Author's Introduction:

I keep telling myself to post these…like redesigning the small room I live in, things go slowly, but eventually I arrive.

I don't own CSI, unless DVDs count. To me, they do.

Entrepreneur

A CSI fanfiction by Firestar9mm (formerly Serena4)

It had been difficult to lug the heavy cooler all the way out to the curb, even in her wagon, but she'd insisted she didn't need any help and now aforementioned cooler was teetering precariously on the edge of the warped card table that her mother had helped her set up. There was also a stack of plastic cups on the table, and a pile of napkins, just in case, as well as a shoe box to hold the day's income. There was one larger plastic cup, and a packet of straws.

She was open for business.

Sitting in her metal folding chair, swinging her feet, Lindsey Willows mapped out her day. She could pretty much predict how it was going to go. There would be the surge of neighborhood kids, and her mother would probably buy a pity glass or two, but the most money—and the most fun—would come from her regulars.

Lindsey never found out how her regulars had discovered her the first time. Her mother had probably dropped a hint or two to them. It didn't matter. They had found her, and now she could set her watch by them—if she had had a watch.

She'd almost forgotten to set out her sign. The capital "n" in "Lemonade" was written backwards to tug the heartstrings and bring in business; she was glad she was missing one of her front teeth. That helped too.

As usual, the first of her regulars to show up was Warrick Brown, but not because he was a morning person—more because he was usually coming down from a long, possibly wild night.

"How's my favorite girl?" he asked, knocking on her table.

She grinned her toothless grin at him. "You could go inside and ask her. She's watching Good Morning America."

Warrick mock-frowned at her. "It's not nice to tease your customers, Linds. That's no way to make a sale."

It was time to give him the puppy eyes. "You'll still buy, won't you, Warrick?" She dug into her pocket for a shiny quarter and held it up. "How about heads you do, tails you don't?"

Warrick's pale, arresting eyes twinkled. "You got yourself a bet, little lady." He took the quarter and balanced it on his thumb. With a flick, the quarter spun shiny, then dull, then shiny in the light. Warrick caught it, then slapped it quickly down on his wrist, out of Lindsey's sight.

"Which is it?" she asked. "Heads or tails?"

"Make mine a large," he sighed, smiling at her without showing her the quarter. Lindsey never knew if it had landed on heads or tails. It didn't matter. Warrick never told her and he always bought a glass of lemonade.

Her next regular to stroll by was Nick Stokes. Nick was a morning person, and it showed in his smile, as bright and cheerful as the sunlight they currently sat in.

"How's business?" he asked.

"Getting better," Lindsey chirped back. "Would you like to buy some lemonade?"

"Sure would." He handed over a crisp five-dollar bill. "All I've got's a fin, though."

Lindsey opened the jewelry box that had been her mother's, pawing through the money inside. "I don't have any change, Nick," she said worriedly. "Stay here, and I'll run inside and ask my mom—"

Nick interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "No big, Linds. You keep the change."

"Really? Thanks, Nick!" Her smile was genuine.

So was his. "You bet." Nick Stokes, sweeter than the sugar she used in the lemonade.

The mercury rose as the afternoon came, bringing neighborhood kids and gardening housewives alike to her table. She poured glasses and shared smiles, waiting for her last regular to show up. Finally, at 3 PM, her patience was rewarded.

Truck doors slammed and boots crunched on the pavement. Sara Sidle stretched long, slim arms over her head. "Double shifts," she announced, "suck."

"The Queen of Overtime doesn't want to work? I'm shocked." That was Gil Grissom—or "Uncle Gil", around Lindsey's neck of the woods. "But you're right," he continued. "We need a break."

Together they walked over to the table where Lindsey sat waiting. He lowered his sunglasses as he smiled at her "How's the lemonade, Lindsey?"

"You tell me, Uncle Gil." She poured the remainder of the lemonade into the large glass she'd been saving for his arrival.

"Big glass," he commented. "Do I have to pay extra?"

"It's the only glass I have left," Lindsey said, trying to look innocent as she put two straws in the glass. "Here. Maybe Sara wants to share."

He chuckled. "Maybe she does." Offering the glass to Sara, he said, "Lemonade?"

Sara tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then closed her lips around the shorter straw and sipped. "Thanks."

"One dollar, please," Lindsey said in her most polite voice.

Handing Lindsey a single, he said to Sara, "You're a cheap date."

Pointing a finger at him, Sara addressed Lindsey. "Can you believe this guy?"

Lindsey only smiled. "Don't worry, Sara. I'll charge two dollars next time."

Author's Notes:

My boss told me a story about how she used to cheat people at her lemonade stand when she was a kid. Lindsey Willows and I giggled over lemonade at lunch and it turned into this.