Page 4 of Wish For Me

I get to work on my decorating, using two forks to pull clumps of melted sugar from a heavy sauce pan on the stove. I wave the forks quickly back and forth, letting the sugar fall in delicate strands onto the waxed paper. Before the strands can harden too much, I pull them from the wax paper and start wrapping them around the croquembouche. The effect is a shimmering cloud of golden sugar strands surrounding the entire tower. Perfect.

“Not bad,” Peter says from way too close to my side when I step back to admire the finished product. I wonder how long he’s been standing there, watching me work, and my tummy does that stupid flipping thing again.

“Thanks,” I say shortly. Then I grit my teeth. “And thanks for the help.”

“Careful, Vega,” he murmurs, leaning in so close that I can feel his warm breath on the side of my neck.Do not get goosebumps,I order my central nervous system.Don’t you dare do it.

“You sound like you might crack a tooth with your jaw clenched that tight.”

I turn my head to snap at him, forgetting for a second how close he is. Those pretty green eyes are right there, surrounded by lashes so thick and long it’s truly unfair. Why would the universe waste those lashes onthisboy? Jerkface assholes don’t deserve pretty eyes like his.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that has the traitorous butterflies in my chest leaping back into action. I open my mouth to say something—I have no idea what—but the sounds of footsteps and voices has him jumping back.

I blink, trying to clear the weird fuzziness in my brain, and look over to see a line of uniformed wait staff filing into the room. Right. The desserts. Shit, theparty.

“You’re welcome for saving your ass,” Peter says, giving me one last stupid smirk before slipping from the kitchen. Probably going back to whatever evil lair he spends his time in when he’s not annoying me—or making pastry so good it could make a person cry, damn him.

I give myself a shake and turn to the wait staff, determined to think of nothing for the rest of the night except for my sister and the man who’s about to propose to her.

* * *

Everything goes exactly as planned.After dessert—which everyone raves over, thank you very much—Everly says it’s time for Bodhi to open his presents. But instead of taking the first brightly wrapped gift, he pulls another, smaller box from his own pocket. Then he proceeds to drop to one knee and tell my sister the only thing he wants for his birthday is for her to agree to marry him.

I barely hear his proposal—I’m crying too hard. I might be embarrassed about that but pretty much everyone is crying, including Everly and Bodhi. The two of them are just so perfect together, best friends for so long before they realized they were madly in love. I think that’s the kind of relationship I would want to have someday.

Way down the line, of course. I have lots to do before I even think of finding my dream guy. Becoming the most successful pastry chef in the world is right at the top of my list.

Towards the end of the night, I’m watching the two of them dance, all wrapped up in each other, when I hear that stupid voice again. “God, I had no idea you cried this much.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Your parents invited my grandfather over once the dinner rush died down next door. I came along.”

I shouldn’t even be surprised. My dad and uncles have known Peter’s dad for longer than either of us have been alive. He’s been the CFO of our family’s record label for years. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was here somewhere, actually. And Mr. Dumont’s father’s restaurant is a place we’ve all visited countless times.

I had kind of hoped that might stop once Peter humiliated me so completely all those years ago, but apparently his grandfather’s food is too good for my family to give up over something so unimportant as my ego.

“Seriously,” Peter says. “Are you unhappy about this or something? Do you not like the guy?”

“What?” I snap my head in his direction to glare at him. “I love Bodhi. We all do. I’m thrilled his going to be my brother.”

Damn it. To my horror, just saying those words—my brother—has tears stinging my eyes again. Growing up with three sisters was honestly the best. But the idea of having a brother after all these years, and for him to be someone I love as much as Bodhi—well, that’s pretty damn perfect.

“Oh, Lord,” Peter drawls. “These are girly tears?”

“They’re happy tears. The kind of tears you might cry if you actually have people that you love. Of course, you’d need to have a heart for that…”

He laughs. Asshole.

“Your tarts were dry.”

Oh no he fucking didn’t. Before I can fly into a rage he sighs heavily. “But I have to admit, the chili powder somehow worked in those profiteroles.”

I snap my mouth closed, taken aback by the very unexpected compliment.

“Are you going to use that recipe in your application?”

Shit. This is not what I wanted to talk to him about.