Coming Home to the Mountain: Complete Edition

1. Lemon

CHAPTER 1

Lemon

I take the final bend of Tender Trail toward my house, crossing the street, sweat running down my back, before stopping on my front porch and trying to catch my breath.

Looking at my wristwatch, I see I made good time for my six-mile run. But now I’m exhausted.

Of course, I'm not exhausted in the way I wish I were worn out. But since I don't have a sexual partner to get me all worked up in the way I want to be undone, I have to take matters into my own hands.

Lately, I've been exercising.

I smile as Mary, the owner of the neighboring bed and breakfast, waves hello. “You're working out every time I see you, Lemon,” she says with a smile.

“Yeah,” I say, wiping my brow, “got to get in those steps.” I laugh tightly. If she only knew. I'm working out because a girl can only use a vibrator so many times a day before it becomes obscene.

With that in mind, I step into my house, lock the door behind me, and walk straight to the shower, needing a quick rinse before I head to family dinner tonight.

God knows I'm sweaty as all get out after that run.

But maybe there’s time for a little more than a hot shower…

Honestly, nothing can ruin my mood right now. It's April first and spring has officially sprung here in Home, Washington. It's beautiful out and it makes my plans for my upcoming birthday week that much sweeter. I cannot wait to get to the lake house. Several days of nothing but reading and relaxing, completely unplugged.

Peeling the workout clothes from my body, I bite my bottom lip. I pull open the drawer of my bathroom cabinet and reach for a waterproof vibrator.

Licking my lips, I remember that it’s my early-birthday dinner tonight. I deserve a little bit of a treat to get it started. Who cares if I'm a little late for family dinner? I never throw caution to the wind. Heck, maybe that's my problem. Maybe that's why I haven't fallen in love. I'm 23 years old and a virgin.

After stepping into the steaming shower, I turn on my battery-operated boy toy, letting it hum between my legs as the warm water rolls over my shoulders. I close my eyes, imagining my latest alpha hero in the romance novel I've been reading. I always have half a dozen new releases downloaded on my tablet, and last night’s late-night read has given me plenty of inspiration.

Chiseled, muscular, a man with capable, strong hands, cupping my breasts. A mouth between my legs, licking me, touching me, making me wet. Making me come.

I lift my foot to the edge of the tub, making way for the vibrator to gain entrance. I press it deep inside myself, letting it move, and I turn up the speed, maneuvering the device against my clit as I begin to pleasure myself in the way I surely deserve. I'm not going to withhold myself from any amount of fun right now.

It's easy to imagine my ideal man.

God knows I've spent enough hours alone thinking about what it would be like to be in love— to be loved.

My family may think I'm sour. All sorts of prissy, a prude. Frigid is a word I've heard a few times. But I'm none of those things.

I just don't let my guard down around my family because they are rough around the edges. And I know that if I'm soft, they’ll eat me alive.

I've got to be ready to fight.

If I were to meet the right man for me, he would be my protector. The kind of man who would let me drop my guard. Let me relax. Assure me that my true colors are just fine.

Of course that man does not exist in Home, Washington.

My brothers are determined to scare any man away from me, telling themselves that no guy is good enough. Not just me—my sister Fig gets the same thing from our overprotective brothers.

And that thought has me all dried up. Any chance of an orgasm has left the building.

Groaning, I turn off the vibrator and finish showering.

Thoughts of my brothers ruin any mood real fast. Especially since I know Mac and Graham, my two younger brothers, saw my vibrator in my bathroom when they were here helping fix a leaky pipe last month. I was mortified beyond belief at their discovery, and they’ve been making comments ever since that I need a husband really bad .

I finish washing my hair and body before stepping out of the shower, annoyed that I didn't stay focused on my alpha hero and instead let my mind wander back to reality.

It’s probably for the best. I need to get up the mountain to my parents’ house.

All that talk of being late is false bravado. I care what my whole family thinks, and I don't want to let any of them down.

I've made it my life’s mission to be the good daughter, the one who's always there, taking care of everyone, stepping in. For the most part, I love that role.

But sometimes, as I'm getting a little bit older, I wonder if that choice has meant a sacrifice I didn't realize at the time. A choice that cost me love.

I don’t expect any big birthday celebration tonight because Mom and Fig are headed to Seattle tomorrow to catch a plane to California for Fig’s spring break trip.

My little sister is a senior in high school this year. And this trip is something she's been planning for a few months with my mom.

When I walk inside my parents’ house, I can't help but grin. Someone has put up streamers and a banner that says Happy Birthday Lemon .

In the kitchen, I see Mom has made my favorite birthday treat: a lemon tart, with fresh raspberries and whipped cream.

