31. August
31
AUGUST
Two months later…
I was leaning over a barstool in the transformed backroom of the icehouse, breathing into a paper bag so I wouldn’t hyperventilate.
What old wife came up with this tale? How was it even supposed to work? It wasn’t helping my breathing at all.
I heard a weird yodel followed by an excited bark and opened my eyes in time to see Wanda and Merlin racing in from the hallway, their leashes trailing behind them. The festive matching red-and-green bandanas around their necks were so cute they almost made me smile.
It looked like the troublemaking duo had escaped their sitters. I had no idea Merlin could still move like that. The vet had been shocked the last time we went for a checkup. He was talking years instead of months now. Who knew all the grumpy old wizard needed to start a new lease on life was somebody of his own to love ?
Or that I would become a dogmother like my sister, so enamored with these two they could probably set a neighborhood block on fire and I’d secretly find it adorable.
“Sorry, sorry,” Phoebe said as she hustled in after them. She was wearing a scarlet-hued Maid Marian dress and a matching carrier full of Sammy Lane strapped to her chest. “I saw them heading this way, but I didn’t cut them off fast enough.”
I waved away her apology before lowering the pointless paper bag in annoyance. “They’re the least of my problems.”
“Uh-oh.” Phoebe stared at me as she kissed the top of her baby’s blonde head. “Auntie August looks like she’s about to take a runner, Sam.”
“Take a runner?”
She made a face. “Todd was sick of Stargate , so he got BritBox to keep us company during all the late-night feedings, and I think it’s starting to rub off on me. I’m so thankful to be back at work. And I meant thinking of skipping town. Fleeing all the people waiting outside for your big entrance.”
Oh. That.
“She better not run,” Bernie threatened upon making her entrance. The short emerald-green dress highlighted her lean muscles and long legs. The small red flowers in her braid and the bow-and-arrow earrings were an inspired touch. “This event has been decades in the making.”
My sister stood beside her in a strikingly simple and—unique to this group— modern yellow dress that highlighted her flawless brown skin. She gave Bernie a look so dry, leaves would have crumbled to dust around her. “I don’t know if this particular event was decades in the making.”
“I thought Matrons of Honor were supposed to be supportive,” Phoebe said in a disbelieving tone as she gestured to my semi-prone position .
“I’m completely supportive!” Morgan defended. “August knows I didn’t mean the actual wedding. They’re great together and she’s beautiful and I’m so happy she’s doing this. I just meant…you know. The theme .”
She gestured toward the bar and what I knew lay beyond.
This was what happened when I, in a moment of weakness and lemony camaraderie—and after realizing the time crunch involved—decided to turn my wedding planning into another team project.
Since Retta rules didn’t apply to weddings, I could and did accept help from all comers, including Chick. And, of course, Lucy, the romantic who had flash-mobbed his wife and recently read all my books in preparation for the final one’s release next year.
The event that evolved from that was what might happen if Lemons, The Renaissance Festival and my fictional fantasy world got together and had a baby. Every wild dream Lucy had? Chick had the props to bring it to fruition and Wade had the local connections to make it happen. Including having the block cordoned off by the police chief for our wedding and reception.
It was over the top and ridiculous.
I kind of loved it. So did the publicist my agent had sent to start scheduling my promotional comeback tour. She was putting pics of the décor on my new Instagram account at this very moment.
I knew that because my phone kept pinging.
They’d loved my book so much that the long wait had been all but forgiven. And they’d somehow discovered my pen name when my self-published, a-little-too-spicy, close proximity romcom started climbing the bestsellers list and decided to stay there for a while. My agent told me they were offering a ridiculous sum for it and the next two books in the series that hadn’t been written yet.
I’d already been working on book two before she talked to me, but not in any kind of hurry. Not because I was struggling with writer’s block anymore. That was no longer my problem.
You could say I was a little busy now having something called a life.
Wade had taken me to Maine for a long weekend. We rented a house on the water and spent most of the time, when we weren’t sightseeing or eating, in bed. It was as romantic and beautiful as I’d always imagined.
