good. I want to show you something.” His arm was outstretched, hailing an approaching cab, before he finished his sentence.

  I didn’t ask him where we were going. I spent the fifteen-minute cab ride staring out the car window, soaking in my surroundings. Being in New York never grew tiresome.

  “Just here will be fine,” instructed Ryan, thrusting some money at the driver as the cab pulled to a stop. He practically yanked me out of the car.

  “Are we in a hurry?” I asked, struggling to keep pace as he strode down the street.

  “I’m supposed to be meeting someone at four.”

  “Who?”

  He didn’t answer me.

  For a horrible second I thought he was dragging me along on one of his dates. When we finally stopped walking, I glanced to my left and right, breathing a little easier when I was unable to spot any beautiful, irate-looking blonde women.

  “Well? What do you think?” he asked.

  “About what?”

  Ryan pointed to a two-storeyed building across the street. Scaffolding framed the entire outside – not an uncommon sight in New York.

  “We’ve been working on it since last summer,” he said proudly. “It’s nearly finished.”

  “What will it be when it’s done?”

  He frowned as he stared across at it, leading me to wonder if the answer should have been obvious. The maze of steel framework hid the building well.

  “It’s another restaurant. Not as big as Nellie’s; more intimate and upmarket.”

  I wanted to ask him more, but was distracted by a man rushing across the street toward us. The orange hardhat on his head and the rolled up blueprints under his arm made it apparent he was working on the building.

  I took a step back while the meeting took place on the pavement. Ryan pored over the plans while hardhat man discussed the very boring subject of travertine floor tiles. Apparently, they were going to take longer to lay than first anticipated.

  Hardhat man had a habit of nodding incessantly whenever Ryan spoke. Perhaps he was scared of him. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he were. Ryan sounded scary. He was abrasive and uncompromising, demanding they stick to the deadline and fulfil their contractual agreements. For a man who didn’t work in his trained profession, he sure sounded like a lawyer.

  Ryan waited until hardhat man had scurried back across the street. “Do you want to go inside?”

  I nodded eagerly. We waited for a break in the traffic and I followed Ryan down a side alley to a big blue construction door that looked out of place against t
he old building. He pushed it open and ushered me in ahead of him.

  “Wow!” It was all I could manage to say.

  The interior of the building had been gutted. All that remained was one large ground floor with a mezzanine level above. Obviously Ryan had a thing for mezzanines.

  A group of men were working on the ground floor, laying huge square tiles. Hardhat man looked even more nervous now that Ryan was in the building.

  “Look up.”

  I looked up at the very high ceiling and saw the biggest chandelier I had ever seen in my life. When he flicked a switch, it lit up like an upside-down tree of diamonds.

  “Wow!” I’d gotten away with it the first time. Now I just sounded foolish.

  “Does that mean you like it?” he asked, walking back toward me.

  Tiny flickers of light danced around the room. For a girl who grew up chasing fairies, gemstones and anything glittery, there was nothing not to like.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “I think so too. It’s the first time I’ve seen it lit.” He took out his phone and snapped a quick picture.

  “That won’t cut it,” I scoffed.

  “Fine,” he said, trying to hand his phone to me. “You do better.”

  “You’re never going to do it justice with a picture taken on a phone. You’ve just wasted a moment in time you’re never going to get back.”

  Returning his phone to his pocket, he stared at me like I’d just lost my mind. He was part of the ninety-nine percent of the population who just didn’t get it. It was an unwanted reminder that Adam was in the one percent who understood perfectly.

  “You’re quite possibly the strangest person I know,” he said. I got the distinct impression he was telling me the truth.

  “Can I come back here with my camera?” I asked.

  “Sure, any time. I wouldn’t want any of those little moments to escape uncaptured.”

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Ryan.”

  “No, Charlotte, dim is the lowest form of wit.”

  “Smooth, Ryan,” I muttered, trying not to smile. “Real smooth.”

  9. Trespass