The Genie's Heartwish, page 17
“Of?” Still grousing, he struggled to disentangle from the human coil they’d created.
“That we’re not a couple of teenagers,” Laila slipped her head beneath his knee to get free, “and shouldn’t be behaving like hormonal high schoolers.”
Zak stopped scrambling long enough to ask, “You mean you do not want to make love?” He looked like a lost puppy.
“Of course I do. But later...after dinner. As adults, we should be more in control of our impulses.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what adults are supposed to do.” She hated having to be logical when she yearned to stay locked away in her bedroom, wrapped in his firm embrace for the next six months.
Locking gazes with her, Zak breathed a sigh of resignation. “As you wish.”
She’d never seen pouting look so adorable on anyone but a child.
After another round of struggling, they finally made their way out of the car.
Wiping perspiration from his brow, Zak glared at the compact car with undisguised contempt. He kicked the front tire with his new shoes. Twice.
“I have not struggled so in ages.”
Once inside the house they loaded the first round of bags onto the kitchen counter. Her gaze falling on the black TBT tote bag tucked away in the corner of a cabinet had her thoughts shifting to her job and she groaned.
“Something is amiss?”
“What am I going to do with you when I go to work Monday morning?”
“To the business where you labor for the strongly unlikeable Bunny Turner?”
“That would be the place.” Laila rubbed her arms against the sudden chill. “I can’t leave you here alone, and I certainly can’t take you with me.” She could imagine the commotion if she showed up at TBT with the gorgeous ancient warrior in tow. On the plus side, one glimpse of Zak would get the dieters’ minds off food. She nibbled her thumbnail as she considered her options.
“You will stay here with me,” Zak stated. “We will start with a brisk morning walk outdoors, have bread, cheese and wine for lunch, then spend the rest of the day pleasuring each other in bed.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t want to give Bunny any more ammunition to fire me.” Laila hated it when her logical side intruded. “Especially since she’s already green with envy because she thinks you’re my boyfriend and you turned down her,” she shuddered, “offer.”
“It would please me greatly to be your boyfriend, Laila.” His lips curved into a smile.
The sexy timbre of his voice had a shiver rippling through her from head to toe. The idea of being able to officially introduce the handsome genie as her boyfriend had her head and heart reeling.
“I’d like that very much, Zak.”
“Good. Now we eat, yes? My belly is in dire need of provisions.” With fingers spread, his hand clapped over his abs. “We will discuss Monday later.”
The day had flown by and she hadn’t even realized it was time for dinner. It was a rare occurrence for Laila to forget about eating.
“I’ll fix something as soon as I go freshen up, and put the frozen and refrigerated foods away.”
“While you are in the room of flushing water—”
“Bathroom,” she reminded him.
“Bathroom. Zak nodded. “I will let Friday out to relieve himself before I finish unburdening the trunk of your chariot.”
“Sounds good.” Laila could definitely get used to having a burly guy around to unburden her trunk. Her spirits were so high she could almost float on air. Being this happy and content was unnerving. When things got too perfect she feared the rug might be yanked out from under her.
That’s exactly what would happen in six months.
If she didn’t protect her heart, Laila knew it would shatter once she lost him. While she’d loved Tim, her feelings for Zak were different. She’d never felt this sense of connection with a man before. The grief she’d experienced at Tim’s passing was intense. The grief at losing Zak could destroy her. Blinking away the abrupt rise of tears, she shook the gloomy deliberations from her mind.
“I rescued the frozen cream,” Zak announced proudly when she returned to the kitchen. “I deposited it in the great metal box’s ice chamber for safekeeping.” He motioned toward the freezer.
“Wonderful! Ice cream soup doesn’t hold the same appeal.” Laila glanced at the kitchen counter. “Wow, you already put most of the cold things away. I’m impressed.”
His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “I learn quickly. I have also filled Friday’s bowl with his food and replenished his water.”
Laila microwaved a couple potatoes and cooked a bag of frozen sweet corn to pair with the rotisserie chicken. She salivated while slathering crusty bread with real butter and licked her lips as she scooped dollops of sour cream and a sprinkling of chives atop their buttery baked potatoes.
A bottle of earthy Oregon pinot noir rounded out their meal. With the sun setting, she lit a few candles, pleased at the way the gentle glow of the flickering tapers enhanced the overall mood. Soft jazz background music added to the ambiance.
