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The word pleasant doesn't begin to describe Donna's dreams.  Erotic 
would be more accurate.  But when she awakes the real world crashes 
down on her with all the fury of a killer tornado.  

As promised, she calls Josh only to find him already awake and 
awaiting her call.  She's not surprised to discover that he's been 
sitting by the phone.  He's completely lost it, she thinks.

Donna spends the next few hours packing her suitcase for her trip to 
Tahoe and making a list of the things she still needs to buy.  The 
sensual images of her dreams play through her head over and over; she 
wishes they would stop.  It's not as if she's never had erotic dreams 
of Josh before, but she's always been able to hide them away in the 
back of her mind and get on with the business of life.

But these dreams were so vivid.  She can still smell him; taste him 
on her lips.  She can still remember the feel of his naked skin 
against hers.

She casts a glance to the wishing angel sitting on her bedside 
table.  Her eyes see nothing magical about it.  Instead, to her, it 
seems just like any other Christmas ornament.  Picking it up, she 
turns it over studying its glittery façade and tiny angelic face.  
How could such a thing make wishes come true?

Without a second thought, Donna tosses the wishing angel into her 
purse, just as there's a knock on the door.  She checks the watch on 
her wrist.

10:30

For once in his life, Josh is on time.  Incontrovertible proof that 
he's not himself.

The mall is monument to the commercialization of all things 
Christmas, every corner glowing with shiny tinsel of red, green, and 
gold.  Children and parents wait in line for a last minute moment 
with a minimum wage Santa.  Piped in carols echo through every store, 
and the causeways are packed with eleventh hour shoppers looking for 
the perfect gift, or at the very least, the perfect bargain.

She's here for a reason, but she can't help but scope out the future 
sales potential.

The private condo waiting for her in Lake Tahoe promises an equally 
private hot tub.  So, of course, she needs a new bathing suit. And, 
as everyone knows, there's no better time than winter to buy a new 
bathing suit.

"It's the dead of winter," Josh reminds her as she flips through the 
suit rack.

"There's a hot tub."

Josh stifles a groan brought on by the vivid and abrupt images of 
Donna in a hot tub.  More specifically, the things he can do with 
Donna in a hot tub.

She rifles through the sales rack, weighing the virtues of bikini 
versus one piece.

"I like this one."  Josh pulls a hanger from the rack.

She's not surprised to find him holding up a red thong bikini.

"How festive," she smirks.  His eyebrows dance mischievously and she 
can't help but laugh.

"I had the same thought."  His smile mirrors hers.

"I'm sure that's exactly what you were thinking."

"Can I help it if I think you're a beautiful woman?"

"Don't you find your sudden discovery of my incredible, and might I 
add heretofore unhidden beauty, to be the slightest bit suspect?"  
She narrows her eyes, awaiting his response.  She's flummoxed by 
Josh's obvious surrender to the magic of the wish. Josh Lyman – the 
most strong willed man she's ever known.

"It's not sudden," he shrugs.  "I thought you were beautiful the 
first time I saw you."

God!  It's worse than she originally calculated.  The puppy dog look 
in his eyes speaks of spell binding and willing slavery.

Which, of course, leads her to the most vindictive scheme she's ever 
plotted in her life.  A plan so dastardly it ranks with those of 
classic literary villains.  Josh loves her, wholly and completely, 
for the next 24 hours, and until she leaves for her vacation, she 
plans to take advantage of this fact.

He owes her, after all.  For all those late nights he's made her 
work – for all the dates she's canceled to keep him from falling 
apart.  Also, for the days and nights she spent taking care of him 
during his recovery.  She deserves this, she thinks, even if it is a 
fantasy -- a wish with a shelf life.  She deserves his smiles and the 
adoring light in his eyes.  And she'll be damned if she gives all 
that up a single moment before she's forced to.

Her gaze travels to his smiling lips and she recalls his kisses from 
the night before, and the dreams that plague her still.  She can't 
remember a time when she didn't want his kiss, or yearn for the feel 
of his hands on her naked skin.  That's what scares her the most, she 
realizes.  If she allows herself to sink completely into this 
fantasy, what will become of her?  How will she survive once the real 
world invades again?