Then we returned home and got back to work. We spoiled the dogs, started having date nights and hosting family dinners—I bought an outdoor table and Wade put up a pergola exactly for that reason—and just took some time to find out how it felt to live together day to day.
Not a lot of time, mind you. When he proposed on Thanksgiving and asked for a wedding before New Year’s, I said yes right away, because Bernie was right about this being decades in the making. We weren’t crazy kids. We were adults who’d finally found our way to each other. It seemed like a waste of time to put our future on hold when we knew what we wanted.
After that, when Lucy and Chick wanted to co-plan the wedding? I said yes again, especially since that meant Chick would extend his stay in the apartment indefinitely, calling it a “much-needed sabbatical” while he rethought his career path.
Now that I wasn’t such a hot mess, I really needed to figure out what was going on with my best friends. Both of them.
“We’ve lost her again.” Bernie was snapping her fingers in front of me. “What’s this face about? Are you writing another book in there or do you need a doctor?”
“If she asks for a getaway car, I’ve still got Pedro on standby.”
“She doesn’t need a getaway car, and I thought you two broke up.”
“We were spending time together, not dating. He’s still a nice guy who likes my money. ”
I blinked in surprise. “When did Chick get here?”
“Whew,” Morgan said, handing me a bottle of water. “You’re blinking and talking. Those are good signs. Chick’s been here a while now, August. And we sent Phoebe out with the dogs, and to make sure everything’s set up for your moment.”
Chick reached for my hands and got me standing up straight, smiling as he took in my dress, hair and makeup. “Iris does good work.”
He’d given me a stylist as a wedding present.
I’d decided I was too old to wear white, so we’d found the perfect silver dress for my figure. It was a little classic curvy Hollywood, a little Fae queen reigning supreme and, since it ended at my ankles so I wouldn’t trip and embarrass myself in front of everyone I knew, it was also exactly right for me.
I had a few strategically placed roses in my hair, which I’d worn down at Wade’s request. In my ears were a pair of my mother’s favorite earrings, silver trinity knots—to represent our family trio. They were my only jewelry apart from my engagement ring. And the last time I’d looked at my makeup before I started hyperventilating, I could safely say I looked better than I ever had in my life. If I had the money, Iris would live with me and do this every morning. And Tony too, because he’d made the trip to help with my hair.
“You’re stunning, sunshine,” Chick confirmed with a slight catch in his voice. “You have nothing to be nervous about. The big lug is already losing his mind out there waiting for you. You’re going to blow him away.”
They didn’t understand. “I’m not freaking out about marrying Wade. Or the fact that the street is currently decorated like the magical wildwoods of my dreams.” I squeezed his hand. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
“Between your mother’s friends and mine, we know some talented set designers,” he said easily. “It wasn’t a big deal. ”
It was a huge deal. “I love it. I love you. All of you.”
“Then do you mind telling us what you’ve been freaking out about, if it isn’t marrying my brother?” Bernie asked, sounding irritated.
“Everything.” That was honestly the best I could do at the moment. Everything I felt. Everything that had happened these last five months. Everything I knew was coming. It was all so much more than I thought I would have. For a moment, it had simply overwhelmed me.
“That makes sense,” my sister said sarcastically, but her smile was soft with understanding.
“It does to me too.” Chick patted his chest, drawing my attention to the expensive and stylish suit that he’d said was a subtle homage to the chaotically neutral sorcerer I’d added into my second series with him in mind. All black, apart from the white rose in his lapel and the diamond-encrusted lemon that matched the small fruits scattered in my bouquet, because we’d decided the race deserved an honorable mention in the day.
It looked gorgeous on him.
“She has a new life, a new dog, a soon-to-be new husband and she’s a successful author again. Not to mention branching out into a new genre,” Chick continued. “It’s a lot to take in, but I’ve always known it would come to this.”
“I don’t think she’s freaking out about her career five minutes before her wedding,” Bernie said doubtfully.
