"You could wish on the fountain," Willa said.
The fountain in their courtyard had quite the reputation, as the woman she'd seen earlier had clearly known. The 1928 four-story building had actually been built around the fountain, which had been here in the Cow Hollow district of San Francisco for fifty years before that, when the area still resembled the Wild West and was chock-full of dairies and roaming cattle.
Back then only the hearty had survived. And the desperate. Born of that, the fountain's myth went that a wish made here out of true desperation, with an equally true heart, would bring a first, true love in unexpected ways.
It'd happened just enough times over the past hundred plus years that the myth had long since become infamous legend.
A big hand set a mouth-watering looking watermelon mojito mocktail in front of her, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he moved. Pru stared at it for a beat before she managed to lift her gaze to Finn's. "Thanks."
"Try it."
She obediently did just that. "Oh my God," she murmured, pleasure infusing her veins. "What's in it?"
He smiled mysteriously, and something warm and wondrous happened deep inside her.
"Secret recipe," he said while she was still gaping up at him. He turned to Willa. "And your Irish coffee."
Willa squealed over the mountain of whipped cream topping the glass and jumped up to give Finn a tight squeeze.
Pru knew that they were very tight friends and it showed in their familiarity with each other. It didn't seem sexual at all so there was no need for jealousy but Finn definitely let down his guard with Willa. And it was that, Pru knew, that gave her the twinge of envy.
Finn waited until Willa sat and attacked her drink before he spoke again. "Your girl Cara tried to con Sean into a drink last night."
Willa, who'd just spooned in a huge bite of the cream, grimaced. She always had three or four employees on rotation at her shop, all of them some sort of rescue, many of them underage. "She have a fake ID?"
"Affirmative," Finn said. "He cut it up on my orders."
Willa sighed. "Bet that went over like a fart in church."
Finn lifted a shoulder. "We handled it."
Willa reached out and squeezed his hand. "Thanks."
Finn nodded and turned his attention back to Pru, who'd sucked down a third of her drink already. "You need your own order of chicken wings?"
What she needed didn't involve calories. It involved a lobotomy. "Yes, please."
"You warming up yet?"
Yes, but that might've had more to do with his warm gaze than the temperature in the room. "Getting there," she managed.
The barest of smiles curved his mouth.
Idle chitchat. That's all this was, she reminded herself. They were just like any other casual acquaintances who happened to be in the same place at the same time.
Except there was nothing casual about her being here. Finn just didn't know it.
Yet.
She'd have to tell him eventually, because this wasn't a fairy tale. And she absolutely would tell him. But as a rule, she tended to subscribe to the later-is-best theory.
She realized he was watching her and she squirmed in her seat, suddenly very busy looking anywhere and everywhere except right into his eyes because they made her think about things. Things that made her nipples hopeful and perky.
Things that couldn't happen.
As if maybe he knew what he could do to her with just one look-or hey, it wasn't like her wet white shirt was hiding much-the corners of his mouth quirked.
Which was when she realized that Willa had stopped eating and was staring at the two of them staring at each other. When Willa opened her mouth to say something, something Pru was quite certain she didn't want said in front of Finn, she rushed to beat her friend to it. "On second thought, can I double that order of chicken wings?"
"Sure," Finn's mouth said.
Stop looking at his mouth! She forced herself to look into his eyes instead, those deep, dark, mossy green eyes, which as suspected, was a lot like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. "Um, I think that's my phone-" She started digging through her purse. Wrapping her fingers around her cell, she pulled it out and stared at the screen.
Nothing. It was black.
Dammit.
Finn smiled and walked away, heading back to the kitchen.
"Smooth," Willa said and sipped her Irish coffee.
Pru covered her face, but peeked out between her fingers, watching Finn go, telling herself she was completely nonplussed by her crazy reaction to him, but the truth was she just wanted to watch his very fine ass go.
"Huh," Willa said.
"No," Pru said. "There's no huh."
"Oh, honey, there's a huge huh," Willa said. "I work with dogs and cats all day long, I'm fluent in eye-speak. And there's some serious eye-speak going on here. It's saying you two want to f-"
Pru pointed at her and snagged the last chicken wing, stuffing it into her mouth.
Willa just smirked. "You know, it's been a long time since I've seen Finn look at a woman like he just looked at you. A real long time."
Don't ask. Don't ask-"Why's that?" She covered her mouth. Then uncovered her mouth. Then covered it again.
Willa waited, eyes lit. "Not that that wasn't fun to watch, but are you finished arguing with yourself?"
Pru sighed. "Yeah."
"Finn's got a lot going on. Keeping the pub's head above water isn't easy in today's economy. Plus he's slowly renovating his grandparents' house so he can sell it and move out of the city-"
Pru's heart stopped and she swallowed a heavy bite of chicken wing. "He wants to leave San Francisco?"
"To live, yes. To work, no. He loves the pub, but he wants to live in a quieter place and get a big, lazy dog. And then there's his biggest time sink-keeping Sean on the straight and narrow. Add all of that up and it equals no time for-"
"Love?"
"Well, I was going to say getting lucky," Willa said. "But yeah, even less time for love."
Pru turned her head and watched Finn in action, taking care of his employees, his customers, his brother . . .
But who took care of him, she wondered as he worked his ass off, running this entire place and making it look easy while he was at it.
She knew it wasn't about making time. It was about what had happened eight years ago when he'd been just barely twenty-one. Her gut twisted, which didn't stop her from eating her entire plate of chicken wings when it came.
