Free One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) by Mandy Baggot Page B

love to cook.’ He took his wallet from his trouser pocket and began pulling out bills.
    Oliver waved him away. ‘Forget about it.’
    ‘Don’t pull the billionaire card again, you did that the other night and I know how much I drank.’
    Oliver smiled. ‘I can’t take it with me, can I? Go on, get out of here. Go and whip up some pasta with Momma.’
    Tony paused. ‘On one condition.’
    ‘Go on.’ Oliver looked sceptical.
    ‘Woman at my six o’clock all on her own.’ Tony nudged his head, indicating a booth behind him. ‘She might be in need of some wish fulfilment.’
    Oliver tilted in his seat to get a look. Long chestnut hair almost to her waist and a red dress that showed off every curve. He had to admit he liked what he saw. But unlike last night, he was conflicted. The trip to the hospital had affected him. He didn’t know if he had it in him tonight.
    ‘Call me with the details tomorrow,’ Tony said, grinning.
    ‘I’ll see you,’ Oliver said, waving a hand. He watched his friend depart then blew out a breath before beckoning the waiter to him.
    ‘Yes, Mr Drummond.’
    ‘Would you please send a glass of your best champagne to the lady at that table over there?’
    ‘The lady in the red dress?’ the waiter queried.
    Oliver nodded. ‘She is dining alone, isn’t she?’
    ‘Yes, sir, she is.’
    ‘Fine. When you take over the drink, ask her if she’d like to join me for dessert.’
    ‘Very good, sir,’ the waiter said, backing away from the table.
    ‘Oooo can we sit near the lobsters? Did you know lobsters can live for up to seventy years?’
    The young girl’s voice was British and far too knowledgeable for the age she sounded. Oliver turned his head and watched the girl, a tall man in his mid-thirties and a brown-haired woman enter the restaurant and head towards a vacant table to his left.
    ‘If any survive more than seventy days in this restaurant I’d be surprised,’ the woman of the party answered. He watched her brush the snow from her coat then remove it, laying it over her arm as the man pulled out seats for them.
    Family. Looking forward to Christmas. All the things he couldn’t cope with. Except the child. He didn’t have any experience of that. Wouldn’t. Living with your head in a noose made you discount certain agendas.
    He turned his attention back to the waiter and the woman in the red dress just across the walkway from him. The glass of champagne was being offered but the woman was waving it away. This didn’t look good. And despite his uncertainty, he didn’t want to be rejected. He hoped the waiter would direct the woman’s attention his way so he had a chance to work his magic.
    Right on cue, the waiter stepped back, indicating Oliver. This was his chance.
    ‘No one’s allowed to eat this one!’
    It was the child’s voice again and despite the woman looking his way, he was drawn to turn his head to see what she was doing. She was kneeling up on her seat, her fingers at the glass of the tank that housed the live menu.
    ‘Do not give it a name.’ That sentence came from the mother and it provoked his lips into a smile.
    ‘I’m going to call him Lyndon. After Lyndon Baines Johnson, the thirty-sixth president of the United States.’
    Oliver smirked. This kid sure knew her presidents.
    ‘Fine. I’ll have anything off the menu that hasn’t been christened,’ the woman said.
    ‘Mr Drummond.’
    He snapped his head back as the waiter addressed him from his left.
    ‘The lady doesn’t drink champagne,’ he began. ‘But she said if you would like to join her for dessert you’d be very welcome.’
    ‘Is that so?’ Oliver said, leaning a little to get a better view of the woman in red. She was definitely worthy of his time and moving seats would get him away from the audible intelligence of a child who looked no more than ten.
    He cleared his throat, dropping his napkin to the table and picking up his beer. He needed to get away from the happy family with