My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. This woman is in an impossible situation, hampered at every end by man-made barriers that hurt her son and his future. Deborah’s eyes must register the utter loss I’m at, because the hope she had when I walked in has faded to a keen, piercing resignation.
Impulsively, I take her hands in mine. “Deborah, I don’t have an answer for you yet, but I’m going to. I promise.”
Deborah makes a small, choked sound that’s part relieved laughter, part despair too set in to ever fully leave. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispers, then smiles.
Nomi looks up from her game, her eyes soft and grateful.
It’s a somber parting for the adults, but Charlie seems invigorated by the ass-kicking he delivered to Nomi and her purple raptor. It’s hard not to notice the difficulty he has walking us to the door, the way his thin legs struggle with an even gait. When he gives me a nod goodbye, the universally acceptedman’s goodbye, I smile and give it right back. I meant what I said—I’m going to help this family.
I just don’t know how yet.
Nomi and I ride in silence back to the dispensary, but not because I have nothing to say. The truth is, I havetoomuch I want to say, and none of it feels adequate enough to express how I feel. I want to tell Nomi how… howimpressedI am with how she treats people. How much they trust her, like her, how much they appreciate what she does for their quality of life. I want to apologize. I want to take back all the digs I made about cannabis. More than anything, I wish I could take back how I accused her of manipulating people in need because nothing could be further from the truth. She truly cares about these people. These clients were once strangers, and now are so much more. How many patients have crossed my path with stories like Charlie’s that I never cared enough to hear? How much suffering have I dismissed because it’s common, or worse,justifiable, by blaming people’s actions? I want to confess how guilty I feel for trying to stop Nomi’s dispensary, for creating yet another obstacle to her clients’ struggle to have better lives. I want to say all this, and more.
When we reach the dispensary, the sun’s lazy rays paint Nomi’s long, brown hair with strands of fire and bronze, the pale freckles that dot her cheekbones pronounced in the day’s heat. Nomi’s always been beautiful, but my chest could crack from seeing how beautiful shereallyis, just walking through this world, trying to help.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOMI
My alarm starts bleeping at five thirty a.m., summoning an anguished cry from my sleepy soul. All night long, I dreamt of Julian. All my usual dreams, but now starring that absolute menace. The class I forgot I was taking until the day of the exam? Julian was the teacher. Wandering around a never-ending mall? Julian was at my side, sucking up an Icee that stained his lips a sweet, cherry red. Running from a faceless murderer? Julian hid me in his basement that had a cozy, roaring fire and wasn’t a basement at all, but like, a very fancy ski cabin?
Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
Julian’s made incredible strides these last few weeks in understanding cannabis, but he still blames it for whatever happened to his father. And until recently, he was tryingenthusiasticallyto ruin my dreams at great personal cost to me. More than that, he’s annoying. He’s obnoxiously competitive. And he looks amazing in short shorts!
I frown at the tangent, but the point stands. The man’s got legs more mouthwatering than a Renaissance Faire.
Still.Still.Just because we have this crackling sexual energy between us doesn’t mean we’re compatible humans. He can’t be a decent person for three weeks and erase all the bullshit he’s put me through. But hispassionate promise to Deborah yesterday sent me into an existential spiral so alarming, I ended up vaping Frankenbush so I could sleep.
It was a great plan, until the terpenes hit. Horny pot was the last thing I needed after Julian looked at me so reverently last night, like he didn’t see all my wasted potential for once and instead sawme, who I am now, what I stand for now, and understood that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
I masturbated half the night.
I grab my phone to silence the buzzing alarm, but there’s a text there, sent an hour ago.
JULIAN FUCKING D’ANGELO
This is Doctor Asshole. Stay in bed and get some extra sleep—I’ll handle the morning rush. See you later.
I blink at the words. Am I still dreaming?
Nope, I’m awake and now suffering from an entirely inadvisableswoonthat sweeps over me. My head sags against my pillow, and when I drift back to sleep, I dream of—who else?
Julian.
I roll into the dispensary at the lovely hour of ten a.m., just after the morning rush, but still during the steady thrum of business that Julian, with his delicious coffee drinks and fine fucking ass, has drummed up on his own.
“Welcome to Stranger Coffee,” Julian announces without looking up. Eve is working alongside him, forking over pastries made with normal, undrugged butter for customers, while Graham sits at the counter. I take a moment to observe the unlikely trio before declaring myself.
“I’m not saying you’re evil. But Iamsaying you’re a complete prick.” Eve’s standing with her arms crossed, a look of grudging respect on her face. “It’s almost pathological.”
Julian huffs, then swings a white dish towel over his shoulder in this weirdly sexual way that, frankly, should be illegal.
DoIhave aGilmore Girlsmean coffee-shop-man kink?
“Look, if you cut the line in my coffee shop, I’m going to make an example out of you.” Julian shrugs. “Baby or no.”
The possessive, bossy way he just saidmy coffee shopheats my neck with pleasure.
