Page 58 of Lemon Crush

At least I’d talked Oscar out of putting the stray and her new puppies in here for the moment. It seemed she’d looked so healthy because she was pregnant, and she’d given birth a few days before the storm. They’d made a temporary spot for her in the shed out back. Hudson’s Garage had a litter of damn puppies to deal with now. This was what I got for being a soft touch.

I was swiping down the surface with a Clorox wipe when I heard August calling me from the shop. Giving one of the stools a swipe for good measure, I trashed the wipe and headed out there.

She was standing with her back to me, so I took a moment to center myself with a deep breath.

“Hey, August. I didn’t expect you to be bringing my food,” I lied.

She spun around, holding two to-go bags and clutching a couple of brown bottles against her chest. “You scared me.”

She scared me right back. If cozy-and-casual Gus was rough on my willpower, dressed-up August was damn near stroke-inducing. I’d seen more of her legs every day for weeks, but knowing what was underneath that flowing, pretty little skirt somehow made it more enticing.

“Sorry, I was cleaning up before chow.” I held up my hands. “It’s a dirty job.”

She looked me up and down, from my sweaty cap to my scuffed steel-toe boots and all the grease-stained navy work clothes in between. “You look good to me,” she said simply, before holding out the bags. “I hope you’re hungry. I think Bernie packed enough for four instead of two.”

“You look good to me.”

With one sentence, this woman got under my skin. She couldn’t know that most of the dates Morgan set me up on over the years had looked down their noses at my calloused hands and occupation, focusing more on the fact that I owned my own businesses. My ex wouldn’t let me touch her until I’d spent anhour at the sink with Gojo and a nail brush. And even then, she complained that I always smelled like motor oil.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate, so I can do it justice,” I finally said as I took the food. “You joining me?”

“That’s the plan.”

She didn’t look angry. That was a good start. “Air-conditioned office or the picnic table out back?”

“Like that’s a question,” she said dryly, wiping the sheen of sweat off her brow with the back of her forearm.

“Office it is.” I pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Setting the sack on the table, I gave the vinyl stool I’d wiped off another look to make sure there was nothing to stain her skirt and then gestured at it. “Take a load off. I hear you’ve been on your feet all day.”

“I have and I’m not used to it yet.” She set the bottles on the table and hopped up onto the swivel seat, flexing and pointing her toes with a groan. “That’s better. I don’t think I’ve been on my feet so much in years, which is a horrible thing to admit, but there you go. Ifsomeonehad warned me that I’d be kidnapped by a pirate queen and her hungry mob today, I might have worn my sneakers with the pillowy insoles.”

I winced as I took the stool beside her. “I didn’t know this would happen. I shouldn’t have volunteered the space before I was sure I could be there myself, but we’re in the center of it all and on the right side of the bridge, so it couldn’t be helped.” I sighed. “I’m missing Phoebe’s organizational skills more and more.”

Her smile when she thought about my niece was sweet and disarming. “She’s got a big fan club over there, too. If I haven’t mentioned it before, you and Bernie did a great job with our munchkin.”

“Not a munchkin anymore. I didn’t realize how much she did around here until she went on that break.” Images flashed quickly through my head at her nickname. A baby beingheld by a seventeen-year-old August while she was blessed by my stepmother’s friend “the shaman.” An eight-year-old in a tiara wielding a lightsaber. A young woman wearing a cap and gown.

Not surprisingly, I was having a hard time dealing with the fact that Phoebe was about to have a baby of her own.

I pulled both boxes out of the sack and handed one to her, suddenly famished. “Thank you for this.”

“Thank your sister, I’m only the delivery girl. I heard you’ve been busy today too,” she said, already digging into her potato salad with a plastic fork.

I swallowed a smile with my first chicken leg, loving the fact that she didn’t pick at her food or pretend not to be hungry in front of me. It was something I’d always admired about her. Gus was genuine. If she was feeling something, you knew it. If she was hungry, she ate. She didn’t play mind games or use her emotions to manipulate. With her job, she could have a dozen characters in her head at any one time, but she could never be anyone but herself, and didn’t try.

We ate, trading war stories from our respective days in between heaping bites of home-baked goodness. She told me about all her serving fails and near-misses, emphasizing the kindness of strangers, and I told her about the idiots who’d tried to drive across the flooded bridge and ended up flooding their cars instead. I’d towed three of them in since getting here at seven a.m. and at least one was a total loss because the owner had started it up right away, cracked a piston and effectively turned his engine into a lawn ornament.

I could get used to this. Having lunch together in my garage. Those eyes on me. Listening to her talk and seeing her smile.

That’s what I was thinking when she said, “So about the Lemons race…”

She was fiddling with her napkin nervously, though her voice was confident. “Since you apologized for your initialreaction, I’m assuming you don’t plan to try and talk me, or anyone on the team, out of my idea again.”

I chewed slowly on a bite of brisket, aware that I needed to handle this carefully. There was no way I’d try talking her out of it again. Kingston’s advice and my own conscience wouldn’t let me. But I did want to make sure she was fully prepared, informed and safe.

Ineededto make sure she was safe.

Swallowing, I set down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I have a few conditions.”

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