The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(3)

Mindy shook her head. “Meet the new me. Remember when we were little and poor because Dad had put all his money into the first POP Smoothie Shop, and everyone called us the Lemon sisters?”

“We are the Lemon sisters,” Brooke said.

“Yes, but they made it a play on words, like we were lemons. As in, bad lemons. As in, worthless. Well, I’m a bad Lemon!”

“First of all, you were the one who told me to ignore it back then because we weren’t worthless,” Brooke said, “so I’ll tell you now—we’re still not. And second, you’ve got a great life, a life you’ve planned out in great detail, I might add. You married a doctor. You now run and manage the Wildstone POP Smoothie Shop. You bake like no other. People flock to the shop on the days you bring in your fresh stuff to sell alongside the smoothies. You’ve got three kids. You live in a house with a real white picket fence, for God’s sake.”

Mindy sniffed. “I know! And I get that on paper it looks like I’m the together sister, but I’m not!”

That shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Mindy didn’t have the first clue about Brooke’s life these days. Which was another problem entirely. “Min, what’s really going on here? We don’t do this. We’re not . . . close.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Mindy’s eyes filled. “I burned the school cupcakes and the firefighters had to come, and now the whole block knows I’m losing my shit. Dad wants to sell off some of the POP Smoothie Shops, including the Wildstone one, so he can ‘retire’”—she put “retire” in air quotes, probably because their dad was already pretty much hands-off with the business—“which puts me out of work. Linc says I should buy it, and I love that store, you know how much I love working that store, but I can’t so much as potty train Maddox, even though he’s thirty-two-point-five months old.” She drew in a shuddery breath. “And I think Linc’s having an affair with Brittney, our nanny.”

Whoa. Brooke stopped trying to do the math to figure out how old 32.5 months was in years and stared at her sister. “What?”

“Look, I know you hate me, but when it all started to fall apart in the car on the way home from Mom and Dad’s in Palm Springs, I looked you up. Google Maps said you were right on the way home to Wildstone.”

Wildstone. Their hometown on the central coast of California, tucked among wineries and ranches and gorgeous rolling hills dotted with oaks. Just the thought of it conjured up a sense of longing so painful it almost buckled her knees. “I don’t hate you,” she murmured. She shook her head. “And do you really think your husband, the guy you’ve been in love with since the second grade and who worships the ground you walk on, is having an affair with the nanny? And since when do you have a nanny?”

“Since I went back to work at the shop right after Maddox was born.” Mindy sighed. “She’s only part-time, but yes, I really think he’s cheating on me. Which means I’m going to be single soon.” She clutched Brooke’s arm, the whites of her eyes showing. “I can’t go back to being single, Brooke. I mean, how do you know which way to swipe, left or right?”

“Okay, first off . . . breathe.” Brooke waited until Mindy had gulped in some air. “Good. Second, why do you think Linc’s having an affair?”

“Because Cosmo says that married couples our age are supposed to have sex two to three times a week, and we don’t. I’m not sure we managed to have sex once this whole month!” She tossed up her hands. “It used to be every day. Every day, Brooke, and we used to role-play, too, like sexy bad cop and sassy perp, or naughty nurse and—”

“Oh my God.” Brooke covered her ears. “Please stop talking.”

“We have a chest full of costumes and props that we never even use anymore.”

“Seriously,” Brooke said, with a heartfelt grimace. “I can still hear you.”

“I miss it. I mean, I really miss it. I need a man-made orgasm or I’m going to have to buy more batteries.”

“Okay, I get it, you miss sex! Jeez! Let’s move on! So you’ve got the problems with Linc, the nanny, and your, uh, lack of new batteries . . . but instead of fixing any of these problems, you, what, ran away from Wildstone six hours south to Mom and Dad’s in Palm Springs?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mindy said. “It was a rough visit. Mom thinks Millie needs therapy because she’ll only answer to ‘Princess Millie’ and that Maddox should be talking more than barking. And Dad says Mason shouldn’t wear pink shirts, but it was salmon, not pink, and he picks out his own clothes and dresses himself. I don’t want to squash that. Also, Dad thinks that my ass is getting fat.”

“Dad did not say that,” Brooke said. The man was a quiet, thoughtful introvert. He might think it, but he’d never say it.

“Okay, no, he didn’t,” Mindy admitted. “But it’s true and that’s probably why Linc won’t sleep with me!” She started crying again.

“Momma.”

At the little-kid voice, Brooke and Mindy both froze and turned. In the doorway stood Mindy’s Mini-Me, eight-year-old Millie, outfitted in a yellow dress with black elephants and giraffes on it. Her hair was held off her face by a headband that matched the dress. But it was her eyes that got to Brooke. They were the same jade green as Mindy’s. And as her own, she supposed. “Millie,” Brooke said. “Wow, you’re all grown up.”