Read Online Storm Shells (The Wishes Series #3) by GJ Walker-Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: GJ Walker-Smith
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their embrace, leaned back and tugged at her shirt. “Look at this. It’s a cat!”
Floss broke into a hearty chuckle. “Oh, so it is! You have a glittery kitty on your shirt.”
“I knew you’d like it,” replied Jasmine, breaking into a giggle of her own.
I’d stepped into some sort of alien universe. Who was this moron, and what had she done with that bitch Jasmine Tate? I glanced at Alex, perhaps seeking reassurance. He winked at me and stifled a grin.
Wade fell through the door a second later, dumping the stack of presents on the floor. Jasmine slapped his beefy arm. “They’re breakable, babe,” she chided. He kissed her cheek by way of apology.
“That’s enough of that, you two.” Floss pointed at us all. “We have guests.”
Jasmine gasped as if she’d only just realised we were in the room. “Alex,” she greeted with a nod of her head.
“Hi Jasmine,” he replied.
Jasmine nodded again, stiffly. “Mademoiselle Décarie.”
I bit my lip, trying desperately hard not to laugh. Jasmine might have turned over the biggest leaf in the forest but Gabrielle had cut her no slack whatsoever. And Jasmine was still addressing her like an authoritative high school French teacher because of it.
“And Charli.” She purred my name as she tottered toward me, arms outstretched.
I stood up, bracing myself for an artificial hug. Instead she grabbed my hands and held them away from my body while she gave me the once-over. “You look so pretty. Still no fashion sense, though.”
Said the girl with a sequined cat on her shirt. My mouth fell open but I said nothing. She dropped my hands and leaned in to whisper. “White isn’t your colour.”
Floss worked quickly to smooth things over. “Wade,” she said, tapping him on the chest. “You remember Alex’s daughter, Charli. She was just a wee mite last time you saw her.”
A huge grin swept beefy Wade’s face. “How are you, Charli?” He spoke as if I was still a wee mite. “You probably don’t remember me.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“I’m Jasmine’s fiancée.” He actually sounded proud of it.
“Lucky guy,” I praised, forcing a smile.
***
Dinner was every bit the ordeal I expected it to be. Worse than the sautéed cabbage was the ridiculous toast that Wade insisted on making. He stood, puffed out his already mammoth chest and charged his glass.
“I’d just like to make a toast to my fiancée, Jasmine,” he declared, gazing at her. He cleared his throat. “You are the wind underneath my wings and the flesh overneath my bones.”
I nearly choked on a glazed beet.
As soon as I could escape without being considered rude, I excused myself and slipped out to the back yard. The Davis’s yard was as cluttered as the house. The grass was in desperate need of cutting. Old wheelbarrows and car tyres had been recycled into pots that housed mostly dead plants. Everywhere I looked, a garden gnome stared back at me. In the far corner was La Coccinelle , parked up on a boat trailer. Part of me felt as if I was seeing an old friend. A bigger part of me felt a little wounded by her presence.
I stood on the patio, staring at the boat for a long time. The tinkle of three different wind chimes clashing in the breeze was downright irritating – but less irritating than watching Wade and Jasmine’s public display of affection at the dinner table.
“Nice boat, don’t you think?” came a voice from behind.
I spun around to see Flynn.
“Very nice,” I agreed, turning my attention back to the boat. “She hasn’t always looked that good.”
Flynn moved to stand beside me. “Really? I can’t imagine it.”
“She used to be a pile of junk. Adam spent hours bringing her back to life.”
“Adam?”
“My husband,” I explained, inadequately.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Does he restore boats professionally?”
I glanced at Flynn, trying to work out whether he was fishing for information or genuinely clueless.
Floss broke into a hearty chuckle. “Oh, so it is! You have a glittery kitty on your shirt.”
“I knew you’d like it,” replied Jasmine, breaking into a giggle of her own.
I’d stepped into some sort of alien universe. Who was this moron, and what had she done with that bitch Jasmine Tate? I glanced at Alex, perhaps seeking reassurance. He winked at me and stifled a grin.
Wade fell through the door a second later, dumping the stack of presents on the floor. Jasmine slapped his beefy arm. “They’re breakable, babe,” she chided. He kissed her cheek by way of apology.
“That’s enough of that, you two.” Floss pointed at us all. “We have guests.”
Jasmine gasped as if she’d only just realised we were in the room. “Alex,” she greeted with a nod of her head.
“Hi Jasmine,” he replied.
Jasmine nodded again, stiffly. “Mademoiselle Décarie.”
I bit my lip, trying desperately hard not to laugh. Jasmine might have turned over the biggest leaf in the forest but Gabrielle had cut her no slack whatsoever. And Jasmine was still addressing her like an authoritative high school French teacher because of it.
“And Charli.” She purred my name as she tottered toward me, arms outstretched.
I stood up, bracing myself for an artificial hug. Instead she grabbed my hands and held them away from my body while she gave me the once-over. “You look so pretty. Still no fashion sense, though.”
Said the girl with a sequined cat on her shirt. My mouth fell open but I said nothing. She dropped my hands and leaned in to whisper. “White isn’t your colour.”
Floss worked quickly to smooth things over. “Wade,” she said, tapping him on the chest. “You remember Alex’s daughter, Charli. She was just a wee mite last time you saw her.”
A huge grin swept beefy Wade’s face. “How are you, Charli?” He spoke as if I was still a wee mite. “You probably don’t remember me.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“I’m Jasmine’s fiancée.” He actually sounded proud of it.
“Lucky guy,” I praised, forcing a smile.
***
Dinner was every bit the ordeal I expected it to be. Worse than the sautéed cabbage was the ridiculous toast that Wade insisted on making. He stood, puffed out his already mammoth chest and charged his glass.
“I’d just like to make a toast to my fiancée, Jasmine,” he declared, gazing at her. He cleared his throat. “You are the wind underneath my wings and the flesh overneath my bones.”
I nearly choked on a glazed beet.
As soon as I could escape without being considered rude, I excused myself and slipped out to the back yard. The Davis’s yard was as cluttered as the house. The grass was in desperate need of cutting. Old wheelbarrows and car tyres had been recycled into pots that housed mostly dead plants. Everywhere I looked, a garden gnome stared back at me. In the far corner was La Coccinelle , parked up on a boat trailer. Part of me felt as if I was seeing an old friend. A bigger part of me felt a little wounded by her presence.
I stood on the patio, staring at the boat for a long time. The tinkle of three different wind chimes clashing in the breeze was downright irritating – but less irritating than watching Wade and Jasmine’s public display of affection at the dinner table.
“Nice boat, don’t you think?” came a voice from behind.
I spun around to see Flynn.
“Very nice,” I agreed, turning my attention back to the boat. “She hasn’t always looked that good.”
Flynn moved to stand beside me. “Really? I can’t imagine it.”
“She used to be a pile of junk. Adam spent hours bringing her back to life.”
“Adam?”
“My husband,” I explained, inadequately.
“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Does he restore boats professionally?”
I glanced at Flynn, trying to work out whether he was fishing for information or genuinely clueless.
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