by Cathryn Fox
"You put in too many hours here, Jilly."
Maybe that was why she was so fixated on his hands today. She hadn't experienced his particular brand of relaxation in a really, really, really long time. Jillian worked twelve-hour days, seven days a week. From open to close, she was here, serving cocktails and snacks.
Really, she had no one to blame but herself. And, for the most part, she didn't have any complaints, except that she was beginning to feel fatigued from the demanding schedule she kept. And irritated by the crazy little blips that played out every day. Like the Wickle incident earlier.
Still. Jillian preferred spending her time with the regulars at the saloon than hanging out at home. Alone.
"So what's the occasion, anyway?” Luke asked before he lifted his glass and took a sip of the whisky she'd poured for him.
Jillian's gaze took in the crowded room. She had a full house. It was standing room only at the Old Age Saloon. Not exactly a common occurrence.
She shrugged again. “I have no idea. But I'm about to send Jess to the storage unit to get the chairs I put out on the patio during the cooler months. I can squeeze in a dozen more seats, but after that...” Her voice trailed off as she considered what she'd do if the place got any busier.
She wasn't sure what had brought all of these people to the bar today. Nor would she complain about her booming business-she could certainly use a surge in income. But damn it ... “If I let in anymore than that, the Fire Marshal will fine me and shut me down for a week.” Which she absolutely could not afford to have happen.
"The strangest things happen to you, Jilly,” he commented in a playful tone. While Luke sipped his whisky, she helped Jess, her lone server, catch up on drink orders.
Maybe it was just the heat that had the locals and tourists alike stopping in for a cold brew. Lord knew it wasn't the ambience. The Old Age didn't have any. It was a medium-sized, perfectly square building with a long bar in the back and ten or eleven round tables with chairs scattered in front of it.
When Jillian had inherited the bar from Uncle Pete, the only thing she'd changed about the joint was the name. It was sort of a joke she and Fae had. With all the psychics and self-proclaimed spiritual advisors converging in the small town, not to mention the crystal worshippers and the amateur UFO investigators that flocked to this strange vortex of paranormal activity, Jillian felt surrounded by freaks.
The New Agers were the creepiest of the lot. They sought “serenity” and “spiritual healing” within the shallow red rock canyons of Sedona and seemed to exist on low-fat banana-nut muffins, leek soup, and salads loaded with alpha sprouts.
Ick.
Worse, few of them drank anything more than frou-frou coffee creations that, in Jillian's mind, were completely unnatural. Whatever happened to a good, strong cup of Joe from a twenty-dollar Mr. Coffee pot? Hers seemed to be the only establishment in town that didn't have a cappuccino maker that took two people to operate and required a ten-minute wait per drink.
In a nutshell, Jillian thought the New Agers were all off their rockers. So as her little act of defiance and mockery, she'd changed Pete's Saloon to the Old Age. She knew he'd appreciate the joke.
"So I guess this means you're going to be working all night.” Luke's deep voice penetrated her thoughts once again, drawing her back to the present issue at hand-fending off his advances. She knew when he was looking for something more than a stiff drink. He had that glint in his eyes that never failed to kick her pulse up a notch or two. There was a hint of awareness in his deep blue gaze, mixed with a dangerous invitation best avoided.
Jillian felt a bead of perspiration form on her forehead and she swiped absently at it. She would like to blame the sudden rise in her internal temperature on the oppressive heat that besieged the small town, but she knew better.
This was purely Luke's doing. No question about it.
"After I close, I've got a storage room to reorganize and a broken jar of Wickles to clean up."
"That's what that smell is."
Jillian groaned. She had hoped that she'd scrubbed off the tangy, spicy scent, tinged with the tequila she soaked the Wickles in, but clearly it was embedded in the denim she wore. “There's Wickle juice all over my jeans,” she explained.
"So that's the reason my stomach has been growling since I came in. I thought I was just hungry for you."
Jillian's heart slammed against her chest, but she refused-adamantly refused-to take the bait. “I can make you a sandwich."
