Excerpt: If Wishes Were Horses...

Gabriella wasn’t feeling at all the thing. There were too many assignments stacked in her inbox, too many meetings crammed into her calendar, and to top it all off, her throat was sore. She was positive she was coming down with a cold. “God. What I wouldn’t do for a steam room, some Airborne and a little time off,” she grumbled as she once again prioritized her to do list. And then winced, as Rodney rumbled past and dropped three more PO’s in her in basket. How was she ever going to get it all done?

At this point, given the amount of new stuff coming in, none of which could be dealt with quickly, all she could really do was triage. Not only would she never again see the bottom of the pile of jobs, she was going to be buried under the workload and would possibly only be discovered weeks later, when people finally got frustrated enough about the delay in projects that they came looking for her.

“Okay, so maybe not some time off. Right now, I’d just be willing to sell my soul for a latte.” She spun around in her chair, as she heard what sounded like a quiet chuckle somewhere behind her. There wasn’t anybody there.

***

As she stood in line to get on the train, Gabriella noticed that her bunions were acting up again. She shifted her weight a bit to try to ease the pain at the base of her big toe. Unfortunately, while her shoes were on she could only do so much. “When I get home,” she decided, “I’m soaking my feet and then doing some serious stretches.” God, how she wished Dave was back in her life again. He had given the best foot massages. It was one of his few talents, but his skills re: her feet were strong enough that it almost made up for everything else, the sloppiness, the utter lack of disorganization, the philandering. No, she decided, to put up the philandering she would have required more on the positive side than just being able to make her weep with pleasure any time he touched her feet. He would have needed to cook too. And he couldn’t.
She adjusted again, while looking down the track to see if the train was even visible. On this stretch of the line, she could see a long way, and there was no train anywhere. She sighed and gave up. It was time to sit on a bench and wait. Get her weight off her feet and ease the pain a bit while she could. She’d just be sure that this time the bench wasn’t, well, wet. That had been an unfortunate incident.
The nearest bench was, of course, occupied. Two fat, grumbling women took up its entirety, there would have been no room for Gabriella to squeeze in, either between them—where she thought she might get caught in the crossfire of what appeared to be a life-long war—or on one end of the bench. Further up the platform, though…
“Gabriella.” She jumped slightly in surprise as she heard someone call her name. Well, not someone, there was only one other person in the area, and she didn’t know him. He was just some guy she’d passed on the way to the empty bench. As she looked at him to confirm that, she realized that he hadn’t spoken, either. It was like that laugh all over again. She was hearing things that weren’t happening, and that probably meant that she needed some sleep or some time off or maybe just a straightjacket and a padded cell.
“Gabriella.” She turned to the man again, even though she knew the words had been all in her head. This time, he was looking right at her. And smiling. She noticed he had rather longer, rather more and rather pointier teeth than was standard in human beings. She looked around for a place to run to, all the while knowing it was pointless. The way her bunion was hurting, she wouldn’t even be able to run the length of the platform. And certainly not in these shoes.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man said again, still without actually using his mouth. “I believe we have some business to transact.” Still smiling, his eyes locked into hers, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a paper cup, steam escaping through the hole in its plastic lid. “Be careful,” he said, “It’s quite hot, and they didn’t have any of those cardboard sleeves.”