“Gene said she’s on the road to making more with this book than her previous two contracts combined.”
I goggled a bit at Morgan’s words, but if Gene said it, it must be true.
Then I frowned at Chick. “What do you mean, you knew it would come to this?”
“I didn’t know you’d write romance,” he admitted, “but I knew from the moment we met you were romcom-heroine material waiting to happen. Clumsy, cute and nursing a king-size crush on the unattainable guy back home. Tale as old as time.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. I was clumsy and I’d never forgotten about Wade. I couldn’t. He was in all my books.
“All the tropes belong to you,” he continued with a humorous twist of his lips. “The off-limits friend of your sister. Only one bed.”
“That didn’t turn out the way I expected it to.”
“The Mrs. Roper trope.”
“That’s not a trope,” I argued. “And honestly? Can we all agree it should never be one? Ladies perving on skewed power dynamics is just as disturbing as the reverse. Why are we even talking about this?”
“To stop you from freaking out while we wait for Phoebe to get back,” he said without batting an eye. “You’re welcome.”
I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. “I love you, Chick.”
“I’m not sure why no one told me about the only-one-bed trope,” my sister said to a slightly out-of-breath Phoebe.
“Because you’re the sister,” Bernie told her. Then her eyes widened and she turned to me. “ I’m about to be the sister too.”
“I’ll still tell you things,” I promised.
“Not as much as she’ll tell me,” Chick added with a sly smile. “I mean, you’re still his sister.”
The radio that had been standing silent on a nearby table buzzed with static. “Wedding Master to Little Sister.”
“Oh good lord, we can’t escape it,” Morgan said, rubbing her temple.
I reached for it with an apologetic shrug. “Whatcha got for me?”
“You still don’t understand how this is supposed to work. Music starts in two minutes. Get ready.”
I instantly started sweating again. “Why did I fall for a man who lives in the cowboy equivalent of the Amazon? It shouldn’t be seventy-something degrees a few days before Christmas.”
“Too late now.” Morgan sounded suddenly cheerful. “The roots are planted and you are stuck. Especially since Gene’s friends have clearly adopted you.”
I had roots now.
And it wasn’t only Lucy and Rick. A surprising number of people from the Lemons community had wanted to participate in Mom’s Viking funeral, which thankfully wasn’t illegal since Rick managed to get us a permit. Several boats were on the water as we blasted Edith Piaf and Lee Marvin and gave Sam Retta the dramatic, musical bonfire of a sendoff she’d always wanted.
Some of them were still sending me messages online about the next race, despite the fact that I’d adamantly declared my intention to never get into a racecar again.
But I had agreed to a rally, and as far as they were concerned, that meant there was still a chance I’d change my mind and join them in That Lemon Life.
Chick clapped his hands together as Phoebe joined us again. “Last looks, ladies. It may be warm, but at least your colors are holiday themed. You look like a breathtaking group of beautiful Christmas balls.”
“I look like the sexy elf assassin I inspired her to write about,” Bernie corrected seriously, making Phoebe chuckle.
“Yes, you’re amazing,” she assured her mother. “Now let’s line up so we don’t miss our cue.”
When the music started, Bernie swore under her breath and I snickered through the tears I was hoping were dainty enough not to ruin all of Iris’s work.
“Everyone else got to put their stamp on the day,” I told her as she grumbled. “And she distracted me with your beautiful grandchild.”
I didn’t admit that I’d gotten misty-eyed when Phoebe played an incredible instrumental version of Taylor Swift’s song “Lover” for me, with the lyrics on the screen so I could read along.
Phoebe blew us both a kiss as she picked up her smaller bouquet and, with one hand on Sammy’s back, started walking out in time with the music.
“I can’t believe she got members of my band to play this with a violinist and no one told me. She doesn’t get the DJ controls for the rest of the night,” Bernie said, following her daughter and granddaughter out the door.
“I’m not going to cry, so I’m leaving now. See you out there, sis.” Morgan blew me a kiss and got moving as well, leaving me alone with Chick.