She's loved him forever.  Well, maybe not forever, but a good long 
time, at any rate.  She thinks of making love to him; the catch in 
her breath and the blush that warms her cheeks, takes her by surprise.

"What is it?" he asks, smiling as he notes the reddening of her fair 
skin.

"Nothing," she fibs, shaking off the images, and his question.  "So…
red?"

"'Tis the season," he leers.

Donna checks the price tag, her eyebrows rising at the 
exorbitant "sale" price.  Josh, deducing her dilemma, snatches the 
hanger from her hand.

"This one's on me," he announces.

Donna opens her mouth to object, and then thinks better of it.  He 
seems determined to splurge his money on the red bikini.  She recalls 
a pair of shoes he promised her for coming in on a Saturday morning.  
Shoes that never made it to the bottom of her closet – or out of the 
store for that matter.

Because Joey Lucas stormed into their lives and Josh forgot all about 
his meager promises to her and proceeded to throw himself into that 
twisted romantic farce.   Which ended up being not at all romantic, 
much to her well-hidden relief.  The man really doesn't know how to 
flirt.

Shoes?  Bikini?  What's the difference, really?  He can buy her the 
bathing suit and she'll call it even.  He owes her this.

Damn straight.

"Will I get to see you in this?" Josh asks.  His voice drops to a 
whisper as he leans down to her ear.  The electric shock that shoots 
through her floods her mind with images of last night.  Josh, 
catching the sensitive flesh of her lobe between his teeth.  Josh – 
whispering that he wanted to make love to her.

Donna closes her eyes to fight off the warmth gathering in her center.

She also decides to reconsider her earlier declaration regarding Josh 
and his inability to flirt because from where she's standing, he's 
doing just fine.  But this isn't Josh, she tells herself.  This is 
Josh on crack; this is Josh hopped up on Christmas magic.  By 
tomorrow he'll be back to his insensitive, wisecracking self.  He'll 
be the Josh she fell in love with, even if she won't be here to see 
it.

"Can we shop at Victoria's Secret next?" he inquires.  The hopeful 
look in his eyes belies the punch line in his voice.

"I don't know," she retorts.  "Do they even sell long underwear?  I 
don't think I'll need sexy underwear on the slopes.  Not unless Lars 
pans out."

"Now you're just being cruel.  I won't succumb to jealousy," he 
announces bravely.  He hands over his credit card to the salesgirl 
and leans against the counter, his ravenous gaze devouring Donna from 
head to toe.

Despite his decree, he can't deny that there's a rather large green 
monster munching away on the inner lining of his stomach.  Just 
yesterday, he would've sworn there was something between them.  A 
chemistry.  He awakes each morning looking forward to what every day 
with Donna would bring.  He likes the way she verbally and wittily 
manhandles him.  He likes that she knows he prefers his burgers extra 
well done.

He was positive they had a thing, but now he's not so sure.  She 
holds herself back from him, as though she's afraid to take that step 
forward.

Josh ponders this line of thought as the day continues.  At one point 
during their shopping excursion, he slips away to buy her something 
special for Christmas.  On the way back to their pre-appointed 
meeting place, he spies her in the window of Victoria's Secret.  He 
smiles and thinks maybe she's buying a Christmas present for him.

By the time he sits across from her at an elegantly appointed dinner 
table, he's pretty sure he's got her all figured out.

The bulk of her experiences with men have been less than fulfilling.  
A relationship that went bad followed by meaningless date after 
meaningless date -- a long line of men who couldn't appreciate the 
beauty of Donnatella Moss.  So, it only follows that she's afraid of 
starting something – especially when you throw in the fact that he's 
her boss, and her friend.

Donna won't let him speak of his emotions.  Emotions he's only 
recently unearthed.  So, his only option is to show her how he 
feels.  He vows to prove to her, in every way he can, that he loves 
her.  He'll do whatever it takes, but first he has to clear the air.

"I'm not like the others, Donna," he tells her over a well-done steak 
and a baked potato.  "I'm not going to hurt you."

She studies him for a moment and he cringes when the sadness, the 
sense of inevitability, fills her eyes.  "I don't think you can help 
it, Josh."

His knife and fork make a clinking sound when he sets them on the 
plate.  Brown eyes drill into crystal blue as he attempts to 
ascertain the meaning behind her words.  "I didn't realize you 
thought so little of me."

