The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(60)

Chapter 13


“Did you know there’s fifty-five different kinds of tampons? Regular, super, scented, unscented, with applicator, without applicator . . . I mean, what the hell do you do without an applicator?”

The next morning, Garrett went for a long run, hoping to clear his head. It didn’t happen. He’d just made his way back to his driveway when Brooke stepped outside of Mindy’s house.

From across the two driveways they stared at each other.

He was all sweaty, but she looked fresh from a shower, damp hair pulled into some complicated braid, wearing a tee with a plaid flannel tied around her waist and little denim shorts—emphasis on little.

He moved toward her, helplessly drawn. And maybe she felt the same, as she met him halfway. They hadn’t talked about what had happened, and it was clear she didn’t want to, because she put out a preemptive strike.

“I’m off to take a little time for myself before making Mindy happy and going to work on the county job,” she said, gesturing to the camera hanging off her shoulder.

She was trying to make light of what was actually a big deal—her working outdoors again—and he nodded. “You okay?”

At the question, her polite smile vanished, replaced by a small but real one. “Yesterday, I shot Highway 1 and the coastline for this gig. Caught it at sunset with some fog hugging the water at the exact point where it was burning off. It wasn’t exactly a hardship for the paycheck.”

She wasn’t motivated by money, never had been, and seeing that once constant spark for life in her eyes got to him, whether he liked it or not.

And for the record, he didn’t like it.

“Today I’m working my way south,” she said. “Plan to hit Morro Bay.”

“The whole county could take you months.”

She looked away at that. “I made it clear that I’ll get the project outlined and started, but I can’t be the one to finish it.”

“You’re leaving.”

“Have to go by this weekend.”

His chest had tightened, even as he knew her leaving sooner than later was the best thing for the both of them. “Have to, or want to?”

She shook her head and turned to go, but he caught her hand. Slowly he reeled her in, and then, because he’d clearly lost his mind, he covered her mouth with his. He had no idea what he thought he was doing other than riling them both up, which, mission accomplished . . .

At the touch of their mouths, desire and hunger had ignited, and it was a very long moment before they broke free and stared at each other.

She pointed at him. “What is that?”

“Insanity, clearly.”

She snorted at the both of them and left.

Garrett thought about little else for the rest of the day, until now, as he washed off his tiling equipment outside one last time, since he’d just finished up Mindy and Linc’s master bath. He was being watched by his three old biddies, who sat on the porch, tails swishing, eyes narrowing in disapproval every time a stray mist from the hose came within ten feet of them.

On the other side of the fence, his neighbor’s horse kept snorting at him. She wanted attention. He looked up when he heard what sounded like an old, clunky truck pull up. In his gut he knew what he’d find when he turned to look, and yep, sure enough, it was his dad.

Terrific.

“Mew,” said Chairwoman Miao, his watch cat. From the other side of the fence, Moose also whinnied a warning. Who needed a doorbell? Deciding to ignore his entire audience, Garrett continued to wash his tools.

He heard his dad get out of the truck, but he didn’t step onto the property, instead staying at the end of the driveway. He didn’t speak, and finally Garrett turned and looked at him. He could admit to being stunned at his dad’s appearance. He was smaller than he remembered, and frail. His clothes were clean, but extremely worn. It was such a contrast to the big, tough guy from Garrett’s past, where he’d always seemed larger than life.

“I didn’t come to bother you,” his dad said. He held up a jar of something. “I just want to leave you some beets. You seemed . . . tense, which gives you high blood pressure. Beets are really good for that, and also they help rejuvenate the liver.”

“My liver’s fine,” Garrett said.

His dad nodded. “True. Only one of us was an alcoholic.”

“One never stops being an alcoholic, Dad. Not for your job, not for your kid . . . not for anything.”

“Also true.” His dad set the jar of beets on Garrett’s porch and moved back to his old Ford. It looked to be on its last legs, all beat to shit. Once upon a time, it might’ve been red, but now it was rust brown. In the front seat sat a huge black Labrador, his head hanging out the window enjoying the warm day, smiling around a tennis ball in his mouth.

The happy dog was such a contrast to the piece-of-shit truck and the shocking way his father had aged into a frail, haggard, hollowed-out old man that Garrett stopped what he was doing and came closer. “You’ve got a dog?”

“Snoop,” his dad said proudly.

“Hey, Snoop.” Garrett held out a hand to the dog, who happily dropped his ball to give Garrett a lick, his big tail going so fast it was a blur. “Thought you hated dogs,” he said to his dad. “That’s what you always told me.”