Page 81 of One Wild Wish

Jimmy: You’re my sunshine, baby. Let me make things right.

Jimmy: You deserve the world. I will prove how wrong I was.

I never replied. Ainsley, however, did. Her text read: Message her again, and a Candiru fish will appear in your toilet bowl.

He didn’t relent, and I read his words greedily.

“That Habitat thing isn’t the worst idea,” Ainsley said, wrenching me from my depressing thoughts. “Construction guys are hot.”

Owen certainly was. Devastatingly handsome, really. But not as sexy as my bad boy. I clacked my molars together, reminding myself he was no longer mine. “If I were still with Jimmy, I could have helped—his friend volunteers at a site. But I bet it’s easy to research online.”

The notion forced a much-needed grin to my face. I’d once witnessed Ainsley swear like a truck driver after smearing dirt on her white stilettos. Stick her high-fashion self on a construction site, and she’d be liable to break a nail and breathe fire. Video footage would be necessary.

Gwen zipped her gym bag. “Don’t let them give you power tools. I’m not picking you up from the hospital.” Then to me, “Any news on the Jimmy front?”

We gathered our stuff and headed for the door, me trailing behind. “He’s as persistent as ever, but I haven’t replied yet. It’s not that I hate him for what he said or can’t find a way to forgive him. I’m just…I don’t know. I feel stuck.”

Before his onslaught of texts, he’d sent me a note, long and eloquent. He’d explained how messed up he’d been, stuck in the past, stubborn to the last. He even told me about an eye-opening conversation with Sophia (Banana-fana fo-phia). It all made sense.

When with Jimmy, I couldn’t mention Sophia without being met by a brick wall, and the reason he’d joined the contest proved he hadn’t dealt with his issues. He’d twisted the situation with me and his parents, and had transposed all that negative energy on yours truly. It sucked. Like eat a bag of gummy bears and inhale a pint of rum raisin sucked. The girls had even taken me to a bar and pinned his picture on a dart board. Excellent therapy.

He’d since apologized to the moon and back, and I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. Still, I couldn’t reply. Not to yell at him. Not to ask him to stop. Not to forgive him or tell him I dreamed about him nightly, and that I’d gotten into my Viticulture program and was excited and couldn’t wait to pick courses and learn all things wine and finally have a career I loved. I couldn’t break my silence, and I didn’t know why.

He hadn’t given up, yet. If that time came, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

“Anyway,” I said, “there’s too much going on to focus on him. I’m picking courses soon, and the luncheon is this weekend.”

Gwen stopped, and I nearly slammed into her. “Are you wearing that hot outfit I bought you?”

I shoved her forward. “I am. My mother might have a cow, but I don’t care. I feel sexy in it.”

“You are sexy, in that and in your sweats.”

We made our way to the street, and I scanned the road for a motorcycle, as usual. When I didn’t see Jimmy, disappointment rolled over me. I’d have to sort through my feelings soon.

* * *

For the next few days, I continued on in my indecisive haze. A dimmer had been set to my world, removing the bounce from my step, the cackle from my laugh. My mother’s luncheon was a welcome distraction.

The Healing Hearts function was in full swing, the outdoor tent swathed in pink, gray, and white flowers. Original paintings were showcased against the sides, each in memoriam of someone lost to heart disease, all up for silent auction. My mother had commissioned one for my father—a sailboat cresting a wave, conquering the seas. He’d have loved it.

I smiled for what felt like the first time this decade. As I took in the space, my mood brightened further, and when I noticed the drink stations, my heartrate rocketed, each beat pounding to the jazz band’s drumline.

Just as Jimmy had suggested, five displays had been set up, each hosting a different wine. No labels were visible, only blind pours offered. Guests swirled and sipped and squinted, trying to guess the grapes, even the years and wineries. I doubted many would come close, but their enjoyment was obvious. The activity was the perfect way to loosen up the crowd, and their wallets. The concept was brilliant.

Jimmy must have been helping my mother with the event, even after we’d broken up. If he’d been struggling as much as his texts suggested, as much as I hadbeen, working with my mother, who’d never breathed a word of their communication, would have been challenging. But he hadn’t backed out, because he was a good man. A man whose emotions had gotten the better of him, but that meant he was passionate. And fiery. And sensitive.

And worth fighting for.

Which is exactly what I suddenly wanted to do: fight for him. Because a life without that kind of electricity was no life at all.

Thanks to my mother, I’d paid my tuition this morning, but the act had lacked a certain thrill. Not calling Jimmy to share the news had been excruciating, his daily absence diluting my enjoyment of everything. He was sunshine, not me. I was a grape thirsting to ripen, his energy my life’s blood, and I was done putting him off.

My mother, unfortunately, chose that moment to nearly careen into my side. “Laura Ketlar has done nothing but take credit for my work. Ordering the rentals doesn’t mean she singlehandedly”—she waved an impatient hand through the air—“organized the event. She didn’t lift a finger to help with the grunt work.”

As hard as I tried to listen, my heart had migrated to my throat, my need to escape and call my bad boy all consuming, but the fundraiser was a big deal. My mother needed my support. “Well, I’m impressed. You’ve outdone yourself this year.”

She scanned the space, one eyebrow expertly raised. “The caterers are a server short. They thought they’d slip it past us. The whole thing is shameful, really.”