He straightened his suit jacket. “Are you ready for this?”
I thought about those notebook doodles when I was thirteen. The initials carved into someone else’s closet. The way Wade had looked at me last night when we separated after the rehearsal dinner, despite the fact that we lived together and were in our forties and shouldn’t have to follow every silly wedding tradition.
“I think I’ve been ready for a long time.”
I was getting married. To the right man, no less. How often could anyone be this sure about something like that?
I slipped my arm through Chick’s and we walked out the back door of the icehouse, rounded the building and stepped into the aforementioned over-the-top fairyland.
“I might not like shopping montages, but I love this,” I told him quietly, taking it in now that the sun had set and the “trees” were lit up with twinkling lights.
“I have to say, I’m loving this second act of your life, August Retta, soon to be Hudson. We would have had fun at the beach house too, but this? It suits you.”
He stopped before we became visible to the guests and bent to pick up a shoe box leaning against the building. “He wanted me to give you this right before you walked down the aisle. ”
“Now? We don’t have time?—”
He opened the box quickly, revealing my favorite brand of slip-on sneakers with pillowy insoles. And they were silver, to match my dress.
“He says they’re for the reception, but he wanted you to see them before you said I do. I’m assuming this is an inside joke and you know what it means.”
“Comfortable shoes.”
“At this point in my life, I don’t need flowers and puppies or soul mates and magic. I’d much rather have honesty pools, orgasms and comfortable shoes.”
He’d given me all of it. The romance and the reality.
I waved my free hand at my brimming eyes. “Is he trying to ruin my makeup?”
Chick set the box down and guided me forward, which was awesome because I couldn’t see clearly through the sheen of tears.
I blinked rapidly, and when I could focus again, I barely saw the people standing up to watch me walk down the aisle—with the exception of Rick and Lucy, because they were wearing some of the loudest costumes I’d ever seen. And the biggest smiles. Rick was actually smiling.
But all that got from me was a quick double take. I was too focused on the man waiting at the end of the path. The handsome giant in the tux, who’d seen me at my hermitting worst and loved me anyway.
I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.
WADE
“Hold steady, man,” Kingston said from his spot beside me. “You don’t want to be passing out on camera.”
At least my best man had a film student holding that camera tonight. And an aerial drone he was controlling with his phone to cover the wedding from the air. “Good looking out. Think you’ve got enough coverage?” I asked sarcastically.
“Hey, I’m doing this for free so you can remember the insanity forever. You’re a grumpy old bastard, and if it were up to August, you’d only have Snapchat pics as a wedding album, but I love you both anyway.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “I’m happy for you, Wade. She’s good for you.”
Yeah. She was.
The music started and my niece and her baby appeared at the end of the aisle, surrounded on either side by family, friends and half the neighborhood.
At one point in the midst of planning, August had suggested we elope to Vegas, but I’d said no. I knew that wasn’t what either of us wanted. I’d done the civil ceremony. This time, I wanted the spectacle. With her. For her.
I leaned around Kingston to glance at my groomsmen. Todd was dressed in a well-fitted suit and staring at his fiancé and child with adoration. They were planning an April wedding.
Gene was on the other side of him, in a full kilt with a jaunty hat tilting drunkenly on his head. The guys were all wearing their Ren Fest gear for the occasion. Because of course they were.
In the front row was my stepson Cody in a sedate suit. He offered me a genuine smile when he caught me looking his way. August had been right about him remembering me. We’d exchanged emails and phone calls for a few weeks before I asked if he wanted to come to the wedding. He’d agreed, and he’d brought his partner along, a good guy named Steve—a dentist who happened to be a fan of August’s book series. He had his arm through Cody’s and was smiling like he’d won some sort of sweepstakes.
I’d always regretted losing touch. Having him here was more than I could have hoped for.
I turned back to the aisle in time to watch my sister posing, pretending to draw a bow and arrow and causing several people in the crowd to chuckle. Then Morgan was gliding toward us in yellow and Gene whistled under his breath.