"It's not that, Josh," she defends, unable to look him in the eye.

"Then, please, explain it to me."

"I'm not…." She begins.  "You're not feeling what you think you're 
feeling.  "I'm just…convenient."

"Donnatella," he laughs.  "You are the least convenient woman I have 
ever known."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  She leans back against the chair, 
her body language demanding an explanation.

"It means that if I wanted just an affair, you would be the last 
woman I would choose."

Somewhere, buried in his clarification, were words she'd always 
dreamed of hearing.  For the first time since last night, Donna's 
tempted to give into the magic Christmas offers.

After dessert, he pays the check and asks her if she'd like to take a 
walk.  The air is wet and cold; snowflakes float down only to melt 
into the slick sidewalk.  He takes her hand as they walk, and she 
lets him.  Her shoes hit an icy patch, but he pulls her against his 
chest, saving her from an embarrassing and possibly painful fall.  
The surge of adrenaline from her near accident sends her heart racing 
and her lungs working overtime.  Puffs of condensation fill the air 
around them as the sounds of heavy breathing overwhelm all others.

Alone, in this silent pocket of space and time, the couple hears 
nothing but the sounds of their breath and sees nothing but one 
another.  Her cheeks are pink from the cold and the golden glow from 
the street lamps sets her hair ablaze.  Her gloved hands grip his 
muscular shoulders, though there is no longer the danger of falling.  
Not to the ground, anyway.  

Donna watches as his gaze shifts to her lips.  She knows he's going 
to kiss her long before he actually does.  It's probably mere 
seconds, but it seems like an eternity to her.  When his slow motion 
lips meet hers, her body relaxes, melting into his.  She can feel him 
smile against her mouth.

Calculated for just the right moment, his arms tighten around her 
waist, just as his tongue slips past her lips to taste the warmth of 
her mouth.  She tastes of tiramisu and a rich red wine.  Donna groans 
as his tongue strokes hers, and all he can think about is getting her 
home.

He tears his mouth reluctantly away from hers.  "My place is just a 
few blocks away," he suggests.  "We can get the car and be there in 
two minutes."

"Josh," she evades.

"Just…come back to my place.  For a little while?  I want to give you 
your Christmas present."

"I think I know what you want to give me."

"No, you don't," he insists, his grin widening like the cat that ate 
the canary.  "I got you something special this year."

She relents, allowing him to tug her down the street back to his 
parked car.  He grins boyishly as he opens the door for her and jogs 
around the front to the other side.  She wonders if she's walking 
into a cleverly planned trap.

When they reach his place, the snow is falling down harder and when 
they stumble inside they're covered in white flakes.  He brushes the 
snow from the shoulders of her coat before taking it from her and 
hanging it on the rack.  "Are you warm enough?" he asks.

"And if I said I wasn't?"

"I'd offer to warm you up."

"I'm fine," she replies.

"I can turn the heat up," he offers.

She's jumpy and when he reaches to touch her she steps away, making a 
beeline for the sofa.  She's forced to move papers out of the way 
before she can sit.  She removes her faux leather gloves and tosses 
them on the coffee table before rubbing her hands together to 
generate the warmth she lied about feeling.

He bounces on the balls of his feet, wondering what to do with her 
now that he got her here.  He wants to take her in his arms and kiss 
away her doubts, but she's withdrawn from him again, and he knows it 
will take more than putting the moves on her to bring her back.

"I promised you your present," he decides.

"Yes, a Christmas present.  What will it be this year?  A gift 
certificate for ten Blockbuster rentals?  A Chia Pet in the shape of 
a mountain goat?  Perhaps it's a—"

He holds small box wrapped in festive paper before her, interrupting 
her sarcastic guessing game.  "None of the above," he urges her to 
take it.

She narrows her eyes suspiciously as she takes the box from his 
outstretched hand.  She's afraid to open it; afraid to find what's 
packed inside, but she finds herself unraveling the package anyway, 
as though overcome with unquenchable curiosity.

It's a jewelry box.  She notices that right away – it would be 
impossible not to.  The black velvet cover creaks loudly as she eases 
it open.  Nestled inside is diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet.  Her 
breath catches in her throat as the diamonds wink back her.  Mocking 
her.