His beautiful blue eyes darkened in color and mischief danced in them. “I have a better idea."
"Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head and holding her hands up in the air to stop him from going any further. “I don't have time for any of your ideas."
Luke's grin deepened, accentuating the dimple in his left cheek. “I've been out of town for over three months. Didn't you miss me at all, sweetheart?"
"Nope."
"Liar.” He chuckled softly, which only enticed her more.
Damn him and his overwhelming sexuality.
She shook her head again and let out a sigh of frustration. Purely of the sexual variety. But she stood her ground. “Sorry, buddy. My dance card is filled."
"Okay, Jilly,” he said before he drained his glass. “Have it your way.” He stood and reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his faded jeans. “But you know where to find me if you change your mind."
"Don't wait up for me,” she said in a haughty tone, which didn't quite ring true in her ears. But hopefully Luke wouldn't notice. Retaining some semblance of nonchalance wasn't easy around Luke Parsons. But she strove for a cool demeanor nonetheless.
Yet, she could see he wasn't buying her act. Instead, Luke winked at her, as though he knew her internal debate-and how she struggled with ignoring the temptation he presented. “Sure, sweetheart. I'll just leave the front door unlocked. Wake me up if I'm asleep."
Jillian fought the smile that threatened her lips at Luke's arrogance. “You really think you're that irresistible?"
He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged one broad shoulder. “I guess we'll see, won't we?"
And with that, he dropped a twenty on the counter, turned on his booted heels and sauntered off in that cocky, sexy swagger that made every female head in the joint turn in his direction, including Jess', whom Jillian had forgotten all about.
Unfortunately, her gaze was glued to Luke's ass and she didn't hear a sarcastic word Jess uttered until Luke disappeared behind the tall, oak door.
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One Wish: Chapter 2
By half past midnight, Jillian was exhausted. So, she wasn't particularly in a polite frame of mind when she opened her storage room door and found a pretty brunette sitting on the workstation counter letting out dainty burps followed by girlish giggles.
Narrowing her eyes at the spectacle before her, Jillian demanded, “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my storage room?"
The attractive girl, who didn't look a day over twenty, pointed a finger at Jillian and said, “You're in a bad mood. A-gain."
Jillian cocked an eyebrow at the stranger. “Excuse me?"
"You're being a bad girl."
Crossing her arms over her chest, Jillian retorted, “No offense, but I'm not the one about to be charged with breaking and entering and underage drinking. And what is that costume you're wearing?” She eyed the dark blue belly dancer outfit, which showed the girl's tanned midriff and plump cleavage. The skirt was long, but the wispy material was layered and draped perfectly over her crossed legs. Still ... it was incredibly risqué. Either this girl was a dancer at the town's only strip club, or she was working on her Halloween outfit a wee bit early in the season.
"My mother made it a very, very long time ago,” the girl explained. “And I like it. So don't be rude.” She plucked a Wickle-sliced as round as a quarter-from the stainless steel table she sat on and popped it in her mouth. Savoring the delicacy for a moment, she closed he
r eyes and let out a dreamy sigh. Then she chewed vigorously, swallowed and said, “Whatever these are, I want more of them."
Jillian's gaze dropped to the center of the storage room floor and her brows instantly knitted together. Not only was the deep blue powder that had spilled from the clay pot gone, but so too were the spicy pickles that had landed in a huge heap when the glass jar containing them had broken. Even the juice was gone. All that remained where the shards of clay and glass, neatly arranged in a pile off to the side.
An eerie feeling crept up Jillian's spine. She lifted her eyes to the girl before her and said, “You cleaned up the mess and ate the Wickles?"
"Is that what they're called?” She inspected the last one that sat on the table, then picked it up and bit into it. “Mm, yum."
Jillian's jaw gaped for a moment and panic seized her insides. “There was glass everywhere. You've probably eaten some. We should get you to the hospital."
