Callie's Christmas Wish. Merline Lovelace

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      “’Kay. Four more.”

      “Two.”

      “Three.”

      “This one,” Joe said in a tone that brooked no further argument, “and one more.”

      * * *

      Inside the kitchen warmed by the dancing flames from a brick fireplace, Dawn and Callie cradled cups of steaming cappuccino and watched the action through frost-rimmed bay windows.

      They’d just placed several calls. The first to Dawn’s husband, Brian, to break the news that Joe had ID’d the originator of the emails. Another to the remaining member of their female triumvirate.

      Kate had whooped with joy and relief and insisted they celebrate. Tonight. Before Joe disappeared again on one of his bodyguard gigs for some rock star or South American dictator. She and Travis would bring the champagne and sparkling cider. Dawn and Callie could take care of the eats.

      They accomplished their assigned task by calling in a to-go order for tapas and paella at Paoli, a top-rated Mediterranean restaurant just a few blocks from the house. Which left them plenty of time to sip their cappuccinos and watch the outside activities.

      “Joe’s really good with Tommy,” Dawn commented casually.

      Too casually. Callie recognized that okay-whatever-I’m-just-saying tone. She buried her nose in the frothy brew and waited. Sure enough, Dawn plunked her own cup down and cut to the chase.

      “C’mon, Cal. Give. To paraphrase my precocious little imp, what was with all that kissing ’n’ stuff?”

      Callie lowered her cup and met her friend’s eager gaze. Her own, she knew, no doubt mirrored the welter of confusing emotions Joe Russo roused in her.

      “I’m not sure. It’s just... Well... Look, you’ve known Joe as long as I have.”

      “But not as well, obviously.”

      The drawled retort raised a smile, followed by a rueful grimace.

      “The truth is, I don’t know him as well as it might have appeared. Aside from the fact he can’t—or won’t—talk about his past, he’s not exactly loquacious.”

      “No kidding. But back to that kiss. It wasn’t the first, was it?”

      “No.”

      “And?”

      “And what?”

      “Don’t play innocent with me, sister. You might come across as all demure and innocent to outsiders, but Kate and I were peeking through the blinds when you sweet-talked Pimple Face Hendricks into dropping his drawers and showing off his prized possession.”

      “For pity’s sake! We were, what? Eight or nine years old?”

      “Old enough to know Pimple Face didn’t have much to brag about. So spill it. Do you want Joe to deliver a repeat performance?”

      There was only one answer to that. “Yes.”

      “Hallelujah! It’s about time you took the plunge.”

      “Wait! I’m not exactly plunging into any—”

      “The heck you’re not. I can’t count the number of studs Kate and I have fixed you up with in the past few years. After every date you’ve smiled your enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and sent them on their way. Joe’s the first male you’ve invited back for seconds.”

      “Dawn,” Callie protested, half laughing and half embarrassed at how close that barb had hit to home. “It was only a kiss. Although...”

      “Although what, Langston?”

      She played with her half-empty cup. She couldn’t understand her reluctance to share her silly wish with Dawn. God knows, they’d shared everything else in their lives. She hesitated another few seconds before yielding her secret.

      “Okay, here’s the deal. Remember when the three of us tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain that first time?”

      “Of course I do. But you, Miss Priss and Boots, wouldn’t make a wish. You insisted that just throwing in a coin satisfied tradition and we’d all return to Rome someday.”

      “Actually, I did make a wish.”

      “Which,” Dawn guessed instantly, “involved Joe Russo.”

      “How could it? We didn’t meet him until a week later, in Venice.”

      “Okay, okay. If you didn’t wish for steamy, totally deviant sex with Mr. Macho out there, what was it? Please tell me it was something equally kinky.”

      “Since when are any of us into kink?”

      When Dawn wagged her brows, Callie gave a rueful laugh. “All right. The wish was a little...fanciful.”

      “Are we talking satin sheets fanciful? Or whipped cream and melted chocolate? Or ice cubes and...”

      “Dawn!”

      “Ha! Do not go all prune-faced and prudish on me, missy. Just remember who advised Kate on the best brand of vibrator to buy when she and Travis separated.”

      “It was the same brand you recommend to me.”

      “Please stop annoying me with all these pesky details. Just tell me. What did you wish for?”

      “Not what. Who. Louis Jourdan.”

      Dawn understood the reference instantly. She should, since she and Callie and Kate had drooled over the stunningly handsome ’50s and ’60s–era star during several all-night movie marathons as teens.

      “God,” Dawn breathed. “Do you remember him in Gigi? So suave and sophisticated and hot. The man made me want to jump straight from twelve to twenty.”

      “I think he was better in Three Coins in the Fountain,” Callie mused.

      She remembered the first time they’d watched the old classic. So many years ago. So many dreams ago.

      “Did you ever notice how much Joe looks like him?”

      That was met with a moment of startled silence.

      “Now that you mention it,” her friend said, recovering, “I can see the resemblance. Aside from that fact that Joe’s eyes are gray, not brown, and he’s probably four inches taller and considerably more muscled than our boy Louis, they’re dead ringers.”

      “All right, I may be projecting a bit.”

      “Ya think? But, hey. Project away, girl. It’s so romantic.”

      And so out of character. Despite the incident with Pimple Face Hendricks, Callie had always been the sensible, bookish one of the three. More into reading than boys in junior high. An honor student in high school. СКАЧАТЬ