Which was saying something, since I’d been on edge ever since Gram and I had gotten here. Lucas might’ve been wandering around here somewhere, and the idea of running into him turned my spine into goo.
“How’s it coming?” Gram asked as she came in from the back door, holding an empty pitcher. Her costume was something from the renaissance era, or themed like it, the dress red with pale parchment-colored stripes running down the length of her sides. “I’m going to need another one. They’re downing it out there. Mrs. Hart practically drank this whole pitcher. I also didn’t miss how much champagne she poured into her glass, either.”
“Of course she did,” I said with a confident smile, pulling out the whisk.
Gram reached for the pitcher in front of me. “I’ll take this one. Can you mix up another and bring it out?”
“Yes, ma’am. More lemonade coming up.”
“Don’t forget the ratios,” she reminded me, grabbing the lemonade and heading for the door. “Four-to-one.”
I waved her out of the kitchen as I moved to the fridge, my heels clicking on the tile floor. Mrs. Avery was kind enough to let us keep our supplies stocked in her kitchen, making it so much easier than carting around coolers or even driving the food truck.
Uncle John and Aunt Aimee usually manned the food truck whenever we ran it—Gram got too nervous driving it and felt too isolated working in it. But since Donnie and his family had plans today, Mrs. Avery let us steal some of her refrigerator space.
I pulled out the lemon juice, filtered water, and the frozen raspberries from the fridge, carrying all the items to the counter. Gram always ranted and raved about her four-to-one ratio of water to lemon juice, but ever since she’d handed over lemonade-making duty to me, I secretly used a ratio of three-to-one. She’d say that was too sour, but since this was the fourth pitcher of lemonade I’d stirred up today, I had a feeling I’d gotten it right.
“Hey, Blaire.”
I jumped at the sound of Delia’s voice, finding her in the doorway of the kitchen. She hung back, one arm crossed over her pink dress to rub her other one. Someone—probably her mother—had braided her hair to look like a crown on her head.
“You’re quiet,” I said, looking closely at her expression. Just like last night, she seemed reserved, almost nervous. “I didn’t even hear you walk up.”
“I couldn’t decide what I wanted to wear.” Her attention locked onto the pitcher in front of me and all the ingredients I’d laid out on the counter. “Are you making your lemonade?”
I touched the jar of lemon juice. “Yep. Do you want to help me?”
That shook some of the nervousness out of her. “Sure. I always love your lemonade.” Delia went over to the breakfast bar side of the island and grabbed a barstool, dragging it noisily across the floor. “You used to make it a lot last summer, right?”
“I did. Your brother didn’t like it, though. He said it was too sour.” I could still remember how his lips had puckered the first time he’d tried it.
Delia rolled her eyes. “That’s because he’s too sweet.”
“Can someone be too sweet?”
She knelt on the top of the barstool, leaning her forearms onto the countertop. “Oh, yeah. Like when they’re so sweet that it makes you want to puke. Like double-chocolate cookies. Yuck.”
A startled laugh ripped its way out of me as I uncapped the container of sugar. “I think you’re the only kid I know who doesn’t like double-chocolate cookies, Delia.”
Delia kicked her feet against the edge of the barstool, tossing her head to the side. “Lucas doesn’t like them, either.”
“Can you pass me the lemon juice?” I could’ve easily reached the bowl, but I wanted her to feel useful. She wrapped her hands around it and slowly edged it over, hardly sloshing the juice at all. I rinsed the pitcher out before bringing it back to the countertop. After setting the measuring cup in front of Delia, I told her to portion out one full scoop. “So what’s new with you? How’s school?”
“It’s all right,” she said with a shrug. “This month has been fun with all the Halloween crafts and stories and everything. We have a costume party next Friday, where we’re going to go trick-or-treating to every classroom.”
“That’s fun.”
“Yeah, Spencer and I are going to dress up as old people.” She tried to hide a smile, pressing her palm against her face. “Mom’s taking me to the store soon to get a costume.”
“Spencer?” I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit at her crush, her little third-grade romance. Adorable. In the third grade, I’d had two crushes: Tommy Creston and Lucas Avery. “Is he nice?”
Delia’s little cheeks turned red, and the color traveled down her neck. “I guess.”
“Is he your best friend?”
She made sure not to meet my eye, her reddening face only deepening in color. “I guess.”
The thought still had me smiling, but I decided to let the topic pass. After mixing in the lemon juice and the water, I reached for our special blue raspberry syrup. “You know, if you wanted, you could come over to the apartment and look at our costume room. I don’t think Gram would mind. You might find something fun for your costumes.”
“That would be totally cool!” She gasped, giving me a disbelieving smile. “Oh my gosh, I’ve always wanted to go in there. I bet your Gram has so much cool old-people stuff.”
“Delia Ann,” a new voice said, tone properly chastising. “That wasn’t nice at all.”
Once again, I jumped at the new voice, nearly upsetting the pitcher of lemonade.
Delia let out a sigh. “Mom, I said cool old-people stuff. Cool is a good thing.”
“I’m more concerned with the phrase old people,” Mrs. Avery said, shutting the sliding glass door to the backyard behind her.
She wore a dress that came down to mid-calf, a silky sort of material that looked both elegant and comfortable. But it was a vibrant, ugly orange color, and that made it even better. She must’ve taken markers or something to it, because stripes of purple and green were drawn all over the fabric, not opaque enough to be paint.
Mrs. Avery’s expression softened as she looked at me. “Blaire, it’s so good to see you. I’ve been meaning to come over and speak with you, but these people will not let me sneak away. I told them I had to go to the bathroom—no one wanted to follow me then.”
My laugh probably came out much more nervous than I wanted it to.
In all honesty, the idea of speaking with her made me jittery. Even though she was nice, she was Lucas’s mom. Donnie had taken my side in the breakup because he was family; surely Mrs. Avery had an opinion about how everything had gone down.
I glanced to my side. “Delia’s been helping me make my famous lemonade.”
I dumped in the appropriate amount of sugar, and Delia grabbed the spoon to stir everything together. Mrs. Avery and I watched her movements, all three of us quiet enough for the voices outside to filter inside.
“Can I run it out to Gram, Blaire? I promise I’ll be careful.”
My gaze automatically shifted to Mrs. Avery’s. If Delia took it outside, I’d be left alone with her mom—and who knew how that’d go? But if I said no, Delia would shut down, even more than she’d already been around me. And since I didn’t have a good excuse, I found myself nodding.