Wish I Might

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

“YOU KNOW HE UP and left Tyler high and dry all those years ago. Broke her heart all to pieces.”

“And now he’s back?”

“Not only back but playing leading man to her leading lady in the musical.”

“No!”

At the tone of utter disbelief from the next booth, Cecily Dixon smiled into her mocha. To her mind, one of the greatest amusements of living in a small town was eavesdropping on the gossip. And boy, were Southerners champions at gossiping.

“I thought Tucker McGee got that part.”

“He did, but he broke his leg last week. Brody was the understudy. I heard Tyler nearly left the play over it.”

“Well, who could blame her?”

For the price of her favorite coffee at The Daily Grind, Cecily got the pleasure of stepping in and out of a series of little one-act plays. Though she’d only been in Wishful for six months, Cecily found that she often recognized the names of at least some of the players mentioned in each tale. And if she didn’t, well, she had enough imagination and experience on the stage herself to fill in the gaps, even if she hadn’t been in an actual play since college.

Man, she was really going to miss this place.

Her boss, Norah Burke, was the most brilliant marketing mind Cecily had ever known. Following her from Chicago had been a no-brainer. The plan had always been to finish her internship and move on to the best position she could find, as far from her well-intentioned family as possible. To make her mark on her terms. Now that the internship was finished, Norah, the new city planner, was being kind enough to keep Cecily on for hourly wages, while she sent out resumes and interviewed for jobs elsewhere, but there was no full-time position here. That disappointed her more than she’d expected. Mississippi was just supposed to be a stopover. She hadn’t expected this tiny, quirky town to get so far under her skin.

She wondered if she’d still be around to find out the resolution of Tyler and Brody’s soap opera.

If she didn’t get off her butt and get some more resumes out and applications in, she certainly would be. Her personal savings, plus the hourly wage, was enough to get her through the end of the year, but anything beyond that would force her to dip into funds dedicated to other things. She preferred not to violate that particular personal rule if she could help it.

Another pair of women reached the top of the stairs, bringing with them a new story.

“—there’s been some support, but just not enough.” The woman’s not-quite-put-together look of yoga pants and denim jacket, hair bundled into a messy knot with what appeared to be a pair of pencils, was capped off by the extra-large coffee clutched in both hands. She and her companion sat at the booth behind Cecily.

“I thought for sure the idea would take off after you saved the Booster Club pancake breakfast with your biscuits.”

“That helped. And, in fact, it was Ginger Arnold who suggested I try opening a business. But I don’t think enough people in Wishful even know about the Kickstarter.”

Cecily’s ears perked. A local Kickstarter? That was right up her alley.

“There has to be a way to get the word out better.”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got to figure something out. Rick’s going to be in physical therapy for months, and the doctors have already said he’s not going to be able to go back to work at that job. I’m the one who has to step up and be primary breadwinner now. If the Dixieland Biscuit Company doesn’t get funded, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m a housewife, Lucy. I’ve got no work experience past the waitressing I did in high school.”

“There’s still a week left to the Kickstarter. Don’t give up hope yet.”

Cecily opened a new tab on her laptop and hit up the Kickstarter website, doing a search for Dixieland Biscuit Company.

Ah, here we go. Dixieland Biscuit Company, proposed by one Beth Carmichael. As starters for a new business went, it was a modest campaign. The goal was only $15,000, going primarily toward commercial ovens, supplies, and necessary conversion of the proposed business space. But with just over a week remaining, she was sitting at $6,350. That would hardly get it done.

One of Cecily’s tasks working for Norah was managing the city’s social media feeds. They’d built quite the connected network over this past spring, when Norah went head-to-head with GrandGoods, the big warehouse store that had tried to come into Wishful. Cecily couldn’t think of a single reason not to use it to help Beth start her business. Keeping local business local and revitalizing the local economy was what Norah was all about.

As Lucy and Beth continued to chat behind her, Cecily put together a quick social media blitz, nabbing pictures of the mouthwatering buttermilk biscuits from the Kickstarter page and crafting specialized messages for f******k, Twitter, and **. She was just getting things laid in and scheduled as her roommate slid into the booth beside her.

“And how are you this fine day, my dearest darling?”