"Nope. No glass. I separated it all. See?” She pointed a long, slender finger in the direction of the pile of shards Jillian had spied a moment ago. She suddenly leapt from the table, staggered and giggled for a spell, then fixed Jillian with a semi-serious look. Except that her chocolate-colored eyes seemed to dance and sparkle with mischief. And the corners of her mouth quivered, as though she were about to burst out laughing any second now.
Jillian sighed. She was much too tired to deal with this. “Look, clearly you don't know this, but I lace my Wickles with tequila. Marinate them, actually. So you're a bit tipsy now from eating so many. I won't hold it against you, since you didn't know. But what do you say we call your parents and have them come pick you up? I'm sure they're worried about you."
The girl's laugh was so deep, it startled Jillian. But her surprise quickly morphed into annoyance. Jillian took a few steps forward and reached a hand out to the girl, who sidestepped her, albeit clumsily.
"Sorry. But there's something you don't know,” the girl said. She hiccupped softly, then giggled. “Boy, is this fun!” She pursed two fingers to her lips and hiccupped once more. “'Scuse me."
"Yeah, no problem.” Jillian's patience began to wear thin. “Why don't you just give me your parents’ phone number and I'll call them for you. I'll explain about the Wickles. I'm sure they'll understand and not ground you or whatever for being ... drunk."
"I'm drunk?” the girl asked. “That's never happened before. But it's fun!"
"Yeah, you say that now. Something tells me you'll be singing a different tune in the morning. Come on.” She reached for the girl again, this time latching onto a bare arm.
The pretty brunette slipped easily from Jillian's grasp, though. As though her flesh and bones melted right under Jillian's touch. But that was impossible. Clearly, Jillian was more exhausted than she'd originally thought.
The girl said, “If I can have more of these ... Wickles, you called them? ... then I'll grant you two wishes instead of one."
"Sure, sweetie. And if you click your heels together three times, you just might make it home without me having to call the cops."
Girlish laughter filled the storage room once more. “You are so funny. I saw that movie the last time someone let me out. It was in the ‘50s. Not much has changed right?"
"No, not much at all,” Jillian muttered. She was beginning to think there was something seriously off about this girl. Perhaps it wasn't the strip club that she'd come from but, rather, one of the mental institutions in Phoenix.
"I did enjoy the ‘50s,” she mused. “I'm Serafina, by the way. But you can call me Sera. Everyone does. Or ... they used to, that is."
"Jillian,” she said as she eyed the girl suspiciously.
"Nice to meet you, Jillian."
"Um, yeah, sure. Likewise. And your last name is...?"
A string of hiccups ensued, which seemed to surprise and delight the girl at the same time. When she recovered, Sera ignored Jillian's question and said, “But seriously. You freed me from that wretched pot and now I owe you a wish."
Despite the warning going off in her head, telling her Sera was a loon-maybe even the ditzy spawn of a New Ager-Jillian's gaze slid along the floor to the heap of clay and glass. There wasn't a single trace of the dark blue powder that had filled the inside of the pot. In fact, the paste that had begun to form after the Wickle juice had made contact with the powder was gone as well.
And, if she really wanted to freak herself out, Jillian would have to admit that the color of the substance that had once been inside the pot was identical to the color of the gypsy-like, belly dancer costume Sera was wearing.
But there was no reason to go there, right?
Jillian shook her head. All she could rationally deduce was that the girl standing before her-swaying, actually-had cleaned up the whole mess, scarfed down some spiked pickles and was now too tipsy to think straight or speak coherently.
Yes. That's it. It makes perfect sense.
Shaking her head again for even questioning what had occurred in her storage room this evening, Jillian said, “You seem like a nice girl. How about—"
"You just don't get it, do you?” Sera suddenly sounded exasperated. Letting out what was surely a long-suffering sigh, she said, “I'm a genie. Ever heard of one?"
Jillian planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Well, why didn't you say so before? That changes everything!"
The girl crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking Jillian's previous pose. “You don't have to be sarcastic. I don't like doing nice things for mean people."
"Mean?” Jillian was taken aback. “I'm not mean. I'm just ... a non-believer. And I'm really tired, so..."