“I like these yellow beads.” Zak polished off the pile of corn on his plate. “Like pearls of steeped grain. The fowl is favorable as well.” Eating the last of his potato, he noted, “It is most surprising this is the same foodstuff as that of the fries at the pub. A versatile food fit for the gods.”
“You won’t get any argument from me on that subject.”
Reaching beneath the table, Zak petted Friday’s head as the dog nudged him, circled in place, and settled at his feet. “I feel like a king,” he boasted. “With a bounty of victuals at my table and my precious queen across from me.” Gazing at her with a slow smile, he amended, “No, not my queen, my girlfriend.”
Beaming in response, Laila glanced up at him through her lashes, noticing how the golden cast of the flames enhanced his masculine beauty. With the candlelight flickering, she could envision the way Zakkar Tymon must have looked centuries ago, partaking in a meal amid the torchlight with his army comrades after a hard day of battle.
This man thousands of years her senior sat across from her now, dining on grocery store rotisserie chicken instead of goat roasted over a crackling flame beneath the stars of the ancient sky. Each time she was reminded of the implausible reality that he was from a distant time, she was filled with a new sense of wonder.
If it was this difficult for her to fathom, Laila could only imagine how hard it was for Zak to face random snippets of time over the centuries, each vastly different from the last. Just when he was getting used to his surroundings, learning about the people, their culture, habits and advances, he was wrenched out of his new life, catapulted back to the inert existence of the bottle.
He didn’t eat like an uncivilized man. His table manners were close to impeccable. Laila wondered if Abigail Maythorne might have tutored him in that area. Still, the feeling of urgency was palpable. Each time she’d seen Zak eat, she noticed how quickly he consumed the food. Almost as if he were afraid it would be snatched away before he had a chance to finish it.
Zak sipped from his wine. “A surprisingly smooth, fruit-like taste. The wine I imbibed in the past was more like vinegar. Most of it was stored in goatskin pouches.”
Heaping second helpings of chicken, potatoes, and corn onto his plate, Laila wrinkled her nose. “That definitely would have affected the flavor.” She refilled their wineglasses.
“In my time,” Zak noted as he devoured a drumstick dwarfed by his large hand, “roast fowl was strong-tasting meat, tough and stringy, not mild and tender like this.”
Laila enjoyed hearing tidbits of his past. “What would you eat with it?”
“A ration of barleycake with onion and cucumber, washed down with barley ale.” He broke a chunk of rustic Italian bread and buttered it. “The bread we ate was nothing like this tender crumb with its pleasingly brittle crust,” he told her once he’d swallowed. “And butter was not common at our tables.”
“Did you enjoy being at Maythorne Manor? I fell in love with the period charm and character of that beautiful old house.”
“Very much.” Zak’s smile reached his eyes, lighting his entire face. “I created that house for Abigail.”
Once again he’d managed to amaze her. “Are you serious?”
“I am. Owning a grand house was one of her wishes. When she first became my possessor, she was living in poverty, uncertain where her next meal would come from. She carried a satchel with a pot, spoon, bowl, a few ragged garments and not much else. She had been forced to sell the rest of her belongings in exchange for food and shelter.”
“That poor woman. No wonder she looked so old at fifty. Since Abigail found your bottle here in Oregon, I imagine your previous possessor must have been from here too.” Laila cleared the plates from the table to give them some room, with Friday dancing around her feet as she walked, clearly waiting for any stray scraps to hit the floor.
Zak shook his head. “Nein. Ich war in Deutschland.” He grinned as Laila returned to the table with a wide-eyed expression. “I was in Germany,” he translated, “for a brief time in the early 1800s. How the box journeyed to Oregon, I do not know.”
“Probably early settlers coming to America,” she surmised. “Do you remember all the languages you’ve learned over the centuries?”
“Some better than others. It depends on how long I spent in a location. Sometimes it was a matter of but a few hours before returning to the bottle.”
Dear God...
“You give the term multilingual a whole new meaning.” She kept her voice and comment lighthearted while wondering what it must be like to carry snippets of various time periods around inside your head.
“How did you build Abigail’s house?” Reruns of I Dream of Jeannie came to mind. “Was it done with a blink of the eyes and, boing, there it is?” She made the accompanying gestures. “Or did it take a long time?” She sipped from her wine, thoroughly engrossed in their fascinating after dinner conversation.
“Over a period of days Abigail provided me with all the information about what she wanted inside and outside the house. The house appeared instantly once she made the wish.”
