Page 159 of Lemon Crush

Lemons get a bad rap.

Why do people think that apples keep the doctor away and coconuts can potentially cure all ills, but lemons are duds? Who decided that?

Maybe we could start a new trend by calling disappointing things kiwis or pomegranates. The fruit-to-seed ratio on those babies is ridiculously unsatisfying despite their expense. And kiwis havefur.

Conversely, lemons are used in everything. They can remove a stain, lighten your hair and add that extra zip to your home-cooked meal or beverage of choice.

So, what’s with the shitty branding?

The saying “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade” is meant to be aspirational. As in, “Got a lot ofnothing good in your life? Get creative and make it into something better.”

Add sugar. Add alcohol. Add a weird but wonderful race, friends who support your crazy and at least one person who loves you unconditionally, flaws and all.

It worked for me.

EPILOGUE

BERNADETTE HUDSON

Four weeks after the wedding…

“Don’t forgetto hydrate and take it easy on yourself for the rest of the day, everybody. And be proud of what you’ve accomplished. You’ve now conquered the hardest class in my arsenal at the end of your very busy day. If you can lift your arms, give yourself a round of applause.”

The weak claps and smattering of pain-filled groans had me smiling brightly as I patted the sweat from my face with a towel. I wasn’t a sadist, but I did like knowing I’d put together an effective program. My younger students needed a reason to keep coming back. That was one of the reasons I’d made this an evening class, so I could snag them after work and before they went clubbing.

But I also needed to know I could still wipe the now-sweaty floor with their perky, twenty-something behinds.

I grabbed my electrolyte-filled water from a nearby stool and went to turn off the music I’d picked for the session. No serenity spa tunes for this class. I’d chosen those primal beats you felt inyour core. The kind of music that got your blood pumping and made you push that much harder.

The kind of music that made me think of picking up the phone and lining up a date for the night.

“Bernie?”

I looked up with a polite smile that grew into one of interest as I took in the handsome, glistening blond who’d decided to linger after class. The new hottie. What was his name again?

“Great form today…”

“Greg.” His big hands nervously tugged the edges of the towel he’d wrapped around his neck. “Thanks. You too. I wanted to ask… My friend took me to an icehouse the other night and I think I saw your band. That was you, wasn’t it? You’re the singer for The Wreckers?”

“It was and I am. Did you have a good time?”

I bet he could give someone a good time.

I made no apologies for being a healthy single woman with an active dating life. I enjoyed good-looking men and I liked sex. There was nothing wrong with that.

“You were great,” he said enthusiastically. “Your voice blew my mind. I wanted to tell you that on your set break, maybe buy you a drink and convince you to grab a late dinner, but your bodyguard wouldn’t let me get close enough.”

I laughed in confusion. “I’d like to say we’re popular enough to need a bodyguard, but we aren’t that kind of band, Greg. I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

He brushed a hand through his wet, longish locks. “He acted like security. Looked like it too. Buzz cut. Scary scowl. Told me you weren’t taking autographs, which I get, of course.”

Every muscle in my body was tightening as he spoke. What the hell? Was that what Rick had been doing at the bar every Thursday night? Cockblocking me?

He certainly wasn’t there because he liked my singing. Everytime I looked his way, he was staring down at his beer like it had done something to piss him off. He didn’t want anything to do with me.

He did a few years ago.

One time. One night. Since then, he’d been nothing but a judgmental pain in my ass. And after what happened at the race in October, he’d been even worse.

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