Christmas Wishes Read online

  4

  Ally packed away her makeshift hair salon, putting away her scissors. She unplugged the hairdryer and folded up the small square table, leaving it back against the wall behind the door until next week. The set up in the corner of the volunteer’s lounge wasn't ideal, but she knew how good getting a hair cut felt, especially when it might have been months or even years since their last one.

  She'd been expecting to cut five people's hair, four women and one man. She'd arranged it with them as she saw them at the shelter during the week, letting them know she'd be around for a few hours on Sunday afternoon, but she'd had two walk-ins, and Ally was more than happy to stay an extra hour to fit them in.

  When she'd been staying here years ago, she was lucky enough to be able to cut her own hair. She'd done her own hair since she was fifteen, and for her, it was a quick and easy job. She used to cut Jess's too, even though she had no formal training back then. Ally hadn't even decided on hair dressing as a profession until a year after she'd left the shelter and got a job as a waitress. She'd saved up and found a night class. It was clear she had a talent for it, and that's what she'd been doing for the last nine years.

  There were other more important ways that Ally helped out here, but this was by far her favorite. When she held up a mirror and asked them to have a look, their smiles were so genuine, sometimes the first ones that Ally had seen from them. They had so many things going wrong in their lives, it was nice to be able to give them something that might cheer them up, even for a few hours.

  Ally put on her black winter jacket and zipped up her backpack. She was about to sling it over her shoulder when she heard the clicking of high heels against the tiled floor, and Ally knew who it was before she appeared. Sydney, the woman from last week.

  "Hey," Ally said in an effort to be friendly. "Back again?"

  Sydney met her eyes on her way over to the lockers. She wore black work pants and a plum colored blouse, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. "Unfortunately, you'll be seeing a lot of me."

  Ally quirked an eyebrow. Great attitude. "Oh?"

  "Community service," Sydney said with a wry smile. "Fifty-four more hours to go."

  "Ah." Ally picked up her bag.

  "You're not going to ask what I did?" Sydney took out a deep green winter coat and put it on.

  "It's none of my business," Ally heard herself say, although she was curious. Probably tax evasion. Maybe some shady business dealings?

  "Well, it's nothing too serious. DUI. I was just over the limit."

  Ally's stomach churned. "Yeah, but you were over the limit. There's a limit for a reason."

  "I had three glasses of wine over dinner. I was not drunk."

  "But the breathilzer said you were over the legal limit," Ally said, trying to keep her temper in check. She clutched the strap of her backpack that was hanging off her shoulder, digging her nails into the fabric.

  "Yes, but I'm just saying that I wasn't drunk. I wouldn't have gotten in my car and made the decision to drive home if I couldn't handle it."

  Ally exhaled. She didn't need to argue with Sydney, especially when she was going to be volunteering here so much.

  "You don't agree?" Sydney asked as she buttoned up her coat, her caramel brown eyes challenging her. "You've never driven home after a drink or two?"

  "I don't drink."

  "Oh. I see."

  Ally put her bag down, her hands on her hips. "I'm not disagreeing with you because I don't drink. I'm just taking the side of the law."

  "Okay, and all I'm saying is that there's better things for the cops to be doing than treating me like a criminal because I had a drink with my meal."

  "I'm sure there are." Ally had to let this go.

  "The drug problem in this city has gotten out of hand," Sydney said, closing the locker door. "That's what they should be focused on."

  "I don't disagree." Ally didn't know why she was wasting her breath trying to have a conversation with this woman. She clearly had a ridiculously high opinion of herself, and nothing Ally could say would change her mind.

  "It might help people from ending up here."

  Ally was just about to say goodnight and forget about this conversation, but she couldn't let that one slip. "They're not all drug addicts and alcoholics, you know. I hope you realize that by now."

  "Maybe not every single one of them."

  "I'm sure you think they're all criminals too? You don't wear any jewelry when you come here, and I see you don't have a purse again tonight."

  That made Sydney's eyebrows rise. "Again, I'm just telling it like I see it. The majority of-"

  "Have you even spoken to anyone who stays here?"

  "No. That's not really part of it. I do whatever job I'm given when I come here. Today it was cleaning the restrooms."

  Ally bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. Jess had said the other day that she wanted to get Sydney doing some cleaning, and she actually did it. Damn it. That's twenty bucks gone. Ally really thought that was a done deal, that Sydney would turn it down, find some excuse not to scrub toilets, and Ally would win their bet.

  "You might want to think about dressing a little more casually," Ally said, still trying to suppress a smile. "You know, if you've got fifty more hours of this."

  "Fifty-four, and I just came from a meeting."

  "On a Sunday?"

  Sydney nodded. "You can sell real-estate any day of the week. Why limit myself to Monday to Friday?"

  Ally really wanted to roll her eyes. There was something about Sydney that rubbed her the wrong way. She really hated people looking down on the homeless. She didn't mind people who were rich or successful. It wasn't about the way Sydney dressed or how hard she apparently worked. It was the way she assumed so many things about the people who stayed here.

