Page 77 of Lemon Crush

I’d always thought that was a joke. Sam had seen it in a movie once and always told us that was how she wanted to go out. Just set her on fire and leave her to the ocean she loved.

“Kingston’s dad is a woodcarver,” I told her cautiously. “He had a shop for forty years and he still works from home on specialty pieces. Just get me the specs and I’ll give him a call.”

“I can’t let you do anything else for me. This ismyresponsibility,” she emphasized. “Then I have to find a real boat to rent, because Rick was in the Coast Guard and he’ll never let us use his to break the law.”

“You might be surprised about that.” Rick would do anything for Gene and his family.

“I thought I could Google it and at least do the first part myself, you know? How to carve a wooden boat you plan to set on fire?” she joked before rubbing her temple with a wince. “You think Mr. Haywood would take the job?”

“I’ll get you his number and you can call him yourself.”

I made myself walk away from her to start looking through her cabinets. I found a bottle of Tylenol and handed her two pills, closing her fingers around them before resuming my search. “Take those.”

“What are you doing, Wade?”

“Looking for something to soak up that alcohol before we follow up dinner with a movie night. Got any bread?”

“I think I’m out again. Movie night?”

I aimed for a casual tone. “I suppose we could hop on your computer and watch some of those reaction videos you were talking about before.”

She sipped her water and did a little two-step around the kitchen to the softer music. “You wouldn’t like them. It’s a guilty people-watching pleasure.”

I had to admit, it sounded depressing. Like looking through a window at a party you weren’t invited to.

I was old enough to remember when people had actual watch parties together, in the same room. But that was back when there were only a handful of channels, every world turned by the TV Guide and there were Blockbuster Videos instead of Starbucks on every corner.

Times sure had changed.

“There’s music too,” she told me with a snorting giggle. “You’ve never felt truly old until you’ve watched twenty-somethings listening to Bon Jovi or Phil Collins on the drums for the first time.”

She darted closer to play a quick, recognizable drum solo on my ass before dancing away again.

I sent her a look of playful warning, not that I minded her touch. “We’re notthatold, Gus.”

“Middle-aged then.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did you have any idea that being middle-aged meant you’d be stuck in the middle of a brain that thinks it’s sixteen and a body that feels like it’s sixty?”

I grunted. That sounded about right to me.

“You should think about doing that for the icehouse,” she said suddenly.

“Doing what?”

“Pick a series and record your customers watching it. You’d have nerdy beer lovers forming a line out the door. Its brilliant PR. Phoebe would be all over it. If you let the camera focus on your sexy butt occasionally, you’d make a fortune.”

“My butt appreciates your confidence.” I pulled out some microwave popcorn and the package of cookies I found hiddenbehind a box of cereal. It would have to do. “I can’t lie, the regulars might riot. Especially if I got to pick the show.”

She chuckled again. “That’s right. You like space-y escapism. Oh! We can watch one of Chick’s movies before he gets here.Mutant Bountyis the most popular. Though according to him…” She blew a raspberry and offered up a thumbs down.

“Bad sci-fi doesn’t exist.” Although the thought of her friend was putting a bad taste in my mouth today.

“You’re going to eat those words.”

If she hadn’t been drinking or feeling vulnerable, she’d be on her back by now and I’d be eating something a lot more satisfying than words. I hadn’t had a chance to try that with her yet.

And you won’t tonight, so get a grip.

“Go set it up while I make popcorn.”

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