The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(52)

“Because I thought we were on the same page,” Linc said carefully.

Mindy let out a long, shaky breath. “We’re not even in the same book, Linc. I mean, yes, maybe before I had kids, this would have been my dream. But that was a long time ago. I haven’t had time for that dream in forever.” Her eyes welled. “I can’t . . .” She shook her head. “I’m tired,” she whispered. “Like, all the time. I already told you—”

“I know.” He took a step toward her. “You’ve been swamped taking care of the kids, the house . . . me. All I wanted to do was to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself, Linc.”

“I know that, I just thought this would make you happy.”

She slapped the file against his chest. “You thought wrong.”

Completely bewildered, he caught the file.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been trying to tell you that I can’t manage what I have on my plate now, much less the responsibility of owning a business.”

There was a horribly strained silence in the kitchen. Brooke didn’t do horribly strained, so she made to leave.

“Don’t you dare,” Mindy said. “Did you encourage this? It has your name all over it.”

“Sorry,” Brooke said. “I’m not stupid enough to try to rearrange someone’s life without talking it out first.”

Linc had the good grace to grimace.

So did Mindy.

Brooke took a peek at Linc, who still appeared to be in shock that his plan hadn’t been better received. She turned back to Mindy. “You do know that he was just trying to fix things, right?”

“He bought me the store.”

“I know,” she said. “And as I lived your life this week, I get it. But Linc is pretty new to this whole parenting thing—”

Linc winced again.

“—so you might need to give him a minute to catch up. I mean, he’s good in an ER, but he’s got a lot to learn, and you’re a good teacher. Think of it this way, Min—he deserves you.”

“Thanks, Brooke,” Linc said.

“Stay out of this,” Mindy said to Brooke. “You don’t have a family, and that’s your choice. But don’t tell me how to run mine.” She had started yelling, and her words echoed throughout the kitchen and inside Brooke’s head.

You don’t have a family, and that’s your choice . . .

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, nodded once and headed to the door.

“Brooke,” Mindy said with regret. “Wait.”

Oh, hell no. She stormed to the “guesthouse,” grabbed her ID and a credit card, and walked into town. It wasn’t far, only half a mile or so, and she needed the fresh air to think. She felt like a bundle of raw nerves. She couldn’t put thoughts together past the single fact bouncing around in her head. She didn’t really belong anywhere—her own doing, of course. She’d pushed people away for so long that she didn’t know how to stop. A problem because she needed . . . to be needed.

If only for a night.

The Whiskey River Bar and Grill was full and rowdy, and as she made her way through the joint to the bar, she was glad for that. A full house. Anonymity. At first glance, she saw a lot of men. Good. And she didn’t recognize anyone. Better yet. She sat, ordered herself a vodka and lemonade, and took a longer look around. People were dancing, eating, laughing, talking, but what she didn’t see was anyone else there on their own.

When had a simple, mindless hookup gotten so hard?

“What’s wrong, dating apps not doing it for you?”

She sighed and met Garrett’s eyes as he slid onto a barstool next to her. “I’m not on any dating apps,” she said. “Tonight I thought I’d find a Tinder date the old-fashioned way.” She finished her first drink and gestured to the bartender for a second. “At a bar.”

“You’re going to get drunk and sleep with a stranger?” he asked, his voice not revealing a single thing.

“Oh, I have no intention of sleeping,” she said.

He stared at her. Then he stared down at his feet for a moment. Clearly not finding any answers in his beat-up old hiking boots, he shook his head. “This isn’t you, Brooke.”

“Actually, you don’t know that. I’ve changed. And you’ve made it clear we’re not friends or . . . anything, so go away, you’re scaring off all my potentials.”

But Garrett didn’t go away. He joined her in her perusal of her choices at the bar. “The guy on the end might be good,” he said conversationally. “His name’s Judd Roberts. Of course, he’s pushing eighty, and he just got a pacemaker put in. I’d take it easy on him if you don’t want him toes up by morning.” He gestured to another guy. “Now, Keith’s more age-appropriate—late twenties—but he’s a plumber, and rumor is that he’s not a big hand-washer.”

With a shudder, she tossed back her second drink and felt the burn go all the way down her throat to her gut. Look at that—she could feel something after all. She raised her hand for the bartender, but Garrett caught it in his, bringing their now entwined fingers down between them.

“Brooke,” he said softly. “What are you really doing?”