  The only positive thing that Ally could say about Sydney was that she was gorgeous, and although this conversation had made her blood boil, at least she got to spend the last five minutes looking at her.

  God, I need to get out more.

  "Alright," Ally said with a sigh. "I'm going to head home. I'm sure we'll have the pleasure of working together again soon?" She didn't know if her sarcasm would be lost on Sydney or not.

  "I'm doing mornings this week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Do you come here every day?"

  Ally nodded. "Most days. I live a few blocks away, so it's easy to stop by for an hour or two most evenings." Ally gave her a wave as she walked by, that familiar perfume sending a tingle of desire through her body. Yeah, I really need to get out more. "Goodnight, Sydney."

  "Goodnight."

  The sun sank lower in the sky, dipping behind the trees. The sidewalk was covered in a light dusting of snow, and Ally rubbed her hands together, wishing she'd thought to bring gloves with her. She didn't know where this year had gone, but somehow it was already November.

  She slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans and found two bills, a twenty and a ten. At least, she could settle up with Jess tonight. She really thought that bet was a lock.

  Hard-working. That was another thing she could add to the short list of reasons to give Sydney a chance. Ally really hated judging people, but in her mind, Sydney was still the snobbish, wealthy businesswoman who thought that the only reason people ended up in a homeless shelter was because they were drug addicts or alcoholics.

  Ally ran into those stereotypes ten years ago, and very little had changed since. But most people who volunteered at the shelter, even for a few hours, came away with a new perspective, a new awareness of just how close most people are to ending up on the streets. Every few weeks Ally seemed to hear roughly the same stat being thrown around whether it was on the news or some blog. Forty percent of Americans were one paycheck away from poverty.

  How was that possible? As soon as Ally got a job, putting away a few hundred in case of an emergency was the first thing she did. Now, years later, she had six months worth of income stashed away in a savings account. She was defin
itely not going back to where she was twelve years ago.

  It wasn't your fault though.

  Ally had to keep reminding herself of that fact. She hadn't racked up credit card debt. She hadn't lost her job. She'd just been kicked out of her house by her homophobic parents, and she hadn't been prepared to live on her own.

  Ally had seen such a wide variety of people come through the shelter, from all kinds of backgrounds, and she really hoped that Sydney would start to realize that they couldn't all be painted with the same brush. Surely, fifty plus hours working there would change her mind.

  Ally scoffed as she turned onto her street. With the way Sydney acted, she really wasn't sure if she would ever change her mind.

  5

  "Thanks for covering for me," Sydney said as she brought her cappuccino to her lips, savoring her first caffeine hit of the day at her favorite coffee shop.

  Clarke Waller, her best friend and business partner, flashed her his most charming smile. "Hey, taking on some of your meetings is better than having to go visit you in jail."

  Sydney rolled her eyes. Wait for it...

  "Have you thought about what it'd be like?"

  "Going to jail? No. I preferred not to think about the alternative."

  "You'd have your very own lesbian prison love story. You'd run the place," he said, and just like that, he was off in fantasy land. "You'd probably have all the women vying for your attention. Or maybe you'd get involved with a guard? That would be hot."

  "Yes, because that's what my life is like right now," Sydney said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Women chasing after me. Why would I suddenly become interesting in prison? Because I'm the new girl? My crime isn't even sexy."

  "No. Interesting isn't your problem." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, pushing his gray tie out of the way. "You work too hard. Which is great for me. I'm not complaining, but that's your problem."

  "I wasn't aware that I had a problem."

  "Well, you don't. Not if you're happy being single. I'm just pointing out the difference between this Sydney and prison boss Sydney."

  He sat back again, sinking into the leather chair as he crossed one leg over the other, looking completely satisfied with himself. With his black hair, blue eyes and designer suits, he always looked like he just stepped away from a photoshoot for GQ magazine.

  "So... If I had gone to prison instead of doing sixty hours of community service, you're saying that I'd be surrounded by women?"

  He nodded. "Yes. What else would you have to do? Although, I wouldn't put it past you to figure out a way to sell an apartment from behind bars," he said with a laugh. "Now, that would make a good TV show."

  Sydney felt a smile tugging at her lips. Over the years, she'd learned to put up with his strange sense of humor. They were like an old married couple, but they were both gay, and Sydney couldn't have asked for a better friend.

  "I know you don't like celebrating your birthday," Clarke said a few minutes later.

  "I sense a 'but' coming."

  "But we should really celebrate our agency anniversary. I feel like twenty years is a big deal."

  When Sydney met Clarke twenty-two years ago, he was a struggling realtor, on the verge of quitting. Sydney mentored him, and it started off as a purely business relationship, but they quickly became friends, and twenty years ago they’d started their agency together.

  "It is. Twenty years of putting up with you is a big deal," she said with a smirk. "But how about we wait for twenty-five years?" Sydney didn't need any more distractions this year. Fitting in all those hours at the shelter was enough.

