The Lemon Sisters Read online

  A live tortoise.

  She texted a pic of it to Mindy with a “WTF” and got a response that Ketchup the Tortoise was Mason’s; he was shy and considerate. He had an aquarium on the floor in the laundry room, complete with a heat lamp and drinking water, but it was left open so he could have the freedom of the place. He went to the bathroom next to his aquarium on a bed of paper towels and he ate out of a pie tin that Brooke should put lettuce and strawberries in once a day—which was all in the instructions Mindy had emailed, and why wasn’t Brooke reading her emails?

  “I can’t even,” Brooke said to the room, and then proceeded to lose her phone while using it as a flashlight to stare at Ketchup. She frantically slapped her pockets for an embarrassingly long moment before realizing she was an idiot. She moved to the kitchen and stared out the window, wishing for . . . what? A nap? Caffeine?

  A one-way ticket to Mars?

  She heard the front door open and close, then footsteps heading her way—light, unhurried footsteps, like maybe her home invader/thief/possible murderer was in no rush. Well, that made one of them. Whirling around, she grabbed the first thing she came to. A potato masher.

  Garrett stood in the doorway. “You going to make mashed potatoes with that thing, or hit me over the head?”

  She considered hitting him over the head, but wait a minute. He was holding . . . a bag from McDonald’s. Be still her heart. Setting the masher down, she turned to wash her hands. Twice.

  “You okay?” Garrett asked.

  She might’ve taken comfort in the question, but his voice held that same cool, distant tone as it had last night. He had not forgiven her. She told herself she understood that. “I’m great. I mean, I did just spend a full minute looking for my phone while using it as a flashlight, but everyone does that, right?”

  His smile was polite, the kind he’d always reserved for teachers and adults in general, and if she’d had any heart left, it would’ve cracked. She chalked that up to being awake all night, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like puke. Garrett, on the other hand, looked better than anyone had a right to this early in the morning. “So what are you doing here?” she asked. “And why do I feel like I’m the only one of us surprised to see each other?”

  “Mindy called me yesterday. Said you were coming home with the kids.”

  Her pulse was thundering so hard she was certain he could hear it. “Mindy called you?” she repeated inanely.

  “Yeah.” He handed her the coffee, opened the bag, and held out an Egg McMuffin. “And again this morning. She wanted me to tell you that it’s possible the kids got food poisoning from your mom’s egg sandwiches the morning they showed up at your place. She said she feels really bad about it, but didn’t know until she got a text from your mom late last night—”

  He stopped talking and went brows up when Brooke took a long, deep pull of the coffee like her life depended on it. Because it did. “So you’re still tight with Mindy,” she said when the caffeine hit her bloodstream. “And . . . you live next door.”

  “Yes. I bought Ann’s house a while back.”

  She’d first met Garrett the day he’d shown up as the new kid on the school bus. When a stupid boy several years older than all of them had started to pick on Mindy, Brooke had gotten up to sock him in the nose, but Garrett beat her to it.

  Neither Mindy nor Brooke had ever had to take a stand again, although Brooke had still done so, unable to stop herself from being what the school liked to call difficult.

  She’d made that a lifelong thing. From a young age, all she’d ever wanted was adventure. She’d been the only one in her family with the “wanderlust,” as her mom called it, becoming absorbed early on in photography and rock climbing. The minute Brooke had turned eighteen, she’d left home to work for an adventure guide company, working her way up from scrub to guide for a few years before landing a job at the Travel Network. Her parents hadn’t been thrilled, but they’d let her go. She’d used Wildstone as her home base, but she’d been gone more often than not, which had suited her because there’d been no future for her in Wildstone beyond working for her dad at POP Smoothies. And while she loved a good smoothie, she needed more.

  She’d gotten it, along with a whole bunch of things she hadn’t counted on.