It was her wedding, and before that her mother’s, that had started all of this. Nearly twenty years later, I was finally having a Retta wedding of my own.
If you’d told me six months ago I’d be standing here right now, happier and more nervous than I’d ever been in my whole damn life, I’d have called you a liar. Things like this didn’t happen to stick-in-the-mud, stuck-in-their-ways mechanics like me. We didn’t get married to the woman of our dreams on streets transformed into magical forests. We didn’t have to get a brand-new passport photo to take our new wife to Lesa before a week-long stay in Tuscany, complete with cooking lessons for yours truly. Guys like me weren’t this lucky.
But I wasn’t the same guy anymore. Not since August announced that she loved me in the middle of the car race she was driving in, in front of everyone we knew. If she could find the courage to do that, I could be the kind of man she deserved. At least, I’d spend the rest of my life trying.
“Here she comes,” the woman to my right murmured. Lucy’s wife, Julia, was ordained and had agreed to marry us. She was standing behind a beautiful podium, with her notes in front of her and two beribboned water bottles beside her.
My future wife had told her about the honesty pool, and she’d thought it was so adorable, she couldn’t resist adding it into the ceremony .
August stepped onto the aisle with Chick beside her and the violin music, the people in the crowd…everything else disappeared and all I could see was this woman. My woman. She took my breath away.
“I dazzle you?”
Damn right she did.
If I’d had nerves, they were gone. She was walking toward me, smiling the way she always did when she saw me, those deep blue eyes sparkling with happy tears. When she sped up on the petal-strewn aisle and stumbled, I stepped forward instinctively, ready to catch her. Then Chick said something that made her laugh and she straightened, making her way to me at a slower pace.
When they finally reached me, I met Chick’s gaze as he said, “Take care of our girl, Captain.”
“I will.” I always would.
I hooked an arm around her and pulled her close. “Holy bananas, you look beautiful,” I teased under my breath while I willed my hands to stop shaking.
“You do too. This is crazy,” she whispered, beaming at me as I turned us toward Lucy’s wife. “I can’t believe they put this together so fast. I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”
“I can’t believe we waited this long.”
According to all the video evidence, we said our vows on the street between the garage and the icehouse. Or Hudson Forest, as the guests had taken to calling it after a few pints of free ale.
My sister sang for our first dance, and Morgan cried in public, though she swore to everyone that would listen it was dust in her eyes. Watching her and August on the temporary dance floor, laughing as they tried to remember what were obviously some choreographed moves from their childhood and teach them to Cody and his partner, was one of the highlights for me. The way Gus smiled and showed off her silver sneakers for me, blowing me a kiss.
And in the parking lot of my shop, hidden by both real and fake trees, Jiminy sat on an elevated platform for the day, to honor Sam Retta and the race that had brought us closer together.
She’d done a lot for me over the years, but bringing August back home felt more like some of that divine intervention I didn’t believe in. I owed her one hell of a favor for that, Retta rules or not.
She would have loved this party even more than she’d liked the last one.
Almost as much as I loved my wife.
August’s initial and supposedly private notes about a potential new romance series revolving around an amateur car race (Read by Chick at the reception).
Lemons get a bad rap.
Why do people think that apples keep the doctor away and coconuts can potentially cure all ills, but lemons are duds? Who decided that?
Maybe we could start a new trend by calling disappointing things kiwis or pomegranates. The fruit-to-seed ratio on those babies is ridiculously unsatisfying despite their expense. And kiwis have fur .
Conversely, lemons are used in everything. They can remove a stain, lighten your hair and add that extra zip to your home-cooked meal or beverage of choice.
So, what’s with the shitty branding?
The saying “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade” is meant to be aspirational. As in, “Got a lot of nothing good in your life? Get creative and make it into something better.”
Add sugar. Add alcohol. Add a weird but wonderful race, friends who support your crazy and at least one person who loves you unconditionally, flaws and all.
It worked for me.