“So one minute there was a blank space up on Beauregard Hill and another, poof,” her arms waved in an explosive motion, “there was a huge Victorian mansion standing there. That must have been pretty shocking to the neighbors.”
“Blink, boing, poof...” Zak laughed. “I do not understand these words or gestures in regard to granting wishes, but there were no neighbors to shock. Abigail’s house was the first in the area. It was a time of vast wilderness. Glassfloat Bay was not as it is today.”
“But what if someone was riding around in their horse and buggy and all of a sudden a house magically appears out of nowhere? How would that be explained?”
Zak tossed up his hands with a shrug. “I do not comprehend the workings. I know only that the wishes are granted seamlessly. What mechanism the gods use to achieve this, I cannot fathom.” Eating another forkful of potatoes, he closed his eyes, murmuring his satisfaction.
“Has there ever been a wish you couldn’t grant?”
“Yes, a number of distinctly malevolent wishes that involved causing harm to others.” His thoughts seemed far away for a moment. “As long as the wish is within the guidelines it can be granted. Some wishes, such as creating Abigail’s Victorian house, require more preparation on my part than others.”
“The house must have been very important to Abigail.”
Zak gave a confirming nod. “She and her husband had planned to build it when they arrived here. Abigail carried August’s detailed sketch of the house in her satchel, with measurements, a list of materials and building instructions. I studied the papers over a few days and went about building the house in my head. Once I could clearly envision every last detail, I processed the wish.”
“Incredible.”
“Even after all this time, I still find it so, yes.”
“What were Abigail’s other two wishes?”
“She asked to have all her possessions restored to her, including the belongings she was forced to sell to survive during her years alone here, the items lost along the Oregon Trail, things she had to leave behind in her home in Massachusetts, as well as in her ancestral home of England. She believed having items of sentimental value surrounding her would keep her happy until she joined her beloved husband in Kurnugi.”
The sheer intricacy of the idea amazed Laila. “You were able to do that?”
“Over a period of a few days, yes.”
“It must have caused some raised eyebrows when all of Abigail’s belongings just started disappearing from all over and showing up in her house. And her third wish?”
“Ample wealth so she would never be hungry or homeless again and so she could live in the lifestyle she was accustomed to before journeying to Oregon. This wish was granted immediately.”
The story of Abigail’s life-changing wishes was mesmerizing. Trying to imagine how the woman’s life transformed from abject scarcity to fruitful abundance with a mere snap of Zak’s fingers made Laila’s head swim.
Reaching across the table, she squeezed his hand, wondering what she would spend money on first if she were in Abigail’s place. “Imagine her sense of security and happiness once you granted her wishes.”
He covered her hand with his. “I would like to think she lived the remainder of her life in the happiness she deserved.”
“We’ll have to Google Abigail to find out what happened to her.”
“If you say so, then we will Google.” Zak chuckled at the unusual word.
Chapter Fifteen
~<>~
“CAN I JUST TALK to you about my ideas before making an official wish?”
“Of course.” Zakkar still couldn’t get over the fact that Laila asked about using one of her valuable wishes to set him free. She was a remarkable woman, as rare as a fine gemstone.
Taking the wine with them, along with a plate of something called chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies, Laila led him into the family room where she asked Zakkar to build a fire in the fireplace.
Zakkar’s gaze fell on what looked like a metal evergreen tree in the corner, decorated with a variety of hanging objects. “Interesting...” he noted. “What is this silver object?”
“It’s my sister Delaney’s aluminum Christmas tree.” Laila’s face lit up as she smiled. “Her first husband didn’t approve of Christmas decorations. After her divorce she found this vintage tree, it’s from the 1950s or 60s, at the roadside, waiting to be picked up on garbage day. She dragged it home, cleaned and repaired it, and hasn’t taken it down since.” She gave a soft laugh. “She brought it with her all the way from Chicago. Delaney insists there’s something magical about it.”
He enjoyed listening to her stories and watching how animated she became.
She padded over to the tree. “Want to see something cool?” Laila plugged a cord into the wall and a round, lighted wheel of colors rotated, changing the color of the metal branches with each rotation.
Once the fireplace blaze was strong, they stood together for a short time, watching the golden flames crackle, while the silver tree shifted from blue to red, green, yellow and back again. He slipped his arm around her waist and she rested her head against him.
Laila took his hand, leading him to the sofa where they sat on the soft cushions, leaning into each other as they sipped wine. It was the perfect scenario—one Zakkar could easily envision them repeating for years to come.
