Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lemon
“You’d be an okay CEO, I guess.”
“You guess?” I shove him off the path. “Jerk!”
“Those were prickly plants, Lem. That hurt. My body is still raw from our morning.”
I laugh out loud, brushing the prickly things off his back. “Now that is what she said.”
“Oh, I get it.” He rolls his eyes. “Even if you’re not the best CEO, you’ll still be hilarious to have around the office, you know? Distracting, that’s for sure.” He curves his lips.
“Shut up. You’ll be working for me, you know. Don’t forget that.”
He narrows his gaze, squeezing my ass as we walk.
The girls hold hands while we follow Jeremy, Katie, and Dom to the cheer camp Bryar finally gets to attend, on a team ceremony day and all. How’s that for destiny?
Kimmie hasn’t left her twin’s side since this morning, the once protected one turned protector. Their bond is amazing. With so few words, they say everything. They feel it in their hearts and shout it with their eyes.
Like someone else I know.
“You know,” he goads, “I bet you’re gonna be the first CEO in the history of all time to have a Bone Me tattoo on your ass.”
“Very funny.” I shake my head. “You’ve seen the proof I was joking.”
“Have I?” His eyes drop to my waist. “I don’t think I remember. Maybe I hit my head back there on the branches and you should jog my memory.”
“My first order of business when I take over, in fact, will be to have you sign a big, fat NDA. A whole stack of them, come to think of it.” I rise on my tiptoes and brush my nose against his.
“You know too much. And I’m only agreeing to any sort of partnership if thirty percent of all proceeds go to the Pine Forest homeless shelter. ”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else. And I don’t mind. As you know, I’m a lousy millionaire.” He boops my nose. “So, you’re gonna take your father up on the offer, then? Work with me? Be the next CEO?”
I turn my head and look at the valley below, the one we scaled above in a single hike. What could we accomplish together with a lifetime?
“Or have you decided to climb the mountain?”
“What if I do both?” I ask.
He mulls that over, chewing on the question between his plump, kissable lips. “Depends on what you want your next charm to be, doesn’t it?”
I twist my naked wrist. “I’m not doing those anymore.”
“No?”
“I never realized how much they felt like chains, my symbols of freedom. Isn’t that funny how they could be one in the same?”
“Good thing the parasites have them, then.” His lips curve.
“Oliver Love! That was a good one! Look at you.”
“You like it?”
I kiss him.
“I like it more than your ‘she said’ jokes.” I smile. “But I’m just glad to see you joking. I always knew there was a fun part of you, deep, deep, like way deep down inside.”
He swats my ponytail. “You made your point.”
“I’m sorry I assumed you were just a hot, sexy grump. If I’d known you were learning to grieve…or avoiding grieving, rather…”
He rolls his eyes.
“Sorry. You know what I mean. Death is not easy. And it never will be. But neither is life, right? We just have to trust the process and enjoy the adventure.”
“You’re wise beyond your years, Lemon Perkins.” His hand captures mine. “How did you know all that, about grief? About learning to live with it?”
“My mom,” I admit. “I’m still healing from that grief, I think.
Piece by piece, every day.” I frown. “But when Randall, Shana’s father, passed, I was gutted.
Losing him was like losing my mother all over again.
But then there was you and your girls, and somehow, Oliver, healing your family was what I needed to heal my heart. ”
“That was beautiful, Lem.”
“Thanks for listening,” I say as we cross a narrow creek. “I know I can be a lot.”
“That’s where you're wrong, Sour Patch, I like you that way. Please don’t ever be less.”
“You mean it?”
“I do.” His eyes find mine. “You can climb that mountain and search the skies for starlight, Lemon Perkins, but you’ll never find it there. It lives in your soul.”
The evening fades into orange and yellow wisps as we gather around the cheerleading camp, singing songs and watching skits performed by the fire. The peace and calm of the evening is almost enough for the strife of before to fade away.
The twins learn a dance from the older girls while Poppy props against a tree sketching the sunset, and I could live right here in this moment for a lifetime, surrounded by joy and love.
I grab Oliver’s hand, and we sit back in a pair of Adirondack chairs to people-watch.
“Some of these kids have really weird clothes,” he whispers.
“Don’t you dare judge them. You’re just too old to know fashion. I happen to like that one girl’s…is that a skirt or a top?”
He gives me the side-eye. “See, the fact you can’t tell is the problem. And what about the hair styles? Some of them look bald!”
“You’re right…most of them…look bald.”
Oliver stands. “Are those razors?”
Around the campfire, several students have already begun shaving their heads.
“For Coach Jasmine,” a girl says. She shaves a strip of her long dark hair in one confident stroke, and she smiles as the others cheer.
Jeremy comes beside us and smiles. “We’re proud of your daughter, Daddy Nashville.”
“Please.” He shoots me a glare when I snicker. “Call me Oliver. But why do they have razors?”
“That’s why we’re proud of her. She organized this whole ceremony for Coach Jasmine.”
“Bryar planned this? This whole event? The food and the songs and the…”
“Shaving heads.” He nods. “Mhm. In honor of her mom.”
“Bryar?” Tears spring his eyes. “That’s why she wanted to come here. Not to sneak around or…”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Remember? We’re here for each other’s messes. Go fix this one, Love.”
“Bry!”
His daughter’s eyes snap to his, tears and determination spilling over lashes.
“Do it, then.” He nods.
And I sing with pride when she does.
Rebellious, brave, passionate Bryar follows her own damn heart.
“For Coach.” She buzzes a strip of hair to the ground. Without looking away, she does another, meeting her father’s stare this time. “For Mom.”
Oliver says nothing, just watches his daughter and breathes. When he holds out his own hand, Bryar’s brow pinches.
“For Lauren,” he croaks.
A tearful Bryar throws her arms around his neck and cries into his chest as silver hair sifts to the dirt.
“For Mom!” Poppy shouts.
Jeremy winks at Oliver. “Told you old men with sweatpants were in.” He hands me the razor. “For Randall Holiday?”
“For Randall Holiday,” I agree, and we shave our heads straight down the middle, too. “For the record,” I gather our girls around, “I’m staying, even after the summer’s over, if you’ll have me.”
They squeal, jumping and laughing and singing a thank you to the sky as love connects our souls.
“Something like starlight?” Oliver asks.
But I shake my head as the tears fall happily from my eyes, and I hold the world in a single hug.
“Something like us.”