  Garrett was lounging against the granite countertop, calmly studying her. She had no such ability to be calm. Not with her very messy, god-awful past and her equally messy, murky present colliding. Which was why you came here, she reminded herself. To make amends. To apologize, so that maybe she could also forgive herself and then move on. She could go back to LA and be the Brooke of old again.

  But she didn’t have the words for all that, mostly because she couldn’t stop staring at Garrett. He was tall and broad, with messy, sun-kissed brown hair that she’d bet hadn’t been brushed by more than a casual flick of his fingers. He’d never given a single fig about his appearance, and why would he, when he looked like he did? His T-shirt advertised a Wildstone surf shop and fit his toned body just right, as did his jeans. He wore battered hiking boots and a soft, worn leather jacket against the chill of the morning, but that wasn’t what held her captive. It was his light hazel eyes, set beneath black lashes and the dark lines of his eyebrows. His hair was longer than he used to keep it, and the lines of his face more defined by the intervening years, but the way he looked at her—like he could see everything, including all her messy faults—hadn’t changed.

  But she’d changed plenty, and she turned away to go back to staring out the window. “Thanks for breakfast, but Mindy shouldn’t have bothered you to come check on me.”

  “I didn’t come for you.”

  She closed her eyes against the memories that low, husky voice of his brought up. “No?”

  “I’m a general contractor, among other things. Your sister and Linc hired me to renovate this house. I’m working on the master bathroom this week. I came a little early to check on the kids. As you probably know, Linc’s out of town, and Mindy’s . . . not herself right now.”

  Well, that was one way to put it. And what did he mean, “among other things”? She was startled out of her thoughts by a metallic banging.

  Pushing off the counter, Garrett opened the fridge, grabbed some lettuce and a few strawberries, and vanished into the pantry. When he came back out, his hands were empty. “Ketchup,” he explained. “He bangs on the pie tin in the mornings to be fed. You won’t have to worry about feeding him again until tomorrow morning.” He turned to leave the kitchen, but then paused. “Also, Mindy seems . . . better. She said your bed’s comfortable.”

  Brooke let out a rough laugh. “Well, as long as she’s comfortable.”

  From upstairs came an angry bellow and then a thump. Brooke set down her food and coffee and went running. Garrett beat her to the boys’ room.

  Mason and Maddox were playing dodgeball, only instead of using a ball, they were chucking other things at each other. Shoes, boots, toys . . .

  The place looked like a cyclone had hit it. “What the hell?” Brooke asked.

  Mason stopped in the middle of throwing a pillow at his baby brother. “That’s a bad word.”

  Maddox tipped his head back and howled like a coyote.

  Millie wandered in. “You’re both going to be in trouble,” she informed her brothers loftily.

  “Why are you all even awake?” Brooke asked, boggled at the level of destruction.

  “Cuz it’s morning,” Mason said.

  Barely. “But you were both sick last night.”

  “Not anymore.”

  She checked them all for fever. No one had one.

  “They’re resilient,” Garrett said.

  Yeah, like cockroaches. She pulled out her vibrating cell phone. Mindy had resorted to texting instructions now, since “apparently you’re ignoring emails.” Brooke sighed. “I’m supposed to get you all to camp.”

  “And I’m going to work,” Garrett said.

  Once he was gone, Brook
e looked at the kids. “Okay, this is going to be a team effort. First up, everyone brush your teeth.”

  Five minutes later she went into the bathroom to see what was taking so long and found all three struggling for the power seat over the vent to keep their butts warm. She pointed at Millie first. “Go get dressed.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” Brooke turned to Mason next. His wild-man-of-Borneo hair was doing its thing. He said, “I can do it!” and also took off. This left Maddox. His pj’s were on inside out—her bad—and he had a now familiar odor about him. Damn. “Have you ever thought about losing the diaper?”

  Maddox tilted his head to the side in a classic male huh?

  “If you wear real undies,” she said. “You’re no longer a baby. You’re practically a grown-up. Grown-ups get to do a lot of fun stuff that babies can’t.”

