The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(8)

“Millie.”

Nothing.

Brooke sighed. “Princess Millie, give your brother back his puppy before I stop this car and take away the iPad.”

Millie shoved the puppy back into Maddox’s arms. He instantly stopped the crocodile tears and flashed a cute, dimpled smile at Brooke via the rearview mirror.

Thirty-two-point-five months old, and already a lady killer.

They were past Santa Barbara and into the home stretch when they stopped for gas. Brooke was out of the car for maybe a total of four minutes, but when she got back in, Mason’s lip was bleeding. Neither of his siblings could tell her what had happened.

At least they knew the first rule of Fight Club. “Let’s fix that up, kiddo,” Brooke said.

He covered it with his hands. “No. A Band-Aid will do it . . .”

That seemed to be his life motto. The kid was a genius.

“He doesn’t like being doctored up,” Millie said.

“Well, who does,” Brooke murmured, understanding Mason on a base level.

Four hours outside LA, they finally pulled into Wildstone, a mid-California coastal town of rolling green hills and pristine beaches. Back in the late 1800s, it’d been a gold-mining town, complete with clapboard sidewalks and a commercial row made up of saloons and whorehouses. Luckily the town fathers had changed with the times, and 150 years later, Wildstone was thriving. But it wasn’t thanks to saloons and whorehouses. That honor went to wineries and ranching.

Commercial Row had put on some new lipstick since Brooke had last driven through. The buildings were freshly renovated, but the place still said “Wild Wild West”—part of its charm, she supposed. She passed the redbrick firehouse where she and her family used to go for the annual pancake breakfast on July 4. The county library where in the very back corner they shelved the historical romances that had given her the best sex ed a girl could get. Then Caro’s Café, which had the best maple bacon on the planet as far as Brooke was concerned.

Then, on the far side of town, she drove by the state park where she’d broken her arm falling out of a huge oak tree, which still stood there. She’d received her first kiss leaning up against that thick trunk. She’d been playing tag with their neighbor Garrett Montgomery—number three on her new life plan. Back then, he’d been fourteen to her twelve, but his life experiences had made him seem years older than her.

She’d loved every second of that kiss and had spent the rest of her youth chasing silly dreams and fantasies. But her love life had not gone in the comfortable, safe, cozy direction that Mindy and Linc’s had. She and Garrett had not found their happily ever after.

She was still thinking of that as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. Garrett might’ve been her first crush, but she’d always been far too flawed for more. She was still too flawed.

“Home!” Mason yelled jubilantly.

Home . . . Mindy and Linc had bought the house from her parents, and it sat between a horse ranch and a homestead. Still sitting behind the wheel, Brooke was bombarded with memories. Scaling the side of the house at age thirteen to sit on the roof, much to her parents’ horror. Running over the mailbox at sixteen. Leaving at eighteen to find adventures.

Shoving that all aside, she helped the kids out of the car and eyed the front lawn. There was a complicated trail of yellow plastic that looked like some sort of obstacle course running up and over an upside-down wheelbarrow, around a tree, and down the porch stairs, with a sharp curve that ended in a kiddie pool. “What the—”

“Daddy and Uncle Garrett built us a homemade Slip ’N Slide,” Millie said. “We’re only allowed to use it when Momma’s outside with us cuz she thinks it’s dangerous.”

“Nuh-huh,” Mason said. “She said ‘stupid.’”

Brooke had to agree with her sister. “So your daddy and . . .” She paused on the name. “Uncle Garrett are close?”

“They’re best friends,” Millie said. “They do everything together.”

Oh boy. She’d known Garrett was still in town because she followed Mindy on Instagram and had seen the occasional pic of him. She hadn’t realized he and Linc had stayed close. Her stomach churned as she stared up at the house where she and Mindy had grown up playing, fighting, laughing, fighting some more . . . A lot of that with Garrett.

As a rule, she didn’t spend much time dwelling on the past. She liked to think she had a good head on her shoulders, but she did tend to bypass her brain and lead with her gut instead of thinking things through. She loved her parents, but they’d often acted without thinking, too. They’d fallen in love young and had gone on to marry and divorce, then marry and divorce again, after which they hadn’t spoken for years.

Now they were “dating” again, and kept saying, “We’ll just see what happens . . .”

Brooke knew what that meant. They’d run off somewhere to stand in front of a judge and say their vows. Again. And then they’d fight over the business. Again. Or where to go on vacation. Or their very different definitions of the word monogamy . . .

It was a crazy way to live. An even crazier way to raise kids, but hey, who was she to judge? Still, she’d learned a few things. She didn’t want a relationship like that. And though she loved what Linc and Mindy had—assuming Linc wasn’t sleeping with the nanny—she didn’t want that, either. For a long time, she thought what she wanted was adventure.