But that wasn’t to be.
“Maythorne Manor was so charming,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with liveliness. “It has an almost enchanted feel. The sort of house I’ve always dreamed about. When I was younger I might have wished to own and live in that house.”
“If you desire Maythorne Manor for your home I can make it so.”
“No.” Laila shook her head. “Now I realize I’d just be rambling around in a place far too big for me. I’d feel like I was living in the Taj Mahal.”
“India.” Zakkar’s eyes closed briefly. “The Taj Mahal was magnificent. It was built by the emperor Shah Jahan, in memory of his wife and queen, Mumtaz Mahal.”
“Your knowledge of history puts me to shame.” Laila’s eyes widened with wonder. “So you’ve seen it?”
“I was there as it was being built.”
“Amazing...how long ago was that?” She reached for the table, bringing the shortbread cookies closer, offering them to Zakkar and taking one for herself. Sinking her teeth into the confection elicited a sigh from her as she chewed. How he enjoyed that look of delight across her face.
“Mmm...I’ll probably be five pounds heavier in the morning after this dinner and dessert,” she lamented with an expression of guilt, “but it was worth every calorific ounce.”
Zakkar bit into a cookie, nodding his approval as he chewed. “You worry too much about weight gain.” He gathered her close, loving the feel of her soft curves in his arms.
“I suppose you’re right.” Laila studied the cookie in her hand. “I do tend to be a little food and diet obsessed.” She gave a tinkle of laughter before popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth. “Tell me more about the Taj Mahal.” Pressing the tip of her finger into the cookie crumbs on the serving plate, she brought it to her lips and sucked.
“I was in India in the 1600s. The construction was nearly complete. The white marble structures glowed in the light of the full moon. My possessor was the wife of one of the builders.”
Friday came sniffing around, making his desire for a cookie known.
“This is not good food for you, Friday,” he said. With a defeated look, Friday skulked away.
“You said you wanted to ask me about your ideas for wishes,” Zakkar reminded her.
“Well,” she brushed the crumbs from her fingers onto her plate, “since I can’t make sweeping goodwill wishes for the world, I’d like to make wishes for myself that will ultimately be of help to others. Is that okay?”
“It depends. What do you have in mind?”
“That we’re not a couple of teenagers,” Laila slipped her head beneath his knee to get free, “and shouldn’t be behaving like hormonal high schoolers.”
Zak stopped scrambling long enough to ask, “You mean you do not want to make love?” He looked like a lost puppy.
“Of course I do. But later...after dinner. As adults, we should be more in control of our impulses.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what adults are supposed to do.” She hated having to be logical when she yearned to stay locked away in her bedroom, wrapped in his firm embrace for the next six months.
Locking gazes with her, Zak breathed a sigh of resignation. “As you wish.”
She’d never seen pouting look so adorable on anyone but a child.
After another round of struggling, they finally made their way out of the car.
Wiping perspiration from his brow, Zak glared at the compact car with undisguised contempt. He kicked the front tire with his new shoes. Twice.
“I have not struggled so in ages.”
Once inside the house they loaded the first round of bags onto the kitchen counter. Her gaze falling on the black TBT tote bag tucked away in the corner of a cabinet had her thoughts shifting to her job and she groaned.
“Something is amiss?”
“What am I going to do with you when I go to work Monday morning?”
“To the business where you labor for the strongly unlikeable Bunny Turner?”
“That would be the place.” Laila rubbed her arms against the sudden chill. “I can’t leave you here alone, and I certainly can’t take you with me.” She could imagine the commotion if she showed up at TBT with the gorgeous ancient warrior in tow. On the plus side, one glimpse of Zak would get the dieters’ minds off food. She nibbled her thumbnail as she considered her options.
“You will stay here with me,” Zak stated. “We will start with a brisk morning walk outdoors, have bread, cheese and wine for lunch, then spend the rest of the day pleasuring each other in bed.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t want to give Bunny any more ammunition to fire me.” Laila hated it when her logical side intruded. “Especially since she’s already green with envy because she thinks you’re my boyfriend and you turned down her,” she shuddered, “offer.”
“It would please me greatly to be your boyfriend, Laila.” His lips curved into a smile.
The sexy timbre of his voice had a shiver rippling through her from head to toe. The idea of being able to officially introduce the handsome genie as her boyfriend had her head and heart reeling.