  He smiled and barked, and after she changed him and set him free to find clothes, he showed up dressed in Hulk sweats. No diaper.

  Progress.

  Mason had pulled on Millie’s dress from the day before. Brooke looked over at Millie.

  “It’s okay with me,” Millie said. “I already wore it this week.”

  “Is camp going to be okay with it?” Brooke asked.

  “Yes. They appreciate gender fluidity.”

  Brooke blinked. “Are you going on eight, or thirty?”

  Millie shrugged and slowly washed her hands. For the fourth time in the past few minutes. She carefully applied lotion afterward and then showed Brooke. Way less red today.

  “Nice,” Brooke said. “Now tell me why you seem to be stalling about getting dressed.”

  “Because Charlotte’s going to be at camp.”

  “Okay. And . . . we don’t like her?”

  “She copies me, everything I do. Riding bikes. Hopscotch. Basketball. She even pretends she has to wash her hands and count by fours. And she doesn’t do any of those things as good as I do.”

  Brooke looked at her adorable, wonderfully confident but slightly too full of herself niece. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘Be the girl who fixes another girl’s crown without telling the world it was crooked’?”

  “I don’t have a crown anymore. Mommy took it away because she didn’t like my bad ’tude.”

  “It’s a metaphor,” Brooke said. “Which means figure of speech. It’s not a real crown. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t tell her she’s a copycat and that I don’t like her.”

  “Exactly.”

  Millie sighed dramatically.

  “All you can do is your best,” Brooke said.

  Mason had pulled a sweatshirt on over the dress and was struggling with the zipper. Kneeling before him, Brooke tried to take over, but he yelled, “I can do it!”

  A theme, it seemed. She lifted her hands in surrender and he hunched over in concentration, tongue between his teeth, in a battle of wills with the zipper.

  “Mas—”

  “I can do it!”

  Brooke backed off, but watching him was painful, especially because he hadn’t yet managed to line up the teeth on the zipper, which meant this was going to happen approximately never. “How about I just get it started, and—”

  “I CAN DO IT!”

  Okay, then. She called the camp. “Listen, my nephew’s going to be a few minutes late because apparently he can zip his jacket all by himself.”

  Millie came back into the room wearing black tights with strawberries on them and a strawberry-red dress. She pointed to the pockets. “I’ve just got to fill my snack holes and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Brooke thought this was brilliant. “Every outfit should have snack holes.”

  Millie nodded sagely.

  Five minutes later, they were in the kitchen working on breakfast when Garrett reappeared. He eyed Maddox, facedown on the floor crying. “Problem?” he asked over the din.

  “Whyever would you think that?” Brooke asked.

  This got her the slightest of lip twitches.

  Mason and Millie just kept eating their granola with chopped-up bananas. After she got to the store later and bought fresh stuff, she’d be able to get more than two colors in their bowl.

  Garrett glanced at the still facedown-on-the-floor Maddox. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “He’s upset that his sweatpants match his sweatshirt, even though he dressed himself.”

  Garrett nodded like this made perfect sense. He crouched low, balanced on the balls of his feet, and murmured something softly for Maddox’s ear only, rubbing the toddler’s back with an easy, warm affection.

  After a minute, Maddox got to his feet and hitched up his sweatpants, like, Okay, I’m good.

  Garrett held out a closed fist, and to Brooke’s surprise, Maddox bumped his baby fist to it.

  “How did you do that?” she demanded.

  Garrett shrugged. “I run the soccer program at the rec center and do a lot of the coaching. Maddox loves soccer.”

  She was more than a little boggled by this grown-up, easygoing, and—dammit—sexy-as-hell Garrett as he headed to the stairs. “I’ll be working if you need anything else,” he said, and then was gone.

  “I can do it,” she said to the room. “I’ve got this.”

  Note to self: She didn’t have this. Not even close.

  Mindy’s texts had included a whole lot of rules, including the correct way to load her dishwasher (complete with a diagram), how to manage the overwhelming amount of laundry three kids generated, and also what could and couldn’t be in their lunch. “Damn,” Brooke muttered, reading through the texts. “You’re not supposed to have anything white.”

