Page 45 of Your Every Wish

After he complained to the agency that I’d scorched three of his Brooks Brothers shirts, I knew my days were numbered at Twinkle Time.

And while scrubbing toilets and plucking hair out of shower drains wasn’t my career of choice, my only prospect of a journalism job had been writing clickbait headlines for an online entertainment site that paid ten cents a word.

No way was I making rent on that salary.

So I did what I had to do. I showed up at Dex’s studio apartment when I knew he’d be home and I begged him to take back his complaints and tell Twinkle Time that if they fired me, he would in turn fire them and leave an awful Yelp review accusing the agency of being a sweatshop because it kind of was.

He surprised me by agreeing. But only on one condition: I learned how to iron. Then he ordered a pizza, broke out a nice bottle of Barolo, and proceeded to teach me the fine art of pressing his clothes. Everything I know about crease-free garments I learned from Dex.

And here we are more than nine years later. I smile at the memory, knowing that one day it’ll be the story we tell our children and grandkids of how we met, charming them with the romantic nature of it all.

Then there’s Kennedy, who would probably puke if I tried to regale her with the beginning to Dex’s and my love story.

* * *

Dex comes bearing gifts. He’s brought all my favorites: mac and cheese from the Tipsy Pig, passion fruit cake from Tartine, and a box of Recchiuti Confections chocolates.

“Wow, you went all out,” I say, wondering if nuking the mac and cheese in the microwave will make it rubbery.

“I figured by now you must be really jonesing for this stuff.”

The truth is I haven’t thought about San Francisco much.

There’s plenty of good restaurants and bakeries and sweet shops here to explore.

Just the other day, Liam and I found a wonderful candy shop on Main that makes its own gummy ghosts (Ghost, get it?).

We nearly made ourselves sick eating them while strolling the entire pedestrian square.

“It was very thoughtful of you,” I say, sounding obnoxiously prim and proper.

He reaches over and kisses me, slowly at first, then, cupping the back of my head, he takes the kiss deeper.

It’s such a good kiss, the kind that you log in your long-term memory as the gold standard of kisses—and yet, there’s something missing.

Something contrived about it, like this is how it’s done if you want to make a statement or mark your territory.

I tell myself this is all Misty’s fault. She’s made me question whether Dex’s newfound passion for me is real or magic. And since I don’t believe in magic, I should take Dex’s feelings for what they are. Real.

We’ve been together for nearly a decade, after all. Of course he loves me. And the kissing, gifts, and extra attention are all due to distance. Maybe not having me at his constant beck and call has opened his eyes to what he’d be missing without me.

“Is that your friend Liam?” He’s stopped kissing me and is now staring out the kitchen window.

“It is.” I watch Liam carry a stack of firewood into his trailer, jealous of his fireplace. Kennedy and I don’t have one. For some reason that old song “Our House” pops into my head and I suddenly feel sad, even though it’s an uplifting tune about domestic bliss.

It’s just the weather. It’s drizzly and cold.

“Is there something wrong with him?”

“What? Wrong with him? Like how?”

“I don’t know, he seems kind of stooped over, like he’s suffering from an injury.”

I gaze out the window again. Liam looks perfectly fine to me. In fact, the wood he’s hauling has to be half his weight and he’s lifting it like it’s nothing. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Never mind. For a minute there, he looked like he couldn’t handle his load . . . I was probably mistaken.” Dex wraps me in his arms and maneuvers me away from the window.

“Give me five minutes to run over there and make sure he’s okay.” Because what if Liam hurt himself? He’s a self-sufficient guy who wouldn’t dream of visiting the local urgent care if he had indeed been injured.

“Emma, he’s fine.”

“But you said he looked like he was suffering. It’ll only take a second to check.” I’m out the door before Dex can stop me.

By the time I cross over to Liam’s, he has disappeared inside. I bang on his door and he greets me wearing a wide grin. “The boyfriend bail on you?”

“Nope.” I nudge my head at Dex’s Rivian in my driveway. “I just came over to make sure you’re okay.”

His expression turns puzzled. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dex thought you were walking funny, like maybe you’d been injured carrying wood.”

Liam hitches his brows. “Did he now? Nope, no injuries.” He looks up at the sky. “Just hunkering down for the storm. You want to come in?” He opens the door wider to make room for me.

Out of my periphery, I see Dex coming toward us. “Nah, I better get home.” I start to turn back when Dex joins us on Liam’s doorstep.

He sticks out his hand to Liam and introduces himself.

Liam takes his hand and gives it a good shake. “Liam Duffy. Good to meet you—though we met the last time you were here.”

“Oh yeah? Funny, I don’t remember,” Dex says, and I can’t tell if he’s intentionally being snotty.

He and his circle of trader friends aren’t the most socially adept.

They remind me of overgrown frat bros, even the women, always high-fiving, calling each other “Dude,” and drinking more than they can handle.

His friend Forbes Hopper (yes, that is really his name) once got so plastered that he vomited out the passenger window of a moving Mercedes-Benz.

Let’s just say the motorist behind him was not a happy camper.

Liam nods at Dex. “I definitely remember you.”

While there’s no malice in the statement, I detect a bit of a bite, which isn’t like Liam.

He’s nice and patient with everyone. Only last week, he very gently explained to Hadley Ralston that his salt gun was wreaking more havoc on the Papadopouloses’ mobile home than it was on the flies he was trying to kill.

Hadley promised to use his Bug Zapper instead.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Liam, but Emma and I have a lot of catching up to do—if you know what I mean.” He winks at Liam and it’s all I can do not to barf. Eww.

Dex takes my hand and walks me back to our trailer.

“What the hell was that about?” I ask as soon as we get inside.

Dex acts like he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.

“Don’t pull that. You know you met Liam last time. And why did you talk about us like we would be next door, making a porn movie? Gross, Dex.” And juvenile. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t like him, that’s what’s going on.”

“What possible reason can you have for not liking Liam? Everyone likes Liam.”

“Especially you.” He stares daggers at me. “And he likes you, more than he should, given that you’re already spoken for.”

A thrill goes through me at Dex’s words. Already spoken for. He’s never been that vigorous about the nature of our relationship. Sure, we’d made the commitment to be exclusive. More than nine years of exclusivity. But this is the first time he’s almost put a ring on it, so to speak.

And just as quickly my inner feminist kicks in and I’m slightly repulsed. “ ‘Already spoken for’?” What am I, chattel? No one speaks for me but me.

“First of all, Liam is my friend. We like each other as friends. That’s all. And that little stunt you pulled back there makes you look small. And petty.”

“Why are you so bent out of shape about this? So I forgot that I met the guy before. He’s not that memorable, Em. And why are we wasting a weekend together, arguing?”

He’s right. I don’t want to argue, not with Dex, who drove two and a half hours to be with me. I want this to be a fun weekend.

“Come on, let’s go to dinner,” Dex says. “I’ll take you somewhere nice. You name the place. I’ve got stuff I want to talk to you about.”

I hold his gaze. “Like what?”

“Like it’s time for you to come home.”

I take a visual lap around Ginger’s old double-wide and want to say This is the only home I have now .

But Dex cuts me off at the pass when he says, “My home. I want you to live with me.”