“I’d like that very much, Zak.”
“Good. Now we eat, yes? My belly is in dire need of provisions.” With fingers spread, his hand clapped over his abs. “We will discuss Monday later.”
The day had flown by and she hadn’t even realized it was time for dinner. It was a rare occurrence for Laila to forget about eating.
“I’ll fix something as soon as I go freshen up, and put the frozen and refrigerated foods away.”
“While you are in the room of flushing water—”
“Bathroom,” she reminded him.
“Bathroom. Zak nodded. “I will let Friday out to relieve himself before I finish unburdening the trunk of your chariot.”
“Sounds good.” Laila could definitely get used to having a burly guy around to unburden her trunk. Her spirits were so high she could almost float on air. Being this happy and content was unnerving. When things got too perfect she feared the rug might be yanked out from under her.
That’s exactly what would happen in six months.
If she didn’t protect her heart, Laila knew it would shatter once she lost him. While she’d loved Tim, her feelings for Zak were different. She’d never felt this sense of connection with a man before. The grief she’d experienced at Tim’s passing was intense. The grief at losing Zak could destroy her. Blinking away the abrupt rise of tears, she shook the gloomy deliberations from her mind.
“I rescued the frozen cream,” Zak announced proudly when she returned to the kitchen. “I deposited it in the great metal box’s ice chamber for safekeeping.” He motioned toward the freezer.
“Wonderful! Ice cream soup doesn’t hold the same appeal.” Laila glanced at the kitchen counter. “Wow, you already put most of the cold things away. I’m impressed.”
His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “I learn quickly. I have also filled Friday’s bowl with his food and replenished his water.”
Laila microwaved a couple potatoes and cooked a bag of frozen sweet corn to pair with the rotisserie chicken. She salivated while slathering crusty bread with real butter and licked her lips as she scooped dollops of sour cream and a sprinkling of chives atop their buttery baked potatoes.
A bottle of earthy Oregon pinot noir rounded out their meal. With the sun setting, she lit a few candles, pleased at the way the gentle glow of the flickering tapers enhanced the overall mood. Soft jazz background music added to the ambiance.
“I like these yellow beads.” Zak polished off the pile of corn on his plate. “Like pearls of steeped grain. The fowl is favorable as well.” Eating the last of his potato, he noted, “It is most surprising this is the same foodstuff as that of the fries at the pub. A versatile food fit for the gods.”
“You won’t get any argument from me on that subject.”
Reaching beneath the table, Zak petted Friday’s head as the dog nudged him, circled in place, and settled at his feet. “I feel like a king,” he boasted. “With a bounty of victuals at my table and my precious queen across from me.” Gazing at her with a slow smile, he amended, “No, not my queen, my girlfriend.”
Beaming in response, Laila glanced up at him through her lashes, noticing how the golden cast of the flames enhanced his masculine beauty. With the candlelight flickering, she could envision the way Zakkar Tymon must have looked centuries ago, partaking in a meal amid the torchlight with his army comrades after a hard day of battle.
This man thousands of years her senior sat across from her now, dining on grocery store rotisserie chicken instead of goat roasted over a crackling flame beneath the stars of the ancient sky. Each time she was reminded of the implausible reality that he was from a distant time, she was filled with a new sense of wonder.
If it was this difficult for her to fathom, Laila could only imagine how hard it was for Zak to face random snippets of time over the centuries, each vastly different from the last. Just when he was getting used to his surroundings, learning about the people, their culture, habits and advances, he was wrenched out of his new life, catapulted back to the inert existence of the bottle.
He didn’t eat like an uncivilized man. His table manners were close to impeccable. Laila wondered if Abigail Maythorne might have tutored him in that area. Still, the feeling of urgency was palpable. Each time she’d seen Zak eat, she noticed how quickly he consumed the food. Almost as if he were afraid it would be snatched away before he had a chance to finish it.
Zak sipped from his wine. “A surprisingly smooth, fruit-like taste. The wine I imbibed in the past was more like vinegar. Most of it was stored in goatskin pouches.”
Heaping second helpings of chicken, potatoes, and corn onto his plate, Laila wrinkled her nose. “That definitely would have affected the flavor.” She refilled their wineglasses.
“In my time,” Zak noted as he devoured a drumstick dwarfed by his large hand, “roast fowl was strong-tasting meat, tough and stringy, not mild and tender like this.”
Laila enjoyed hearing tidbits of his past. “What would you eat with it?”