  Millie, hands raised like a freshly scrubbed surgeon, pointed at the last of the McMuffin Brooke was eating. “You’re going to be in trouble.”

  Brooke started to blow that off, but suddenly remembered how much it had frustrated her when her parents had given her some arbitrary rule and then blithely ignored the rule themselves. So even though she wanted these kids to grow up and be self-sufficient in a way Mindy wasn’t really great at, Brooke wouldn’t take away her sister’s authority. “You’re right,” she said, and set the rest of her sandwich aside.

  She’d eat it later, when they were at camp, like a responsible adult.

  By some miracle, they eventually got out the door and on their way to camp—which was easier said than done, since all three programs started at the same time, but at completely different spots in Wildstone.

  She was starting to appreciate Mindy’s problem.

  Millie got dropped off first. “Remember, be kind to everyone,” Brooke told her. “Including Charlotte.”

  Millie shrugged. “All I can do is try my best.”

  “A-plus for using my words against me,” Brooke said dryly.

  Millie smiled cheerfully.

  By the time Brooke got everyone where they needed to be, hit up the grocery store to buy more “colors,” put the groceries away, and got all the blankets and towels and bedding washed and dried after last night’s puke-mageddon, it was nearly time to start picking up the kids. Leaning against the dryer in exhaustion as she waited for the last load to finish, she worked her way through a packet of SweeTarts that she’d found in Millie’s bedroom.

  Garrett appeared. He’d shed his leather jacket and added a tool belt, slung low on his lean hips. He seemed far more delectable than the SweeTarts, and that was saying something. Then she remembered her list, her reason for being there. She opened her mouth to start what was sure to be a very awkward conversation, when she realized he was looking her over, a small smile on his lips. This prompted her to turn and glance at her reflection in the laundry room window. Her hair looked like she’d come out the wrong end of an explosion. Her face was pale, and she realized she hadn’t managed a shower or change of clothing yet. She looked as insane as Mindy had when she’d shown up at Brooke’s door . . . Had that been just two days ago? It felt like
years.

  Garrett reached out to take a SweeTart, and she clutched the packet to her chest. She needed those SweeTarts. She deserved those SweeTarts. Before she could tell him so, there came a buzzing sound. She really hoped it was an oncoming brain embolism, but it turned out to be Garrett’s phone. He looked at the screen, then answered with a soft “Hey.” He paused and listened. “Sure. See you then.” He disconnected and slid the phone away again.

  She waited for him to explain.

  He didn’t.

  “Hot date?” she asked with what she hoped sounded like casual interest and not nosiness.

  He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. Right. None of her business. She was racking her brain on how to start the difficult conversation she needed to have and came up with nothing.

  “Don’t you have to get the kids?” he asked into the awkward silence.

  Crap! “Yes! Gotta run!” Ignoring his low laugh, she raced out of there.

  Forty-five minutes later, they were back, and there was no sign of Garrett. She didn’t know if she was relieved or . . . not relieved. She’d barely set her backpack down when Millie came to her, face worried. “I can’t find my candy.”

  Uh-oh. “I’m thinking your mom probably doesn’t even allow candy in this house,” Brooke said.

  “But my camp boyfriend gave me a bag of SweeTarts. They were under my pillow.”

  Yep, that’s right where Brooke had found them when changing the sheets. Just before she’d eaten them. “You have a camp boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re eight.”

  “He’s eight, too.”

  “Does your mom know?”

  “She told me I couldn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I’m here to second that,” Brooke said firmly.

  “And Daddy said I couldn’t have a boyfriend until he was old or dead, whichever came second.”

  Brooke nodded. “I second that, too.”

  “But he’s not really my boyfriend.”

  “Good,” Brooke said. “So why did you call him that?”

  “So he’d give me his candy.”

  Oh boy. “Honey, that’s not cool.”