"So,” Sera said, “Explain to me what you meant by ‘eternal bliss’ and I'll grant it for you."
The belly dancer ... genie ... whatever ... could not have said anything more shocking. Jillian found herself glancing around the small room, not really sure what she was looking for. A hidden camera? Was this some sort of practical joke she'd walked into?
Of course! That's it!
Oh, Luke was going to get it! Her birthday was coming up and, obviously, he'd hired this girl to find out what Jillian wanted.
This was so typical of him. He always went to extremes to make her laugh. And he always wanted to give her the best presents. Typically, they came from far-off, exotic places. Jewelry or clothing or really expensive vases. He had impeccable taste and always found the perfect gifts for her.
But maybe he was running low on creativity this year, and that's why he'd hired the fake genie.
Except ... how did Sera know about the comment Jillian had made earlier regarding promises of eternal bliss? Jillian had been the only one in here when she'd made the flippant remark. Unless it was something she'd mentioned once to Luke.
Sure. That had to be it. Lord knew she and Luke talked about everything else under the sun. She'd likely told him all about Uncle Pete's excitement when Jillian had agreed to take over the bar when he got sick. Pete had promised her she wouldn't regret it. He'd told her she'd find eternal bliss here, as he had.
Unfortunately, she was still waiting for it...
"Okay,” Jillian said, now that she had a firm hold on the situation and reality was restored to her universe. “This is all very cute and everything. Luke has really outdone himself this time. But—"
"Who's Luke?” The “genie” asked.
"The guy who hired you, Luke Parsons. See, he likes to play these jokes. He's very—"
Sera shook her head. “I don't know Luke. No one hired me. I'm not an actress. I'm a genie."
"And a very convincing one at that. But seriously. I've had a long day. Hell, I've had a long year. So how about I tell you what I wish for and you can scoot on out of here and relay my message to Luke?"
Jillian gave her wish some thought. It wasn't like she could come right out and say she wanted Luke for her birthday. Well ... she could. And he'd oblige. But that seemed a little too desperate. Too I-am-so-in-need-of-a-man.
Well, not
just any man. Luke was the only one she wanted.
Yet, to just put it out there like that ... No, she really couldn't do that.
But dinner would be nice. Someplace quiet and romantic. She couldn't remember the last time they'd been out on an actual date. Maybe five years ago?
Usually, they went about their business and lives, without giving too much thought to their peculiar, undefined “relationship.” But then desire would catch up to them and suddenly, they'd find themselves in bed together. Literally, it would happen right out of the blue.
This time, however, Jillian wanted the prelude to what she knew would happen afterward. “I want him to make reservations at L'Auberge. A romantic creekside dinner would be nice. With expensive wine. And tell him to book one of the cabins.” She winked at Sera. “Just in case the mood strikes us."
The girl's pretty face scrunched up. “That's your idea of ‘eternal bliss?'” She shook her head. “No, no. You have to think on a grander scale than dinner and...” She waved her hand in the air, as though that somehow completed her thought.
Jillian laughed. “Trust me. Sex with Luke registers on a grand scale."
Sera looked taken aback. And a bit impressed. “I can't wait to meet Luke."
"Yeah, whatever. Look, I told you what I want, so why don't you run along now?"
Shaking her head, the fake genie said, “First of all, I can't let you waste your wish on something so trivial. And second ... I don't have anywhere to go. You broke my house."
"I broke your...? Whoa. Wait a minute. I thought we established that I don't believe—"
Another exasperated sigh escaped Sera's lips. Then she said, “Oh, this again. Look, what do I have to do to convince you that I'm a genie? That I'm real? I was trapped in that stupid pot-which is about the tiniest, nastiest place I've ever been stuck in-and now that you've freed me, I'm willing to give you whatever you want. I mean, do I have to disappear to prove I'm real?"
"Disappearing would be good. And I'll happily lock the door behind—” Jillian stopped abruptly and stared in shock and incredulity at the vision before her-which was suddenly nothing more than the stainless steel workstation. The girl had disappeared.