“A ration of barleycake with onion and cucumber, washed down with barley ale.” He broke a chunk of rustic Italian bread and buttered it. “The bread we ate was nothing like this tender crumb with its pleasingly brittle crust,” he told her once he’d swallowed. “And butter was not common at our tables.”
“Did you enjoy being at Maythorne Manor? I fell in love with the period charm and character of that beautiful old house.”
“Very much.” Zak’s smile reached his eyes, lighting his entire face. “I created that house for Abigail.”
Once again he’d managed to amaze her. “Are you serious?”
“I am. Owning a grand house was one of her wishes. When she first became my possessor, she was living in poverty, uncertain where her next meal would come from. She carried a satchel with a pot, spoon, bowl, a few ragged garments and not much else. She had been forced to sell the rest of her belongings in exchange for food and shelter.”
“That poor woman. No wonder she looked so old at fifty. Since Abigail found your bottle here in Oregon, I imagine your previous possessor must have been from here too.” Laila cleared the plates from the table to give them some room, with Friday dancing around her feet as she walked, clearly waiting for any stray scraps to hit the floor.
Zak shook his head. “Nein. Ich war in Deutschland.” He grinned as Laila returned to the table with a wide-eyed expression. “I was in Germany,” he translated, “for a brief time in the early 1800s. How the box journeyed to Oregon, I do not know.”
“Probably early settlers coming to America,” she surmised. “Do you remember all the languages you’ve learned over the centuries?”
“Some better than others. It depends on how long I spent in a location. Sometimes it was a matter of but a few hours before returning to the bottle.”
Dear God...
“You give the term multilingual a whole new meaning.” She kept her voice and comment lighthearted while wondering what it must be like to carry snippets of various time periods around inside your head.
“How did you build Abigail’s house?” Reruns of I Dream of Jeannie came to mind. “Was it done with a blink of the eyes and, boing, there it is?” She made the accompanying gestures. “Or did it take a long time?” She sipped from her wine, thoroughly engrossed in their fascinating after dinner conversation.
“Over a period of days Abigail provided me with all the information about what she wanted inside and outside the house. The house appeared instantly once she made the wish.”
“So one minute there was a blank space up on Beauregard Hill and another, poof,” her arms waved in an explosive motion, “there was a huge Victorian mansion standing there. That must have been pretty shocking to the neighbors.”
“Blink, boing, poof...” Zak laughed. “I do not understand these words or gestures in regard to granting wishes, but there were no neighbors to shock. Abigail’s house was the first in the area. It was a time of vast wilderness. Glassfloat Bay was not as it is today.”
“But what if someone was riding around in their horse and buggy and all of a sudden a house magically appears out of nowhere? How would that be explained?”
Zak tossed up his hands with a shrug. “I do not comprehend the workings. I know only that the wishes are granted seamlessly. What mechanism the gods use to achieve this, I cannot fathom.” Eating another forkful of potatoes, he closed his eyes, murmuring his satisfaction.
“Has there ever been a wish you couldn’t grant?”
“Yes, a number of distinctly malevolent wishes that involved causing harm to others.” His thoughts seemed far away for a moment. “As long as the wish is within the guidelines it can be granted. Some wishes, such as creating Abigail’s Victorian house, require more preparation on my part than others.”
“The house must have been very important to Abigail.”
Zak gave a confirming nod. “She and her husband had planned to build it when they arrived here. Abigail carried August’s detailed sketch of the house in her satchel, with measurements, a list of materials and building instructions. I studied the papers over a few days and went about building the house in my head. Once I could clearly envision every last detail, I processed the wish.”
“Incredible.”
“Even after all this time, I still find it so, yes.”
“What were Abigail’s other two wishes?”
“She asked to have all her possessions restored to her, including the belongings she was forced to sell to survive during her years alone here, the items lost along the Oregon Trail, things she had to leave behind in her home in Massachusetts, as well as in her ancestral home of England. She believed having items of sentimental value surrounding her would keep her happy until she joined her beloved husband in Kurnugi.”
The sheer intricacy of the idea amazed Laila. “You were able to do that?”
“Over a period of a few days, yes.”
“It must have caused some raised eyebrows when all of Abigail’s belongings just started disappearing from all over and showing up in her house. And her third wish?”
“Ample wealth so she would never be hungry or homeless again and so she could live in the lifestyle she was accustomed to before journeying to Oregon. This wish was granted immediately.”