An hour later she left the bar warm, dry, and stuffed. Night had fallen. The rain had tapered off. With the clearing of most of the clouds, a sliver of a moon lit her way. The courtyard was mostly empty now, the air cool on her skin. Pots of flowers hung from hooks on the brick walls and also the wrought iron lining parts of the courtyard. During the day, the air was fragrant with the blooms but now all she could smell was the salty sea breeze.
A few people were coming and going, either from the pub or cutting through for a shortcut to the street and the nightlife the rest of the Cow Hollow and Marina area offered. But the sound of street traffic was muted here, partially thanks to the fountain's water cascading down to the wide, circular copper dome that had long ago become tarnished green and black. A stone bench provided a quick respite for those so inclined to stop and enjoy the view and the musical sound of the trickling water.
Pru stopped, staring at the coins shining brightly from the tiles at the bottom of the fountain. What was it the woman from earlier had said? Never too late to wish for love . . .
On a sudden whim, she went through her purse, looking for her laundry money. Pulling out a dime, she stared into the water. A wish made here out of true desperation, with an equally true heart, will bring a first, true love in unexpected ways.
Well, she had the desperation. Did she have the true heart? She put a hand to it because it did hurt, but that might've been the spicy chicken wings.
Not that it mattered because she wasn't going to wish for herself. She was going to wish for true love for someone else, for a guy who didn't know her, not really, and yet she owed him far more than he'd ever know.
Finn.
She closed her eyes, sending her wish to . . . well, whoever collected them. The fountain fairy?
The Karma Fairy?
The Tooth Fairy?
Please, she thought, please bring Finn true love because he deserves so much more happy than he's been dealt. And then she tossed in the dime.
"I hope you find him."
Pru gasped and whirled around to face . . . Old Guy.
"What's his name?" he asked.
"Oh," she said on a low laugh. "I didn't wish for me."
"Shame," he said. "Though it doesn't really work, you know that, right? It's just a propaganda thing the businesses here in the Pacific Pier building use to draw in foot traffic."
"I know," Pru said, and crossed her fingers. Please let him be wrong . . .
"I tried it once," he told her. "I wished for my first love to return to me. But Red's still dead as a doornail."
"Oh," Pru breathed. "I'm so sorry."
He shrugged. "She gave me twelve great years. Shared my food, my bed, and my heart for all of them. Slept with me every night and guarded my six like no other." He smiled. "She'd bring me game she'd hunted herself when we were hungry. She followed me everywhere. Hell, she didn't even mind when I'd bring another woman home."
Pru blinked. "That's . . . sweet?"
"Yeah. She was the best dog ever."
She reached out to smack him and he flashed a grin. "Don't be ashamed of wishing for love for yourself, sweetness," he said. "Everyone deserves that. Whoever he is, I hope he's worthy."
"No, really, it's not-"
"Or she," he said, lifting his hands. "No judging here. We all stick together, you know what I'm saying? Take Tim, the barista at the coffee shop. When he decided to become Tina a few years back, no one blinked an eye. Well, okay, I did at first," he admitted. "But that's only because she's hot as hell now. I mean, who knew?"
Pru nodded. Tina had made her coffee just about every morning for three weeks now, and on top of making the best muffins in all of San Francisco, she was indeed hot as hell. "I'm not wishing for me though. I'm wishing for someone else. Someone who deserves it more than me."
"Well, then," he said, and patted down his pockets, coming up with a quarter, which he tossed in after her dime. "Never hurts to double down a bet."
Chapter 4.
#CarefulWhatYouWishFor Two days later Finn was at his desk pounding the keys on his laptop, trying to find the source of the mess Sean had made of their books while simultaneously fantasizing about one sexy, adorable "fun whisperer," and how much he'd like her to fun whisper him. He was a most excellent multitasker.
He liked that sassy smile of hers. He liked her easygoing 'tude. And he really liked her mile-long legs . . .
He was in the middle of picturing them wrapped around him when he found the problem.
Sean had done something to the payroll that had caused everyone to get fifty percent more than they had coming to them. Finn rubbed his tired eyes and pushed back from his desk. "Done," he said. "Found the screwup. You somehow managed to set payroll to time and a half."
Sean didn't say anything and Finn blew out a breath. He knew that sometimes he got caught up in being the boss and forgot to be the older brother. "Look," he said, "it could've happened to anyone, don't take it so hard-"
At the sound of a soft snore, Finn craned his neck and swore.
Sean lay sprawled on his back on the couch, one leg on the floor, his arms akimbo, mouth open, dead asleep.
Finn strode over there and exercised huge restraint by kicking his brother's foot and not his head.
Sean sat straight up, murmuring, "That's it, baby, that's perfect-" When he saw Finn standing over him, he sagged and swiped a hand down his face. "What the hell, man. You just interrupted me banging Anna Kendrick."
Anna Kendrick was hot, but she had nothing on Pru Harris. "You're not allowed to sleep through me kicking your ass."
Sean didn't try dispute the fact that Finn could, and had, kicked his ass on many occasions. "Anna Kendrick," he simply repeated in a devastated voice.
"Out of your league. And why the hell don't you sleep in your own office? Or better yet, at home."
Home being the Victorian row house they shared in the neighborhood of Pacific Heights, half a mile straight up one of San Francisco's famed hills.
"I've got better things to do in my bed than sleep," Sean muttered and yawned. "What do you want anyway? I've cleaned my room and scrubbed behind my ears, Mom."
"I'm not your damn mom."