Three Wishes Read Online Free

barber, his social secretary . . . the list went on and on. In the days following his death, she’d had her very first taste of me time. Now, three years later, it was still both novelty and prized possession.
    â€œCaution. Ahh. Well, that is you, Bree. Cautious to a fault. Have you hired someone to get you a decent heating system, or are you still getting estimates?”
    â€œI’m still getting estimates.”
    He glanced at the snow. “Time just ran out.”
    â€œGive it a day. Sun’ll be back.”
    â€œYou’re only postponing the inevitable. Last winter you were racing over here half frozen. Why wait? You have money.”
    â€œI have money for a new car. That’s first on my list. Heating is second.”
    â€œThat’s crazy.”
    â€œWhy? I have a woodstove in the kitchen and quilts in every room. I can stay warm whether the furnace works or not. But I can’t go anywhere without a car.” She tapped the laptop’s screen. “We have to talk about getting a new milk supplier.”
    â€œNo.”
    She softened her tone. “Stafford’s local. We both want to support him, but his deliveries are late more often than not, and lately a full quarter of what he brings is bad. Think back two hours. You were in a panic.”
    â€œI was tired, is all. Stafford’s working the kinks out.”
    â€œHe’s been working the kinks out for two years, but they aren’t going away.”
    â€œGive him a little longer,” Flash said. He flipped up his paper and resumed reading.
    Bree didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Oh, yes, Flash was softhearted, a sucker if the truth were told, though that was a good half of the diner’s charm. He was an artist. Try as he might to look like a trucker in the black jeans, purple T-shirt, and bill cap that were the diner’s uniform, he couldn’t pull it off. Even without the long mane spilling from the hole in the back of his cap, he had too gentle a look, and that was even before he waved off the difference when one of the town’s poorest came up short on cash at the end of a meal.
    Not that Bree was complaining. Had her boss been anyone else, she would still be waitressing, period. But Flash wasn’t hung up on formalities. She was good with numbers, so he had her balance the books. She was good with deadlines, so he had her pay the bills. She worked with the people who printed their place mats, the people who serviced the drink machines, the people who trucked in fresh eggs, vegetables, and fish.
    Hungry, she dug into her trout and broccoli. Focusing on the computer screen, she plugged in the week’s expected deliveries, noted shortages that had arisen, set up orders to be placed as soon as she hooked the computer to the modem in the back office. Flash was a softie there, too. That modem had been installed within twenty-four hours of her saying it might be nice.
    The sound of spinning wheels drew her eye to the window, where a truck was heading out of the lot. After a minute, the tires gained traction, the sound evened out, and taillights disappeared in the thickening snow.
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    By eight-fifty, the last of the diners had left, fifty-two places had been wiped down and set for breakfast, dishes had been washed, food put away, the grill scraped. Minutes after Flash officially called it a night, the staff was gone.
    Bree was pulling on her jacket when he said, “I’ll drive you home.”
    She shook her head. “Driving is slow. It’ll be faster if I walk.” Tugging up the leg of her jeans, she showed him her boots. “Besides, you live downhill, I live uphill. No need backtracking in weather like this.”
    But Flash was insistent. Taking her arm, he guided her out the door.
    The world had changed dramatically since Bree’s earlier foray into the storm. With the exception of bare pavement where others of the staff had parked and just left, everything was pure