No one knows better than she that she's fostered the whole notion 
that diamonds are a girl's best friends.  She's never felt guilty 
about that until now.  Of course, she's never really had a reason to.

"I can't accept this," she croaks, quietly closing the box.

"What?"  The disbelief in his eyes is impossible to miss.

"Josh, it's a beautiful bracelet, but it isn't meant for me."

"Funny" he replies, "it screamed your name when I saw it in the 
jewelry store."

"It's too much."  Her throat tightens painfully.  "You should take it 
back.  Maybe you can get a refund."

"I don't want a refund, Donna."

"Look."  She stands from the sofa.  If she puts some distance between 
them, resisting him will be easier, she tells herself.  With the 
bracelet, she realizes, he's gone too far.  The wish has taken him 
beyond the acceptable realm.  And the only conclusion she can draw is 
that it's time to come clean.  "Last night, you came to my place and 
blurted out that you're in love with me."

"I remember.  I was there."

"Right," she says.  "You and I both know that's not like you, Josh.  
You're not yourself.  Can't you see it?  Where's the lack of 
respect?  Where's the passive-aggression?"

"So…let me get this straight.  You won't accept my gift because I'm 
not an asshole?"

"You're not Josh," she clarifies.

"Then, tell me.  Who am I?"

"You're not you.  You're…under a spell."  She throws her arms up in 
frustration and sinks back down into the sofa, dropping her head into 
her hands.

"That's just ridiculous."

"It's not," she insists.  "I made a wish."

"A wish," he parrots.  "You made a wish."

"It was wrong.  I know that now," she blames herself.  "There was….  
Here, I'll show you."  Donna rummages through her purse, emerging 
with the wishing angel.  "I found this," she explains.  "It's a 
wishing angel, and I made a wish on it.  I thought it was crazy, too…
except that the wish came true."

"What was the wish?" he inquires, humoring her folly.

She takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. "I wished that you 
would love me."

Josh shuffles his feet, moving from one side to another as he 
considers her admission.  He's relieved to know that the feelings he 
had suspected she had for him had not been merely optimistic thinking 
on his part.  He turns around to her, prepared to debate the issue.

"You're saying that my feelings for you are…manufactured?  The 
product of a wish you made."

"Yes," she whispers, shamefully.  "I'm so sorry, Josh.  This isn't 
what I wanted."

"What did you want?"

"Something real," she confesses. "Something lasting.  But I wanted it 
with you…the real you."

"And I'm not the real me."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Josh.  You're under a 
spell.  You're not thinking clearly.  But by tomorrow you'll have 
forgotten all about this.

"Tomorrow?  What happens tomorrow?"

"The magic of the angel is limited," she explains.  "It only lasts 
for 24 hours.  In the morning you'll wake up and you won't remember 
any of this."

"Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?"  He laughs, and she's 
surprised to hear relief in his voice, rather than the censure she 
expected.

"Yes," she sighs.  "I know.  But it doesn't change the truth.  That's 
why I can't take the bracelet, Josh.

"You might as well take it," he waves her off.  "I can't get my money 
back, and no one deserves diamonds more than you."

"See, there you go again.  You're doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Saying things my Josh wouldn't say."

His mouth turns up, crinkling dimples on the side of face.  He loves 
the sound of Donna referring to him as `my Josh'.  "I still don't see 
why you can't take the bracelet.  It's a gift, Donna.  Don't you like 
it?"

"I love it," she confesses.  "It's beautiful, but I don't want it 
under false pretenses.  Tomorrow you'll snap out of it and wonder 
where all your money went."

"Fine," he agrees, taking the jewelry box from her.  "I'll just put 
it away in my sock drawer, and give it to you tomorrow.  Will you 
accept it then?"

"Yes," she tells him, because it's easier than arguing with him about 
the fate of tomorrow.  "You don't believe me."

"No," he replies.  "I mean…I believe that you think you're telling me 
the truth.  I can see that all over your face.  But I don't believe 
in magic, and more importantly, I don't believe that magic can make 
me feel something I don't."

"It was just a wish," she shrugs.  "A stupid wish."

"Then why did you make it?"

"Because it's Christmas and I was lonely."

"Because you love me?" he ventures, unaware that he's holding his own 
breath.