Cecily shot a glance at Christoff, whose usual acerbic wit had sweetened since their arrival in Mississippi back in the spring. She knew the credit for that went to Daniel Palmer, the barista who’d captured his heart.

“Someone clearly just saw his sweetheart.”

Christoff grinned, his sharp blue eyes twinkling behind the square-rimmed hipster glasses. “Speaking of, Daniel sent this up for you.” He handed over a cookie the size of a bread plate, studded with chocolate chunks and walnuts.

Cecily took a nibble and sighed. “He’s adorable, thoughtful, and has amazing abs. Why couldn’t he play for the other team?”

“Because that’s way too much fabulous to pack into a straight man frame. What are you working on here?”

“Just a quick little side project.” She finished setting up the multi-point blast for the biscuit shop and clicked back over to the Kickstarter page, logging into her own account. She input her own donation, toggling Anonymous before hitting enter and shutting down.

Christoff went brows up.

Cecily just sipped her coffee as a cell phone dinged somewhere behind them.

A mug clattered against a table. “Oh my God.”

“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked.

“This can’t be right,” Beth said.

“What? What is it?”

“Someone just donated five thousand dollars to the Kickstarter.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh my God! I have to go tell Rick!” Beth scrambled up and bolted for the stairs.

“Wait for me!”

Christoff waited until the two women had departed. “You know, I’ve seen you play a lot of roles over the years, but simple intern has to take the cake.”

“It’s not a role. I am a simple intern. Or I was before I finished the internship.”

He kept his voice low. “You are the only trust fund baby I know who insists on living off what you can earn yourself and puts all your inheritance to charity.”

She shot a look around to make sure nobody was listening and dropped her voice even lower. “I’m the only trust fund baby you know, period. And you know you’re supposed to keep that under your hat.”

“Yeah, about that.”

Cecily straightened in her seat, grabbing hold of his arm. “Did you tell Daniel?”

“No. Though even if I had, he wouldn’t spread your little secret. It’s just that the rest of your family seems less intent on letting you maintain your cover.”

“What are you talking about?”

Christoff pulled a magazine out of his interior coat pocket and laid it on the table. The latest issue of M & S. With a picture of her grandfather smack dab on the cover.

“Oh God.” Cecily’s hands fumbled as she flipped through to the article. Ten full, glossy pages, complete with family pictures. Including her. “Oh God.”

She skimmed the interview. The focus was, as usual, on the family’s diversified empire, with plenty of nods given to their charitable foundations and the fact that the family hallmark was investment in people. The bulk of the article talked about her grandfather, her mother, and uncles, including speculation on whether her Uncle Hugh was going to finally enter the gubernatorial race.

“‘Intriguingly absent from our interview was the next-generation heir apparent, Genevieve’s daughter, Cecily Dixon, a graduate of Brown University and Northwestern, founder of The Hero’s Help Alliance.’ Oh my God. I am not the heir apparent.”

“You’re the eldest grandchild. Stands to reason that at some point you are.”

“No.” Cecily shook her head vehemently. She might have been considered on that track once, but she’d blown it. “No. No. No. No. That’s not who I am. That’s not what I want. You know how hard I’ve worked to keep myself separate from all this. I can’t let this get out. I don’t want people looking at me differently. And the last thing I need is a repeat of Jefferson. Once was enough, thanks very much.”

“Sweetie, if anybody who even vaguely resembles the likes of Jeff the Jerk comes sniffing around you, you can be sure that I, as your trusty pit bull, will slice his balls off.”

“I do love you. But I’m serious. We have to round up every copy of this magazine in town.” She shoved her laptop into its satchel.

Christoff gave her the Eye. “You know that means you actually have to go to the bookstore, right?”

Inglenook Books. The place she’d been studiously avoiding for the last three months because she couldn’t bear to see its proprietor. What exactly would he think of her suddenly showing up in his shop? Cecily cringed. “You could go for me.”

“I was just there, which is where I got this copy, and it would look pretty damned weird if I went and bought up all the rest.”

Reaching out for his hand, she put on her best begging face. “Christoff, in the name of all our years of friendship, you have to help me with this. Don’t make me go in there alone.”

He squeezed her hand. “Babycakes, you know I’ve always got your back.”

Cecily relaxed. “Thank you.”

“But we’re not going in there without a plan. Here’s how this is going to work.”