Page 22 of Lemon Crush

He tilted his head, his tail giving a one-wag salute, and then he was moving past me, headed toward the living room with his prize.

I wouldn’t rat him out if he’d show me the same courtesy.

I was closing the door again when August reappeared, tugging at the hem of her long black T-shirt. Her now-supported breasts still strained against the fabric, where a unicorn cavorted above the wordsI Will Cut You. I’d take that as another warning to keep my distance. She’d swapped out her slouchy shorts for some form-fitting khaki ones that did great things for her legs and tamed her curls into a no-nonsense bun.

Armor achieved.

“You were going to tell me how you knew about the apartment,” she said, picking up exactly where we’d left off as she leaned against the counter.

“Have you gotten any hits on it yet?”

My phone started up again and, after glancing at the notifications, I turned it off because it was the quickest way I knew to escape the damn thread.

She was staring at me as if trying to decide whether or not to tell me to mind my own business, but she wanted answers too, so she sighed and gave in. “A few. I actually have one pretty good applicant in the running.”

“Is that right,” I said flatly.

“That’s right. This Terry guy looks great on paper. Who knows? He could be the white knight who’ll save me from having to apply for a job at the nearest burger joint,” she joked.

This Terry guy?

I instantly imagined spearing her knight with the nearest available lance.

“Not that I need a renter to live or anything,” she said quickly, misreading the expression on my face. “The house could use some repairs and a little glow-up I didn’t budget for, that’s all. I’m putting it up for sale once that’s finished, so you might get another ping then. And I wasn’t saying there was anything wrong with working burger joints. I’ve done it before—I’m just not all the way back to fighting form, and the idea gives me hives because it’s like admitting defeat, which I refuse to do until I’m living in a box or an actual van down by the river. And I’m nowhere close to either of those yet so please forget I said anything,” she finished in a rush, her bright-pink cheeks making her face glow.

There it was. Confirmation. Shewasplanning to leave, and I was about to miss my chance. Again.

Every part of me rejected that idea. Particularly the bullshit about some other guy swooping in to save the day.

I didn’t put much credence in divine intervention or those signs from the universe my stepmom and sister were always looking for. But showing up here today, right before she convinced herself to rent to “this Terry guy” was as close to it as I’d ever come.

“What if I have a better option?”

She frowned. “A better option for what?”

“‘Better’ is obviously in the eye of the beholder,” I started, with what I hoped was a self-deprecating smile. As tense as I was, it was hard to tell. “It feels egotistical to be my own reference here, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

“Your own reference?” She stared at me as if I were speaking another language.

I exhaled hard enough to move the air around the room and went for uncomfortable honesty. “I agreed to rent out the garage’sapartment back when I thought I’d find a house as quickly as you did. But the market’s changed since then and I haven’t had the same luck, so I’ve been sleeping on Bernie and Phoebe’s couch bed for nearly a week.”

She sent me a skeptical look. “You rented your apartment before you had another place to live? That doesn’t sound like something someone like you would do.”

Someone like me.

“Well, that’s what happened,” I said a little shortly. “I promised one of my younger mechanics he could have my place at the first of the month, and I didn’t want to go back on my word because I’d miscalculated.” I hesitated, then felt the need to add, “He was living in his car.”

She muttered something that sounded likelady bait. “Thatsounds more like something you’d do. I didn’t realize you were house hunting, though. I feel compelled to warn you that homeownership is a giant pain in the ass, Wade.”

“It can’t be much harder than owning a business. And I’ll take those pains for a backyard with a grill and a tub big enough to do more than stand in,” I countered. “Until then, I think you should forget Terry and rent the apartment to me.”

August blinked up at me with big eyes. “To you? You think I should rent the apartment in my backyardto you?”

She didn’t have to sound so disconcerted by the suggestion.

“Bernie has a 24/7 open-door policy with her band buddies,” I continued, not bothering to hide my irritation. “And Phoebe is up all night with cravings, false contractions and boyfriend troubles. Don’t get me started on the constant text threads. I’d give them both a kidney if they needed it, but I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep all week.”

She’d started to pace around her kitchen as I spoke. “What about Morgan’s guest room?”

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