Chasing Wishes (3 page)

One of these days
, I tell myself as I hurry to the children’s section of the library,
I’m going to get out of here. I’m going to get my big break and never look back.

"Hello everyone!" I exuberantly greet the children as I sit down in front of them with my legs crossed. "I’m so sorry I’m late, but I promise I have a great story for all of you today!"

Every month, the crowd gets smaller and smaller. There are only eight children here today, and one of the boys is playing a game on his cell phone. Here I am counting myself as lucky that my ancient cell phone can actually send text messages while a five-year-old has a data plan. Why does a five-year-old even need a smart-phone when he can barely even read? At least the rest of the children look excited.

"Hmm... I think today’s story needs something
special,
" I tell the children with a wink, and I pull a long, blond costume wig out of my backpack and put it on my head.

"Anyone know who I am?"

"Rapunzel!" squeal several of the little girls in the front row, and they all crowd around me to look at the illustrations as I read. I’m glad that at least someone is still interested in books; techno-boy still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

"Once upon a time, there were a man and a woman who had long desired a child," I begin.

Reading hour at the Groton library is always the high point of my week. I get to watch the children’s faces glow as I read to them, and I get to forget about everything but the story. My overdue bills don’t matter when the three little pigs are dealing with the wolf. A handsome prince is trying to wake up Sleeping Beauty, not a disgusting, overweight cafeteria manager with more hair on his neck than his head. Nothing matters except giving the children something special.

I can’t help but smile at the enraptured looks of wonder on the children’s faces as I read.
This
is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. My degree says I’m a voice actress, but my student loan bill says I’m whatever the hell I can get. Right now, I’m the girl at the sanastl at thdwich station at the Verta Pharmaceuticals cafeteria.

One of these days, I’ll get my big break. I just know it.

"The witch locked Rapunzel away in a tall tower in the woods," I tell my wide-eyed audience. "No doors! No stairs! Just a tiny window at the very tippy-top of the tower, and whenever the witch wanted to come in, she’d stand at the base of the tower and call out..."

Just as I’m about to put on my witch voice, I see him walk into the library.

Jesus. Christ.

The sexiest man I’ve ever seen just walked into the library, and I’m doing my witch impression while wearing a long, ratty wig and a mustard-stained cafeteria uniform. I always give great first impressions.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your long hair!" I cry out in an embarrassingly nasal voice, and the red-haired toddler leaning against my knee giggles.

The man is tall and trim, and he has disheveled blond hair that probably hasn’t seen a comb in days. No... I take that back. It’s completely intentional. He’s combed his hair straight back and just let it go ‘poof’ and fly off to wherever it’s going to go. It’s the most orderly-looking haystack ever to grace a guy’s head. I’d never have imagined the haystack look could actually work for someone, but it totally does on him—he's projecting a mixed aura of "too busy to care" and "too gorgeous to care," but that second one might just be my infatuation.

Standing beside him is an older man, completely bald and wearing a long white coat, and... and he’s hooking elbows with Mister Sexy. Well shit. It’s practically cradle robbery and, more importantly,
completely unfair
.

The young man leans over the counter in the lobby, talking quietly with Susan, and a brief pang of jealousy hits me. This is ridiculous. What am I jealous of? It’s not like Susan’s getting him or anything—his arm is firmly entwined with his septuagenarian sugar daddy’s. It’s one hell of an arm, too. He’s struck the perfect balance between toothpick and gym meathead, and I’m a little envious of his physique. There’s no way in hell my shift manager would screw with me if I had arms like that.

"Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the witch climbed up to her."

You’re not being fair,
I chide myself, now telling the story completely by memory and staring at the handsome man instead of the book.
What if that’s his father and he’s just helping him walk?

The elderly man wanders off to the new releases shelf, leaving his delicious young companion leaning over the counter and spoiling my attempt to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The little redhead sitting beside me jabs me in the thigh with her elbow, drawing my attention back to the children and away from my eye candy before I started drooling. Children always have the sharpest elbows.

Right... the kids. Reading. That stuff. I force myself to look away from Mister Sexy up at the counter and return to Rapunzel’s story.

"And then on the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, the wicked witch took the girl’s chopped-off braid and waited for the prince to visit. When he arrived, he cried up to the tiny window in the tower..."

I gesture to the children with a smile, and they shout ome they sout Grimm’s trademark line.

God, they’re so adorable,
I think. The kids are so cute while they bounce around excitedly that I can’t help but start laughing.

The young man’s head snaps up at the sound my laughter and he catches himself against the counter with both hands as if to stop himself from falling. He’s staring at me—his bright green eyes drilling into me—and... and all my words are gone. His eyes are so green that I can see the color from all the way across the library.

They’re so familiar.

Oh God, they’re just like Isaac’s.

My face is suddenly hot and I can feel myself begin to sweat. No, it can’t be Isaac. He’s long gone and I’m never going to see him again. I tried to find him two years ago and it was hopeless. All I could find out was that he severed ties with his family after high school and then disappeared into thin air. He just
vanished
.

He’s still staring right at me, his gaze so intense that it’s almost overpowering. I feel as if I can’t look away. No... it can't be him. There's no way he's Isaac. Isaac was handsome, but even as gorgeous as my memory's built him up to be, he was nothing like this guy. They may have the same eyes, but this guy is built like a Greek god and Isaac was so thin that you could mistake him for a talking string bean.

