The Lemon Sisters (Wildstone #3)(11)

“I can’t even,” Brooke said to the room, and then proceeded to lose her phone while using it as a flashlight to stare at Ketchup. She frantically slapped her pockets for an embarrassingly long moment before realizing she was an idiot. She moved to the kitchen and stared out the window, wishing for . . . what? A nap? Caffeine?

A one-way ticket to Mars?

She heard the front door open and close, then footsteps heading her way—light, unhurried footsteps, like maybe her home invader/thief/possible murderer was in no rush. Well, that made one of them. Whirling around, she grabbed the first thing she came to. A potato masher.

Garrett stood in the doorway. “You going to make mashed potatoes with that thing, or hit me over the head?”

She considered hitting him over the head, but wait a minute. He was holding . . . a bag from McDonald’s. Be still her heart. Setting the masher down, she turned to wash her hands. Twice.

“You okay?” Garrett asked.

She might’ve taken comfort in the question, but his voice held that same cool, distant tone as it had last night. He had not forgiven her. She told herself she understood that. “I’m great. I mean, I did just spend a full minute looking for my phone while using it as a flashlight, but everyone does that, right?”

His smile was polite, the kind he’d always reserved for teachers and adults in general, and if she’d had any heart left, it would’ve cracked. She chalked that up to being awake all night, and she was pretty sure she still smelled like puke. Garrett, on the other hand, looked better than anyone had a right to this early in the morning. “So what are you doing here?” she asked. “And why do I feel like I’m the only one of us surprised to see each other?”

“Mindy called me yesterday. Said you were coming home with the kids.”

Her pulse was thundering so hard she was certain he could hear it. “Mindy called you?” she repeated inanely.

“Yeah.” He handed her the coffee, opened the bag, and held out an Egg McMuffin. “And again this morning. She wanted me to tell you that it’s possible the kids got food poisoning from your mom’s egg sandwiches the morning they showed up at your place. She said she feels really bad about it, but didn’t know until she got a text from your mom late last night—”

He stopped talking and went brows up when Brooke took a long, deep pull of the coffee like her life depended on it. Because it did. “So you’re still tight with Mindy,” she said when the caffeine hit her bloodstream. “And . . . you live next door.”

“Yes. I bought Ann’s house a while back.”

She’d first met Garrett the day he’d shown up as the new kid on the school bus. When a stupid boy several years older than all of them had started to pick on Mindy, Brooke had gotten up to sock him in the nose, but Garrett beat her to it.

Neither Mindy nor Brooke had ever had to take a stand again, although Brooke had still done so, unable to stop herself from being what the school liked to call difficult.

She’d made that a lifelong thing. From a young age, all she’d ever wanted was adventure. She’d been the only one in her family with the “wanderlust,” as her mom called it, becoming absorbed early on in photography and rock climbing. The minute Brooke had turned eighteen, she’d left home to work for an adventure guide company, working her way up from scrub to guide for a few years before landing a job at the Travel Network. Her parents hadn’t been thrilled, but they’d let her go. She’d used Wildstone as her home base, but she’d been gone more often than not, which had suited her because there’d been no future for her in Wildstone beyond working for her dad at POP Smoothies. And while she loved a good smoothie, she needed more.

She’d gotten it, along with a whole bunch of things she hadn’t counted on.

Garrett was lounging against the granite countertop, calmly studying her. She had no such ability to be calm. Not with her very messy, god-awful past and her equally messy, murky present colliding. Which was why you came here, she reminded herself. To make amends. To apologize, so that maybe she could also forgive herself and then move on. She could go back to LA and be the Brooke of old again.

But she didn’t have the words for all that, mostly because she couldn’t stop staring at Garrett. He was tall and broad, with messy, sun-kissed brown hair that she’d bet hadn’t been brushed by more than a casual flick of his fingers. He’d never given a single fig about his appearance, and why would he, when he looked like he did? His T-shirt advertised a Wildstone surf shop and fit his toned body just right, as did his jeans. He wore battered hiking boots and a soft, worn leather jacket against the chill of the morning, but that wasn’t what held her captive. It was his light hazel eyes, set beneath black lashes and the dark lines of his eyebrows. His hair was longer than he used to keep it, and the lines of his face more defined by the intervening years, but the way he looked at her—like he could see everything, including all her messy faults—hadn’t changed.

But she’d changed plenty, and she turned away to go back to staring out the window. “Thanks for breakfast, but Mindy shouldn’t have bothered you to come check on me.”

“I didn’t come for you.”

She closed her eyes against the memories that low, husky voice of his brought up. “No?”

“I’m a general contractor, among other things. Your sister and Linc hired me to renovate this house. I’m working on the master bathroom this week. I came a little early to check on the kids. As you probably know, Linc’s out of town, and Mindy’s . . . not herself right now.”