Page 102 of Lemon Crush

Where I grew up with a mom who pinched pennies to make a four-to-six-month paycheck last an entire year, Charles Robin Schneider IV was born wealthy, connected, and inexplicably put out about it. His family had had greater expectations for their son than writing bad, straight-to-streaming science fiction movies for truckloads of cash under the name Chick Martin. He’d responded to those expectations by officially changing his name to piss them off.

Despite his rebellion, he was still a product of that upbringing. He spent money too easily and had gone through an impressive list of red-carpet-ready men in his never-ending search for The One. He also expected life to work out for him in a way I honestly couldn’t relate to, but he was a great friend who’d been in my corner from the moment we met.

He was the only one from my old friend group who’d stayed in touch with me over the last few years. He’d never stopped calling. When I was sick, he demanded “proof of life” Zoom calls, where we’d eat popcorn and gossip or watch a movie together, adding humorous commentary throughout, just because. I’d given him a dozen outs, but thankfully, he’d never taken me up on any of them. I was incredibly lucky to have him in my life.

“I think the players are starting to gather,” Chick said in a low-pitched voice, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ve seenphotos, but is that your brother-in-law in the bright-pink shirt over there?”

I followed his subtle head tilt. “The one and only.”

“Those pictures don’t do him justice.”

“Pictures of math nerds the size of linebackers rarely do,” I said dryly. “No photo can truly encapsulate the aura of a man who’s fanatical about Tolkien but hates Harry Potter because ‘children saving the world isn’t realistic.’ But tiny hobbits? No problem.”

Chick chuckled. We’d had this conversation before. “I already love him.”

“Wait until you meet Lucy. On your left.”

He was heading right toward us with a red beard and a smile. “Hey there, little sister.”

“My hurricane hero.”

He buffed his nails on his black bowling shirt. He must have a collection of those in every available color. “I do love being appreciated. Are you about done yet? We tried to time it right, but I haven’t seen Gene this impatient since the night before he married Morgan. It can’t be healthy for him to get this worked up at his age.”

“You’re the same age.”

“Not where it counts.” He winked and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re putting a few tables together and we’ll need a couple of pitchers of beer, some nachos, a personal pizza and an order of plain tortillas with that green salsa Rick loves.”

“You got it. Let me get those orders in and I’ll hand over the reins to Patty. I should be finished by the time Wade and the others get here. This is my friend Chick, by the way.”

Lucy’s grin was all charm as he shook Chick’s hand and welcomed him to Texas. “I heard you were coming.” He sent a sideways look my way. “I heard about Bernadette too.”

“I thought you might have.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re kicking over a hornet’s nest,woman. I mean, I like your style and I’m one hundred percent on your side. But don’t tell my boys.”

Chick chuckled. “That’s some heavy CYA you’re throwing down, but your secret’s safe with us.”

I turned in the food order to Frank, the young cook manning the tiny kitchen, then sent a text to Bernie and Wade to hurry them along before pulling the pitchers of beer. By the time I’d deposited them on the tables, along with a tray of glasses, the food was up in the kitchen window. Three trays. There was no way carrying them all at once would end well.

“Let me help you with that, Gus.”

I turned, glad Wade’s body shielded me from view, because there was no hiding my cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Hey boss. I thought you’d be here earlier.”

His answering grin looked like he’d swallowed something much less pleasant. “Morgan wanted to see me about something and then I had some thinking to do. But I’m here now.”

I had to remind myself that they’d been friends and neighbors for decades. Of course they’d talk, and it didn’t have to be about me. “I texted her earlier to see if she wanted to stop by, meet Chick and be a part of the meeting. She said she was busy.”

“Before it messes with your head, it’s not because of you—she hasn’t been more than a silent supporter and occasional spectator in years.”

Maybe not, but his expression still said he wasn’t telling me everything.

“Hey, man,” Frank said through the window. “How are the puppies doing?”

“Dalton’s on babysitting detail.” Wade’s smile warmed considerably now that he wasn’t talking to me.

“I’ve put myself on the adoption list for one when they’re weaned,” Frank said.

Wade snorted. “You and everybody else.”

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