"Are you okay, Mister Radcliffe?" asks Susan, her voice drifting into the children’s section as she stares at the young man in alarm.

Isaac’s last name was Preston. It’s not him.

Even though I knew it couldn’t have been him, my heart sinks all the same. I can’t keep doing this to myself every time I see a man who reminds me of him.

You need to grow up, Irene,
I tell myself.
He’s gone forever.

Mr. Radcliffe is still staring straight at me and it’s making me really uncomfortable now that I know he’s not Isaac. I avert my eyes and try to focus on the pages of the book.

"The prince ascended Rapunzel’s braid, but instead of finding his dearest love at the top, he found the evil witch instead! She cackled at him with a wicked, venomous look," I read aloud.

I can still feel him staring at me while I read, as if he doesn’t give a damn how uncomfortable it’s making me. I shoot him a glare over the top of the book, hoping he’ll get the hint, but he doesn’t even blink. Why are all the handsome men in Connecticut complete assholes?

Not counting you, Isaac,
I mentally apologize, and I turn the page and continue reading to my enraptured audience.

"Thanks again for your help," the old man says to Susan as he hobbles back to the counter and grabs Mister Radcliffe by the arm once again. "We’ll be on our way now."

I breathe a sigh of relief as the old man drags his younger companion toward the door, finally breaking his spell over me and letting me focus on the book. His eyes had me so enthralled that I haven’t looked down at the book for at least five pages now.

"'Aha!' cried out the witch. You seek your darling Rapunzel, but she’s gone, never to be seen again! The cat’s got your little bird and will scratch your eyes out as well!"

"Come along, sir. We have to get going," he urges his handsome young jackass of a friend, and as they disappear out into the night, I finish the story and say goodbye to my adoring audience.

After the parents come to pick up their children, I return to the lobby and lean over the counter to make fun of Susan. I don’t think she’s ever had a boyfriend, and I’m just the sort of jerk to tease her about it given the opportunity.

"So, who’s your sweetheart?" I whisper, and she immediately flushes bright red.

"He... he’s not my sweetheart, Irene," she stammers back at me in embarrassment. "Why do you always do this?"

"Because you react to it," I answer with a wink. "Seriously though, he was cute."

"Oh don’t get me started," she says with a thin-lipped smile. "Terrence is totally gorgeous, but I think he was into
you
, Irene, not me."

I shake my head and groan.

"No thanks, sweetie. Besides, he’s clearly taken. I mean, he was clinging to that old guy like he depended on him."

Susan gasps and stares at me as if I’ve just said something horrible, and given my record, I probably just did. There it is... the feeling that I’ve just done something so atrocious that I’m going to feel terrible about it for weeks. It always hits me like five seconds too late.

I take a deep breath and brace myself for it.

"Okay, Susan—get it over with. What did I do this time?"

"He’s blind, Irene," she hisses angrily. "That wonderful old man you’re making fun of is his personal assistant!"

Oh my God. He wasn’t staring at me at all; he couldn’t even see me! Could I have been any more narcissistic?

"Gee, thanks Susan—I feel like a complete piece of shit now," I blurt out, and the horrifyingly embarrassing situation gets even worse as I realize there’s still
a crowd of children standing right behind me.

"A
bout fifteen steps, sir," Marcus whispers into my ear as he leads me into the library. "Fifteen steps and then there’s a counter at elbow height. The librarian is in directly in front of you across the counter."

The push-bar of the door needs oiling and so do the hinges. It creaks loudly as Marcus pushes it open and guides me through it.

Step one... two... three... all the way across the lobby to the librarian. Marcus underestimated my stride length—not that I can blame him—and I catch myself against the counter at step thirteen.

Shit, I feel so helpless.

"Good evening, Terrence," says the librarian from across the counter. She sounds friendly, almost helpful, and I imagine she has thin-rimmed glasses, freckles, and red hair tied back in a ponytail. Damned if I know why—I just do.

"Hello, Susan," I greet her back. "Any updates on the research from la hest week?"

"One second, sir. The research librarian’s gone for the day, but I’ll see if he left you anything."

Her footsteps retreat into the distance, and I lean on the counter and look over my right shoulder at Marcus. If you can still call it ‘looking’ at this point, that is.

"So, just to ask... does the librarian have red hair?"

"Other direction, Terrence," he says from my left. "And no, her hair’s black."

I’m wrong as usual.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Let down your long hair!" calls out a woman’s voice from somewhere off to my right. It sounds like she’s holding her nose, and children’s laughter immediately follows the high-pitched exclamation. It must be reading night at the library.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Radcliffe," apologizes Susan from across the counter, returning so quietly that I didn’t know she was here. "There’s still no trace of a Nina Torres anywhere matching the information you provided us. Our research librarian even checked in neighboring states, but nobody matches her."

"So what do we know?" I ask, bracing myself with both hands as I lean over the counter.

"Careful sir," cautions Marcus from behind me. "You nearly knocked heads there."

"Oops, sorry Susan," I apologize, and I feel my face flush. It’s been five years and I still don’t know what I’m doing. I hate this.