Page 68 of Lemon Crush

I turned and my look shut her down. “Morgan, I don’t feel comfortable having a conversation about that. It’s not my place. Your sister will be here soon, and you can talk to her about it then.”

We stared at each other for a moment and then she made a face. “Fine. I forgot for a minute. You’re a vault and you hate family drama.”

“I am and I do.” I hesitated for a second before adding, “And you hate surprises, but you’ve gotten a few this week. I get that, and I’m sorry about it.”

Her expression softened. “Thank you.”

“If it helps, my first reaction was probably similar to yours, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“You have?” she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.

I nodded. “She’s convincing. And like I said, it is her car now.”

“I didn’t think she’d dothiswith it. The idea is insane,” she muttered to herself. “Are there any other surprises in store?”

“Yes.” Her gaze jerked to mine and I shrugged. “I’m a vault, but everyone deserves a heads-up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Lucy called to her through the half-open sliding door and she went back inside without saying another word.

I’d thought approaching August about the apartment was awkward, but it was nothing compared to the conversation I just had with the woman I’d been friends with my entire adult life.

If you start sleeping with her sister, it’s probably going to get worse.

Tell me something I didn’t know. I was still all in on my plan. The brilliant and masochistic new version I’d devised on the fly when she’d said she wanted me at the garage. Friendly neighborhood foreplay. But I’d made sure it was on my terms, with my original goal still in mind.

How’s that working out for you?

There were still a few kinks I needed to work out. Like maybe volunteering to help her tear down wallpaper wasn’t the best way to get her alone. When it was done, we’d both been too exhausted to do more than give each other a sticky high five before retreating to our separate showers and beds.

I’d also learned you couldn’t have a conversation with a woman wearing sound-muffling headphones to write while you hammered away on her stairs. Though she had ordered another pizza. I’d decided to consider that our third official date.

You haven’t actually taken her on one of those yet.

Because she didn’t want romance.

The biggest issue was time. As in, I needed more of it, and it was passing too quickly. Speaking of, I took out my phone to check it again. Where was she?

I should let her know Morgan might try to put a kibosh on the car situation. She’d practically said as much, and if you were dating someone, you gave them a heads-up if they might be walking into a potential intervention.

You just want to check on her. And you’re not really dating.

We were painting the living room together and I’d been making her come on a regular basis all week. As far as I was concerned, we were in a relationship. I was calling her.

I walked quickly along the fence line until I hit the driveway, where I nearly bumped into my sister.

“I thought you were inside,” I said dumbly. “I’ve got to make a call, but Phoebe’s potatoes are in the back?—”

Bernie poked my chest with her finger, hard enough to shut me up and get me to focus on what she was wearing. That was her Get Me Some outfit. And lord, I wish I didn’t know that about my own sister. The black vest topped snug black jeans, showing off the three small birds in flight on her shoulder—her “Don’t Worry About A Thing” tattoo. She’d gotten that without telling me when she was sixteen. Right before she told me she was pregnant.

According to August, she’d done it on purpose. The tattoo, not the pregnancy.

“What’s with the poking?” I asked, rubbing the sore spot on my chest. “And why are you dressed like that?”

“I can wear what I want. And I have a late date with a frisky construction worker who wants me to move to Hawaii with him. See how I tell you things as soon as you ask?”

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