She looks away, unable to speak the words or confirm his suspicions, 
afraid of giving up that much of herself.  She'll keep the words 
inside, because speaking them aloud would destroy her.

"Donna," he whispers.  His fingers brush her cheek, as he leans in to 
claim her lips with his.

Their bodies are drawn together like magnets to true north, while 
their hands grasp and clutch at their clothing.

Wishes and magic are funny things, she realizes, because they can be 
interpreted in a number of ways.  Broad or literal, she's not sure 
what she truly wanted when she held the wishing angel to her heart 
and spoke the words.  And she's even less sure of how those words 
were taken.

She does know, however, that at least part of her wish included 
this.  Even if she couldn't admit it until his arms were around her.  
She's lost, and she knows it.  No matter how deep she digs, she'll 
never be able to summon the strength to turn him away.  Right now, 
the knowledge that the morning will bring only harsh reality isn't 
enough to overcome her need to ease the aching hurt inside of her, 
both physical and metaphysical.

"How much time?" he questions, his lips feasting on hers.

"Just a few hours," she answers, clutching more tightly at him.

"We'll have to make the best with what we've got."  He drags her into 
the bedroom, kicking open the door, while simultaneously lifting her 
sweater over her head.  There's a turtleneck beneath it, and Josh 
curses the necessity for winter clothing.

****

She had expended quite a bit of energy and thought working out the 
logistics of removing herself from his embrace without waking him.  A 
waste of effort, she realizes, because he's dead to the world, 
exhausted by his vigorous lovemaking.  Or maybe it's some sort of 
enchanted sleep, like the people of Brigadoon, overtaking him as the 
magic wears off.

Donna curls up against the headboard at the outermost corner of the 
best.  She draws her knees to her naked chest, setting her chin atop 
them to observe his slumber.  He's so peaceful, she thinks – and so 
still.  A direct contradiction to his waking self.  It must, she 
assumes, be part of the wish.

She watches him for hours, it seems.  Long past the time she should 
leave, long after the time when the magic is due to expire.

With every breath he takes, she prays he doesn't wake to find her 
there.  She can't bear to leave him yet, not after the way he loved 
her, and not after the things he whispered in her ear.

In this second, as she watches him sleep, Donna fears everything.  
She's afraid Josh will wake up and ask what she's doing here, and why 
they're naked.  She's afraid of the weirdness and embarrassment that 
will surely ensue.  She's afraid of the approaching sunrise.

But, as she notes the smile of contentment on his face, she's more 
afraid that she'll never feel this way about anyone else ever again.

Donna climbs quietly from the bed, careful in the shifting of her 
weight.  In the hours after making love with him, she's arrived at 
the grudging acceptance that this beautiful, excruciating day has 
come to an end.  "You're right, Mom,' she whispers as she gazes down 
upon Josh.  "You have to be careful what you wish for."

With a breaking heart, she gathers her clothes and dresses quietly in 
the living room.  From her cell phone, she speed dials #20, a 24-hour 
taxi service she uses on a regular basis.  She informs the dispatcher 
the address for pick up and that there's no need to honk – she'll be 
watching.

As the rising sun begins to brighten the morning sky, Donna stands at 
the door of Josh's bedroom.  His face is turned away from her, the 
white sheet strategically covering his body.  He'll wake with the sun 
and a chill in the sheets.  She's tempted to cover him so that he can 
sleep a while longer.  She takes a step forward before her practical 
mind bludgeons her instinct to take care of him.  A voice inside her 
heads tells her to get out while she still can.

Donna steps back to the doorway, grasping the knob to close the door 
behind her. With a hand on the door, she leans her head against the 
cold painted surface.  "Merry Christmas, Josh," she whispers in a 
broken voice, before turning to go.

The taxi is waiting on the street as promised, and she loads her 
shopping bag into the back seat before sliding in and informing the 
driver her address.  Checking her watch, Donna calculates that she 
has four hours to return home, finish her packing, and get to the 
airport before her flight leaves for Reno.

She goes through the motions, feeling like a rag doll made of cotton 
rather than flesh and blood.  She packs her things without her usual 
attention to detail before setting her suitcase by the door.

