As I am walking through the crowded festival, I notice her working at the lemon shake stand, which she tried to demolish earlier.
I stand back and observe her slicing and squishing the lemons in the little press thingy. She drops the lemon into the cup, adds sugar and water, and shakes.
Jesus. The girl can shake a lemon like no other. Her hair is falling slightly into her face and she uses her forearm to push it back obviously trying not to get lemon juice in her eyes. Apparently she has already made that mistake and learned from it.
The best part?
She has on a tight white shirt with two strategically placed lemons that say, “Shaken. Not stirred. “
Just call me James Bond, baby.
Suddenly I am very thirsty. Like a man on the
Foolishly, I chuckle at her. She growls at me and continues to talk to herself. Finally, after what seems like days, she hands me my drink. However, I don’t mind the wait because the view is sweet even though she is clearly embarrassed and totally sticky.
I reach my hand over to take my lemon decorated cup simply saying, “Hi. I’m Edward. Sticky looks good on you.”
And yes, that was most definitely a sexually laced comment.
I back away awkwardly bumping into a lady with a stroller. My drink sloshes at the sides of the cup deciding if it wants to spill over, so I take a quick sip trying to avoid a lemony sugar catastrophe. She giggles and I wave. Not the “back of the station wagon leaving Grandma’s house” wave just the, “one handed I’m too cool for words” wave.
Then I turn and run straight into some ginormous biker dude, spilling lemon shake all over his black leather vest. I am stunned for a moment while he decides if he wants to crack my skull open.
Please God. Let it be quick…and painless.
“Fuck. Shit. Fuuucckkkkk. Dude, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. My bad. I’m really sorry. Let me get you some napkins.” As I turn back to her stand to get some napkins she is laughing so hard she snorts. Literally snorts…like Miss Piggy. She shrugs her shoulders with an embarrassed blush and hands me a wet towel and a stack of napkins as I proceed to try to help Scary Mr. Biker Dude clean up.
As I am handing him a napkin and swiping at his vest simultaneously, he looks at me and says, “That your girl?” He motions his head towards the stand.
I look back at her and smile, more to myself than her.
“Not yet,” I answer him.