  "Oh, great! Then we can have a joint party. Twenty-five years in business together and your fiftieth. We can book the-"

  "No." Sydney shook her head, her smile gone. "Absolutely not. There will be no fiftieth birthday party. I'm being serious, and you know this. Who would want to celebrate turning fifty? I already have these wrinkles around my eyes reminding me of how old I am," she said, pointing to the crows feet that she'd been growing more and more self-conscious of.

  "Look, my bathroom counter is lined with anti-wrinkle and anti-aging products. I know all about getting older."

  "You're forty-two, and you don't look a day over thirty-five. Plus, it's different for men. How is it that you all get more handsome with age?"

  He laughed. "I don't know about that. Although, I do like myself an older man. Maybe, that's what you need." His eyes lit up, and Sydney knew she was in trouble when he got that look. He was on a mission.

  "I'm not sure I need anything, but it's definitely not going to be an older man."

  "A younger woman."

  "Not that again." Sydney waved him off before taking another sip of coffee.

  "Hey, don't judge until you've actually dated someone younger."

  "What do you know about it? You're always with guys at least ten years older than you."

  "And I know what I do for them," he said with a wink.

  "Alright. Enough."

  "I'm serious, Syd. Being with someone younger than you is exciting. I know that I've given them a confidence boost."

  "I don't need someone to stroke my ego."

  "But you do need someone to stro-"

  "Clarke!"

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I just want what's best for you."

  "Business. That's what's best for me. Selling out the biggest project we've ever taken on is what's best for me. That's what will make me happy. We're here to talk real estate."

  He cleared his throat. "Right. Real estate."

  "So, what happened this morning?"

  Sydney got out of the backseat of her car later that day, thanking her driver as she adjusted her scarf to cover her neck. She looked up through the snow flurries at the gray sky and the construction site at the end of the street. They couldn't drive as far as the building because there were at least a dozen protesters marching up and down the sidewalk with posters and a megaphone.

  "Why can't things ever be easy?" Sydney muttered as she walked towards the crowd. Don't people have better things to be doing than protesting at a private building site at two o'clock in the afternoon?

  Sydney tried to make out the signs as she got closer, but she wanted to get through the protesters as quickly and discreetly as possible. If they thought she had anything to do with the building, they'd probably try and prevent her from entering the site. They were chanting something about the government and taxes. The usual.

  She had to make sure this project stayed on schedule, and she didn't have time for extra distractions. They'd already jumped through hoops to get this apartment building started. She'd done more schmoozing in the last two years trying to keep everyone happy, especially the developer. Sydney had really thought they were over the worst it.

  "What's one more obstacle?" she asked herself as she got closer to the racket, squeezing through the crowd. She spotted the developer on the fifth floor, looking down at the scene with his hardhat on, pacing. She'd have to figure out how to reassure him. There was no way this little protest would halt a multi-million dollar deal.

  She picked up one of the spare hardhats inside the glass doors, putting it on as her eyes swept the open space of what would eventually be the lobby. Half a dozen workers were milling around, and Sydney wished she had ear plugs. Metal clanked against metal somewhere above her and the almost constant whine of drills along with the radio blaring from the far side of the room was going to give her a headache.

  Sydney left the busy lobby, finding the stairs. She took a thirty-second break between each flight, not wanting to meet the developer completely winded. She finally made it to the fifth floor and took a deep breath. Plastic still hung from almost every doorway, and she pushed it to the side, moving from apartment to apartment until she found Michael.

  "Sydney," he said, turning from the floor to ceiling windows when he heard her come in, her heels echoing in the empty space.

  "Michael." She extended her han
d. "How long has this been going on?" she asked, joining him at the windows and looking down at the street and the cars who honked in support of the protesters.

  "Just this week."

  "What are they even protesting?"

  "Somehow word got out that the city was looking at this site as a potential location for a new homeless shelter. They know they have a problem. The one on the other side of town is at maximum capacity almost every night."

  Sydney shook her head. "The owner of the old warehouse that was here was a private seller. Of course, they were going to go with the highest bidder. The city just need to find somewhere else to put the shelter."

  Michael nodded. "I know. The location was ideal for it. That's what they're arguing, and it's true. That's why I wanted this site. It's near to everything. Schools, the hospital, public transport... And apparently, the site the city's looking at now is on the edge of town. It's all they can afford."

  "I'll look into it. This isn't doing us any favors. This building is going to have the best facilities of any apartment complex in the entire city, and if this keeps going on, all people will remember is how it replaced a potential homeless shelter."

  Michael sighed. "I know. That's what I'm worried about. And the workers' safety. It doesn't take much to start something. If those protesters decide to block the entrance some day, preventing some of our guys getting in... It's a publicity nightmare. We look like assholes, and we're just doing our jobs."

  "I'm going to take care of it.”

  "Hmmm. We're at that crucial stage now. So much money and time has been invested. It'd be a shame to have to start over now, to abandon the site."

  "It won't come to that," Sydney said. "I promise."

  6

  Ally stole a glance over her shoulder where Sydney was folding towels behind her, and somehow, Ally found that sexy. Sydney's glossy hair had fallen across her eye, her black nail polish contrasting against the white towels that she was neatly folding and stacking.