The story of Abigail’s life-changing wishes was mesmerizing. Trying to imagine how the woman’s life transformed from abject scarcity to fruitful abundance with a mere snap of Zak’s fingers made Laila’s head swim.
Reaching across the table, she squeezed his hand, wondering what she would spend money on first if she were in Abigail’s place. “Imagine her sense of security and happiness once you granted her wishes.”
He covered her hand with his. “I would like to think she lived the remainder of her life in the happiness she deserved.”
“We’ll have to Google Abigail to find out what happened to her.”
“If you say so, then we will Google.” Zak chuckled at the unusual word.
Chapter Fifteen
~<>~
“CAN I JUST TALK to you about my ideas before making an official wish?”
“Of course.” Zakkar still couldn’t get over the fact that Laila asked about using one of her valuable wishes to set him free. She was a remarkable woman, as rare as a fine gemstone.
Taking the wine with them, along with a plate of something called chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies, Laila led him into the family room where she asked Zakkar to build a fire in the fireplace.
Zakkar’s gaze fell on what looked like a metal evergreen tree in the corner, decorated with a variety of hanging objects. “Interesting...” he noted. “What is this silver object?”
“It’s my sister Delaney’s aluminum Christmas tree.” Laila’s face lit up as she smiled. “Her first husband didn’t approve of Christmas decorations. After her divorce she found this vintage tree, it’s from the 1950s or 60s, at the roadside, waiting to be picked up on garbage day. She dragged it home, cleaned and repaired it, and hasn’t taken it down since.” She gave a soft laugh. “She brought it with her all the way from Chicago. Delaney insists there’s something magical about it.”
He enjoyed listening to her stories and watching how animated she became.
She padded over to the tree. “Want to see something cool?” Laila plugged a cord into the wall and a round, lighted wheel of colors rotated, changing the color of the metal branches with each rotation.
Once the fireplace blaze was strong, they stood together for a short time, watching the golden flames crackle, while the silver tree shifted from blue to red, green, yellow and back again. He slipped his arm around her waist and she rested her head against him.
Laila took his hand, leading him to the sofa where they sat on the soft cushions, leaning into each other as they sipped wine. It was the perfect scenario—one Zakkar could easily envision them repeating for years to come.
But that wasn’t to be.
“Maythorne Manor was so charming,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with liveliness. “It has an almost enchanted feel. The sort of house I’ve always dreamed about. When I was younger I might have wished to own and live in that house.”
“If you desire Maythorne Manor for your home I can make it so.”
“No.” Laila shook her head. “Now I realize I’d just be rambling around in a place far too big for me. I’d feel like I was living in the Taj Mahal.”
“India.” Zakkar’s eyes closed briefly. “The Taj Mahal was magnificent. It was built by the emperor Shah Jahan, in memory of his wife and queen, Mumtaz Mahal.”
“Your knowledge of history puts me to shame.” Laila’s eyes widened with wonder. “So you’ve seen it?”
“I was there as it was being built.”
“Amazing...how long ago was that?” She reached for the table, bringing the shortbread cookies closer, offering them to Zakkar and taking one for herself. Sinking her teeth into the confection elicited a sigh from her as she chewed. How he enjoyed that look of delight across her face.
“Mmm...I’ll probably be five pounds heavier in the morning after this dinner and dessert,” she lamented with an expression of guilt, “but it was worth every calorific ounce.”
Zakkar bit into a cookie, nodding his approval as he chewed. “You worry too much about weight gain.” He gathered her close, loving the feel of her soft curves in his arms.
“I suppose you’re right.” Laila studied the cookie in her hand. “I do tend to be a little food and diet obsessed.” She gave a tinkle of laughter before popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth. “Tell me more about the Taj Mahal.” Pressing the tip of her finger into the cookie crumbs on the serving plate, she brought it to her lips and sucked.
“I was in India in the 1600s. The construction was nearly complete. The white marble structures glowed in the light of the full moon. My possessor was the wife of one of the builders.”
Friday came sniffing around, making his desire for a cookie known.
“This is not good food for you, Friday,” he said. With a defeated look, Friday skulked away.
“You said you wanted to ask me about your ideas for wishes,” Zakkar reminded her.
“Well,” she brushed the crumbs from her fingers onto her plate, “since I can’t make sweeping goodwill wishes for the world, I’d like to make wishes for myself that will ultimately be of help to others. Is that okay?”
“It depends. What do you have in mind?”
