Page 21 of My Best Friend's Dad

“Yes, but the ones you aren’t sure about and then find were the best thing that ever happened to you, not the ones you hoped like crazy for and then regretted ever having that hope come true.”

This is crazy.

Crazier than a fake marriage.

“Why would you do this for a stranger? Even if I were a client, it’s counterintuitive to your job.”

She stares steadily back at me, doing her soul-seeing thing that really brings out the green spokes in her eyes. “You gave me two thousand dollars, and you didn’t expect me to pay you back. I was a stranger. Even if you wouldn’t miss the money, it was a big deal to me.”

This is all so bizarre that I can barely wrap my head around it, but I know one thing. I want to see this woman again. Wants don’t usually land very high up on my list of important things in my life. Needs come first, and my needs always involve logic.

Why the hell am I grasping the pen, touching it to paper, and scrawling my name on the line at the bottom of the last page? I even write down my personal phone number and pull out my credit card from my wallet with a slight tremble in my hand that I can’t pretend isn’t there, just like I can’t pass off the shiver of excitement that wraps around the back of my neck.

“You have an unlimited budget to make this happen,” I tell her.

The wedding.

And maybe the other stuff too.

Even if there shouldn’t be anything else.

Wants and needs. For once, I’m giving in to both.

Chapter six

Bellatrix

How did I go from having to seduce my best friend’s dad, maybe sabotaging his businesses a little to throw shade all over his name, and wrecking his wedding to trying to find the best, life-changing places in Providence?

I can think of a few experiences that are right up there for me.

Watching a sunset over the water. Eating what is probably the world’s best tacos. Sitting on a swing alone at the park at night. Skinny dipping at the beach. Going to the botanical gardens. Hiking a few of the trails around here, stargazing, cooking, visiting my favorite bookstore, hitting up a few of the antique stores, going to a symphony or a play, meditating for half an hour in the morning, along with my morning yoga routine. Oh, and petting a cat when I can find one that wants to be petted. Scratching a dog’s ears…

There are so many great and wonderful underrated and unappreciated things to do in life that bring real joy, but I have this feeling that Rowleigh will scoff at half of them and flat-outrefuse to do the other half. He’s probably experienced many of them already.

Yes. Rowleigh. Rowleigh Bellhopper. The. Rowleigh. Bellhopper.

I have to start thinking about using his name, notMika’s dad, the bartender, the mystery stranger, the total hottie, the zaddy guy…

I have a sort of date that’s not a date, the first of three wishes, to help him discover the secret of happiness that all the money in the world can’t buy because if it could, he’d already know it.

My god, what have I gotten myself into?

Also, going skinny dipping or swinging in a park after dark when we don’t have children are good ways to get arrested, and while that’s certainly an experience, it’s not exactly the vibe I’m going for.

I caught the bus, and it’s only a few blocks toWhere the Sun Do Shine.It’s the best taco place in Providence. It’s so busy that you need a reservation to get in, which I made a few days ago as soon as Rowleigh left my office. I had to take the eight-twenty-eight spot since I couldn’t get anything near the dinner hour.

I texted Rowleigh an address near the bus stop since I wanted to make sure he didn’t know what the surprise was ahead of time. Also? I texted because I couldn’t bring myself to call. I could barely hold it together while he was in my office and when I put Mika’s plan into motion. Sort of. I think I kind of fucked it up and played into it all at once. I mean, it’s not like we had this ironclad set of instructions we needed to follow or anything. I’m just out here, flying by the seat of my pants, and my pants are very much screamingwhat the fuck?

I made sure I was early, mostly because I had a fear of the bus being way late. That means I currently have twenty minutes to pace up and down the street, getting my chill back on. Never mindwhat the fuckpants, I’m wearing no pants.

This isn’t a date. I want to be clear and careful with that, mostly for the benefit of myself. But I still wore a nice dress. Something summery and floral. It was expensive, and I’ve had gosh darn few opportunities to wear it, but tonight is the night. Since I knew we’d be outside late and I didn’t want to get cold or bitten by the evening’s offerings of massive swarms of mosquitoes, I dressed it down with a dark purple lightweight cardigan. I hardly wore any makeup, but that was only because I tamed my curls into a breezy updo that was maximum effort while managing to look casual.

I wore flats for walking. After a day in heels, my feet would have rebelled clean off my body if I’d attempted anything else. I’m ruminating on how sore they are and how bad this idea is when a flashy red sports car zips by and pulls into a parking space just down the street.

My heart practically chokes me as it rams into my throat.

It’s too late to get back on a bus—any bus—and text Rowleigh that the whole thing is off, including the wedding planning. I like my messes mediocre, thank you, and this has all the trappings of turning into a flaming hot, spectacular mess.