“Nomi,” Julian exhales my name in a small laugh. “I don’t choose to be this unlikable.”
“No,” I concede. “But you do choose to come out swinging. And I think, if you wanted to, you could learn to lower your fists.”
The knowing smile on his face fades in degrees, replaced by contemplation. Julian is beautiful when he thinks. The way he turns over his thoughts methodically, doggedly, searching for what makes sense. In a world with so much apathy, Julian and his determination stand out like a pillar of stone in a sea of gently swaying grass. Something you can depend on, a place where you can rest, even if some of his edges are still sharp.
“And I did that today? Lowered my fists?” His body’s angled toward mine, as if all of him is listening.
“Today was more about noticing when they’re raised, I think.”
Julian blinks, then shakes his head. “Are you always this philosophical when you smoke pot?”
“No. Sometimes I’m potato chips.” I gesture to my body, now angled toward his, too. “Just entirely, potato chips.”
A single laugh bounces out of him, and he leans all the way back, lying completely flat on the tabletop. I join him, relishing the feel of cool iron latticework on my warm back.
“I wish I could be more like you,” he murmurs up to the night sky. “You’re impossible not to like.”
I huff, even as my cheeks burn with heat. “It seemed pretty possible when you first returned to Sparrow Nook.”
Julian faces me again. “I’ve felt about a thousand different things for you over the years that I’ve known you. But I’ve always, always liked you.”
I blink back at him, shocked, even as his words glimmer in my chest, the first stars of the night to shine.
“I’ve just gotta learn to stop throwing punches at the same time.” He smiles, sad and wistful. “I’m so sorry, Nomi.”
I swallow. “I—know you are, believe it or not.”
A thrumming sound reverberates through the iron table, and Julian startles, then fumbles for his pocket. “Sorry—that might be Dr. Appa.” He checks his phone, then sighs, resting it on his chest.
“Do you have to go in?”
“No, just Mom reminding me about a party this weekend. Marco’s son is turning four.” He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes with his palms. “There’s nothing worse than a D’Angelo family birthday party.”
“Oh, yeah? Bring me,” I blurt on impulse.Damn Kush!
He stares at me without his glasses. His eyes are so blue, so unadulterated like this, it steals my breath.
“You want to come?Why?” He puts his glasses back on, and I can breathe again.
I shrug shakily. “Keep an eye on you so you don’t make any kids cry. Birthday cake. Your hilarious Aunt Edna. Take your pick.”
His mouth opens and closes, and I can tell he’s choosing his next words carefully.
Progress.I smile.
“So, you’re going to spend your Saturday afternoon at my nephew’s birthday party, with me, after everything I’ve put you through? How can you be so nice tome?”
I sigh. “Because, Julian D’Angelo, I’ve always liked you, too.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIAN
By the time Saturday arrives, I’m an anxious mess. Nomi’s words have ricocheted around my brain nonstop for the last three days.
Because, Julian D’Angelo, I’ve always liked you, too.
It’s terrifying knowing I have something to lose. If you remain at rock bottom with people, there’s no way to disappoint them. But somehow, I’ve earned, or more likely been gifted, some of Nomi’s regard, and it’s mine now to destroy. It’s enough to drive me insane.