Under a scalding stream of water in the shower, she washes his scent 
from her body, but she knows she'll never be able to forget the aroma 
that permeated the room after they made love -- a scent unique to its 
participants.  It stays with her, will stay forever – imprinted in 
the deepest recesses of her memory.  Scrubbed raw and clean, she dons 
clothes for her journey, with a mind towards comfort rather than 
fashion.

At the airport, she sits listlessly in a hard plastic chair as she 
awaits the boarding call for the first leg of her journey.  Her mind, 
filled only with thoughts of Josh, dreams up romantic scenarios of 
airport encounters where he races down the concourse and begs her to 
stay.

She believes she would agree this time.

A simple wish, she thinks, made from her heart, has killed the very 
organ that originated it.  She doesn't believe the poison is 
immediate, since her heart hurts enough to convince her it's not yet 
in its final death throes, but that it seems a rather slow acting 
venom – eating away at her piece by piece, until eventually she'll be 
nothing but dried up inside.

She's thankful for this chance to go away, to take the opportunity to 
retreat and lick her wounds.  What she needs now is a quiet place 
where she can heal.  Some place where she can beat away the dreams 
she made and the nightmares she's sure will come, and emerge a 
stronger woman.  She needs this time to figure out how she can ever 
face Josh again, or the best way to explain it to him if she can't.

The two-hour layover in the Atlanta airport stretches into seven, 
thanks to the crush of the holiday pace, but Donna hardly notices.  
She boards the plane for Reno, a subdued presence amid a crowd of 
cheerful holiday travelers.  Or maybe they just seem cheerful in 
comparison.  Instantly she recognizes her bitterness in the face of 
their Christmas joviality.  

She stares out the plane's window, unsuccessfully attempting to block 
out both the sounds of laughing travelers and crying babies alike.

"You don't look like you're in much of a Christmas spirit," 
interrupts a voice from the seat beside her.

"I guess I'm not," she replies.  Her voice feels as though it's a 
thousand miles away.

"I'm Spencer."  The man holds out his hand as introduction.  He's 
handsome and Donna stamps down the involuntary comparison to Josh.  
But, of course, his fashionable clothing and noticeably British 
accent allows her to set it easily aside.

"Donna," she nods.

"You look like you've just lost your best friend," he notes.

Donna's eyes water.  "I may have."

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes. Reaching into a pocket he retrieves 
a handkerchief.  "That was badly done of me."

Donna accepts the linen gratefully, using it to sop up the tears 
spilling down her cheeks. "I made a wish."  The words spill from her 
lips as uncontrollably as the tears from her eyes.  "It was just a 
stupid wish.  And then…." She heaves a breath.  "Then it came true."

"I'm afraid I'm not following."  He thinks her emotional frenzy might 
be comic if she weren't so sincere.

"Be careful what you wish for, Spencer.  That's what my mother always 
said.  Well…not the `Spencer' part, but you know what I mean.  I 
didn't believe her.  I should've believed her."

"The wish wasn't what you wanted?"

"It was everything I wanted," she contradicts.  "It was even things I 
didn't know I wanted.  It was diamonds, and wine, and kisses and…
other things."

"It ended badly?"  Spencer thinks he may finally be piecing together 
this woman's scattered explanations.

"It ended beautifully."

"Ah," he intones.  "Avoiding the inevitable bad ending."

"Exactly."

"Donna," Spencer sighs, "may I speak plainly?"

"I don't see why not."

"You're behaving like an imbecile."

"Okay, maybe not that plainly."

"Do you love him?"

"More than anything," she squeaks, taking another swipe at tears on 
her cheeks.

"Then why didn't you stay and fight for him?"

"Because I..." Donna attempts to defend her actions, but she finds her 
usual excuses lacking somehow.  Things like `he's my boss' or `it 
could cause a scandal' just don't hold the weight they once did.  All 
she knows is that her heart aches, and that it's a weight she's not 
sure she can carry.

"Because you allowed your fear to decide you destiny," he fills in 
the blanks.

Donna recalls the caveat Mrs. K made about the magic of the wishing 
angel.  She's said the magic would last 24 hours, and after that it 
would be up to her.

"Yes, I did," whispers Donna.

"The question is, my dear mysterious Donna, what are you going to do 
about it now?"

"I wish I knew."

****