To Get Me to You (Wishful 1)

A car honked behind her, and Norah realized the light was finally green. Before she could shift back into drive, the big truck whipped around her to make the left on to Spring Street, proving that Chicago didn’t have the market cornered on impatient drivers.

The woman still stood at the window. Norah rolled it down. “I’m…” What? Not fine. She’d just fallen asleep at the wheel at a stoplight. Thank God this was Wishful instead of somewhere with more traffic. “I must’ve dozed off.”

The woman flashed a pair of dimples. “Well, it is a notoriously long light. Still, why don’t you pull over up here and park? Come in and have some coffee.” She gestured at the sign for Sweet Magnolias Bakery.

Getting off the road seemed like an excellent plan. “Yeah, okay.”

Careful to actually watch for other vehicles, Norah made the turn and parked along the curb. The woman stood holding the door of the bakery open. She wore a red apron printed with a cartoon cat and the slogan Sass. I haz it. scrawled beneath.

“Thank you.” Norah stepped inside. Scents of sweets and spice and chocolate wrapped around her like the welcoming arms of a favorite grandmother and her mouth immediately began to water.

“Have a seat.” The woman gestured to the cluster of brightly painted, mismatched tables and chairs. “I saw you nod off in your car and thought I’d better check on you before you rolled into oncoming traffic.”

“Thanks for that. The light was taking forever, and I must’ve slipped the car into park while I was waiting.”

“Thank God for small mercies.” She moved behind the stretch of glass cases to pour two cups of coffee. “The sensor’s been broken since they put in the light. You were only out for a couple of minutes.”

“Long enough to prove I need to get off the road.” Norah accepted a steaming mug. “Thank you.”

The proprietress slid into the chair across the table. “Long drive?”

“Set out from Chicago at five this morning after…not a lot of sleep.” She’d decided it was time to get the hell out of town and finally make that visit to Miranda. Coming to Wishful was the only action she’d taken since her confrontation with Pierce and Philip that she hadn’t questioned a thousand times over. Including the fact that when she left this morning, she’d mass blocked every area code in Chicago from her phone. For the next week, she was completely checking out.

“Oh you poor thing.” The woman laid her hand over Norah’s in a quick gesture of comfort. “Do you have much further to go?”

“Not too far.” Thank God.

“Where are you headed?”

“Here.”

The baker angled her head, clearly thinking. “Chicago…you’re Miranda’s friend, Norah.”

Norah was too tired and too amused at how things worked in small towns to be surprised. “Guilty.”

“I’m Carolanne Wheeler. Nice to meet you.”

Norah hummed an acknowledgment and sipped her drink. “You’re a lifesaver with this coffee.” She drank more and tried to get her sluggish brain in gear. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been down to visit. Not since Miranda finished residency and came home to open her practice, but I don’t remember you being here then.”

“I wasn’t. Only been open a couple of years.”

“Are you from Wishful?”

Carolanne shook her head. “Atlanta originally. I had something of a personal crisis epiphany a few years ago and decided I needed a radical change. So I up an

d quit my job and moved here to open this place. With a stopover for pastry school.”

Short of leaving the country, Norah couldn’t imagine a more radical change. “And was that what you needed?”

“Best decision I ever made.” She grinned. “It’s still a bit touch-and-go on the financial side, but that’s the nature of opening a business anywhere. I love Wishful.”

“I always have, too. I started coming here with Miranda when we were roommates back in college. It’s a really special town.”

“You know, Miranda was just in yesterday—she has a cupcake habit—and didn’t say anything about you coming.”

“She doesn’t know. It was a spur of the moment trip. I needed some girl time, so I thought I’d surprise her. Speaking of which, I figure I could soften the imposition with sugar.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” Carolanne rose and circled around to pull a tray from the display case. “These are a devil’s food cake with a peanut butter ganache and a peanut butter cup hidden in the center. I call them billionaires. Sweet and rich, with just a hint of salty. Perfectly sinful and exactly what a good man should be.”