Page 48 of A Winter Wish

“Well, he gave me a job, for starters.”

She knew that couldn’t be the whole story. And actually, she wanted to hear the whole story. Not just because she wanted to know Theo better—which she did, she realized—but also because she wanted to know what her dad had been like for them. What he’d done to inspire such loyalty in people like Ange and Theo.

Theo didn’t elaborate though. “Can I hear another one of your wishes?” he asked instead.

Lexie tapped her fingers against her knees. “How about we trade again? For every wish I tell you, you answer a question.”

“A wish for a truth?” Theo seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. “OK, that seems fair.”

“When I was five, I wished for a hamster. We went to pick him up after Christmas—I called him Fred, and he lived a grand total of two years. But I was heartbroken when he died.”

Theo shook his head. “Poor hamsters—they have a bit of a bad lot, don’t they?” He looked up at her, waiting for her question.

She thought about it. Decided to start easy. “What’s your favorite color?”

He laughed. “Really? You could ask anything and that’s what you lead with?”

“You can tell a lot about a person from their favorite color.”

“Can you, now?”

“I don’t know.” She wrinkled her nose. “Probably.”

He went quiet, looking out at the park for a moment. “I think it’s probably green.”

“Green,” she mused, like she was reading into it. He laughed again. She liked the sound of his laugh, she realized. This laugh, the one that seemed open and genuine.

“I grew up in Ireland—”

“Hence the Irish accent.”

He made a face. “Right. Thought I’d mostly got rid of that.”

“Not quite.”

“Well. Anyway. I left when I was twenty-two, because I couldn’t wait to get away, but living in a city, I still sometimes miss all the green from where I grew up.” It was more than she’d expected him to reveal, and she found herself storing the little nugget away. He helped himself to one of the remaining rosquillas and gave her an expectant look.

“When I was fifteen, I wished that this boy, Mike Freeman, would decide he fancied me. I was totally in love with him.” She took a sip of her limonada, and though it had warmed a little in the sun it was still delicious.

“Did it work?”

“Well, he asked me out. But only after he’d been out with and dumped three other girls that year.”

“Ah. So not a catch?”

“No. Although he is now happily married with three kids, or so I hear—so maybe his player days are behind him.” She put down her limonada. “How did you get that scar?” She reached out, nearly brushed her fingertips over it, then thought better of it and pulled her hand away.

He grinned. It wasn’t the cocky grin she’d seen on him before, but one that seemed more fun. “People always have theories about the scar. Bar fight. Attack in the street. I once told a girl I got it in a snowboarding accident at the Snowboard World Cup.”

“Did she fall for it?”

His grin turned sly in a way that said it all, and she laughed.

“So? If you didn’t get it from snowboarding or fighting?”

“It’s actually totally ridiculous.”

“Now I really want to know.”