“What is the wish?” I ask him.
“I can’t tell you that or it won’t come true.” He smiles again: sweet, upturned cheeks; adorable like a boy more than a man; kissable for all the right reasons; and untouchable.
“Of course. Of course. You’re right. I forgot about that rule of the wishing trade. My bad.”
Following the smile, he lowers his head.
It’s my cue to ask, “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
He lifts his head and downs his Barenjager cocktail, pours himself a new one. “Cliff is pissed at me.”