I smile, taking in the bouquet of tulips, my favorite flowers. My birthday is not for another two days, but since we won't be together on my actual birthday, I appreciate everyone putting this effort together for me now.

“You look surprised, Lemon,” Mom says as she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, walking over to me.

I shrug off my jean jacket. “I knew you were busy with leaving town tomorrow,” I say, giving her a hug. “But thank you.”

“Had to make your lemon tart.” She points to her signature pastry on the kitchen island.“I probably made and ate a hundred of those when I was pregnant with you.” She smiles at the memory, her eyes meeting my dad’s as he walks into the kitchen with a few bottles of white wine. Mom named us kids after her pregnancy cravings, and we all joke we’re lucky she wasn’t craving something like hot sauce or donuts. We might be Tabasco or Maple-Glazed.

My whole family's always here for Sunday dinner, and tonight is no exception. We take glasses of wine into the living room, catching up on one another’s weeks.

Rye and his new wife Prairie have just gotten back from their honeymoon. They went to Iceland, which seems insane. I didn't think my brother was ever gonna leave the state, let alone the country. And now Iceland ? But he and Prairie look so happy, with a glow about them, probably from the natural hot springs they explored on their trip. They can't keep their hands off each other, which makes me want to roll my eyes and barf, and also, well, I couldn't be happier for them.

Bartlett, the next oldest sibling, is married as well, for two months now, to Abby, the tightrope walker, who is also the most lovely, outgoing, and optimistic person in the world.

Graham was born after me, then Reuben, Mac, and Fig, who are all here too. And there is a pile of presents on the coffee table, which is one perk of having a large family.

My niece Plum, Reuben’s daughter—she's five—is twirling around in a leotard, showing off.

“You're gonna break something, Plum,” Abby tells her.

Thankfully, my parents have a pretty big living room. But Plum is going to break something, I can tell. Abby's eyes widen as Plum does a somersault.

Reuben lifts her up in the air, throwing her over her shoulder. “That is enough, you crazy animal,” he tells his daughter. “Dinner almost ready? This monkey needs a banana or something,” he says to Mom, walking toward the kitchen.

“When did she learn to somersault?” I ask Abby.

“She’s been coming to my studio. Pretty cute, right? The five-year-old class is adorable.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Dad calls. “Your favorite, Lemon. Extra capers.” My dad carries a platter of chicken piccata and pasta to the big table in the dining room where everyone finds a seat.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, coming up beside him.

“For what?” he asks. “I didn't do any of this; it’s all your mother's work.”

“I was gonna say thank you for giving me the week off. I know it's a lot to ask for.”

Dad smiles, putting the platter down. Then he wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You never ask for anything. You work way too many hours in that office. You need time off. Besides, you've gotten us more work this year than we've had in a decade. I don't know what you're doing to get so many clients but it's magic. So you need a break. And we have enough work as it is.”

Everyone sits at the table, napkins moving to laps. “So, when are you and Fig leaving for your flight, Mom?” I ask.

Fig grins. “We’re leaving tomorrow at 8 am for our flight at four. I really need to stop at a mall to grab a few things.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “We do not need to go shopping before we go to California, Fig.”

Fig smirks. “I know but?—”

“No buts,” Mom says. “We’re not going shopping before we go on a vacation. It’s just not happening. Your dad and I will check the itinerary tonight.”

I smile. “Well, I’m leaving bright and early, too, for the lake house.”

Dad makes sure everyone has a beverage before raising a glass. “Speaking of your birthday trip, let’s make a toast to our Lemon.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I look around the table at my family.

Everyone is being so kind and warm, and I appreciate that no one’s making any jabs.

“To Lemon,” Dad says. “For being so loyal, committed, and putting her family first.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Graham grins. “Yeah. And maybe this year you’ll find yourself a husband.”

I frown. “I don't need a man,” I say.

Graham looks over at Mac, my youngest brother, and grins. “Sure you don't.”

Mom gives them both a pointed look. “Boys, don't start. You're the reason she doesn't have a boyfriend in the first place.”

All the boys start laughing at that.

“It's not funny,” Fig says.

“You're only saying that,” Rye says, “because you're scared.”

“Yeah right,” Fig tosses back. “I'm not scared of anything.”

“Well, you should be,” Bartlett adds. “You should be scared because you're never going to fall in love. Not in this town. There's no man here good enough for either of you.”

Fig smirks. “Well, thankfully I'm not staying in this town. As soon as I graduate high school, I'm leaving Home forever. I'm not going to be like Lemon. She's stuck here. Me? I'm free as a bird.”

At that, my whole night falls flat.

It was supposed to be my birthday dinner with my family. But suddenly, it feels like a life sentence.