Chapter Fourteen Nomi
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NOMI
There are many things I hate about running a coffee shop.
First, my inability to make it. While I understand drip coffee now, the espresso torture device still eludes me.
A very close second, though, is how early these coffee people demand to drink it.
If I want to make any money, I have to be here at six in the godforsaken morning.
It’s brutal, unfair, and all Julian’s fault.
When I pull into my parking spot this morning, there’s already a person waiting outside the shop’s door. It’s not even that weird guy Carl, who always asks if we’re open when we’re not.
“Fucking maniac. Wouldn’t need coffee if you slept to a goddamn reasonable hour!”
Which is, I’m learning, the reason I’ve never needed coffee—I’ve never had to wake up this early for work before.
Coincidentally, I’ve also learned I’m a huge bitch before eight a.m.
The keys are at the bottom of my bag because everything’s difficult and life is terrible, so I’m too busy rooting around to give the maniac a second glance. To be honest, I don’t want to see them. I just want to be asleep.
“Shop doesn’t open for a half an hour, so back the fu—”
“You win, Wyeth.”
My hand freezes in my bag, and I slowly lift my gaze to expensive canvas shoes, then fine ankles leading to shapely calves.
Kneecaps, which are normal as far as kneecaps go, and then the thighs, grooved with muscle like walnuts.
Then more thighs, and more, and Jesus, is the man Porky-Pigging it?
Finally, my eyes hit fabric, then a full, physically present crotch.
They flip upward in horror as recognition dawns.
“Julian?”
Julian thrusts a pot of sad, purple pansies at me, discounted to $4.99. “I know they’re terrible, but it’s all the twenty-four-hour Acme had. I’ll get you better ones later.”
“What’s going on here? Why are your shorts so short?” I do not take the pansies.
“I couldn’t sleep, and I’ve been waiting out here for you for over an hour, and Aunt Edna told me to—and ugh, just take the damn pansies!” Julian shakes them at me, frustration building in his face.
“No!” I finally grasp the keys, then shoulder past him to open the door.
“Please, wait, I’m sorry! I need to talk to you!”
“Well, I don’t need to talk to you.” I step inside quickly and shut the door, but he squeezes one of his obscenely toned thighs in to hold it open.
“Nomi, listen—I’m withdrawing the complaint!”
“You… are?” The fight goes out of my arms, and without the resistance, Julian’s thigh cranks the door all the way open, and he stumbles inside.
“Yes! I’ve already completed the paperwork, it’s here.” His chin jerks toward his armpit, where a beige folder is tucked. “See for yourself.”
I yank it out so fast, he hisses.
“Are you trying to give me a paper cut?”
Inside, a printed form creatively titled “Withdrawal of Zoning Complaint” is already filled out, Julian’s signature slashed across the bottom.
“But why?” I’m still staring at the form, trying to understand how we got here, where I’m holding the solution to all my problems, and Julian’s holding a pot of drooping pansies wearing a pair of retro polyester briefs.
I glance up as he places the flowerpot down by the register. “You changed your mind?”
“Does it matter?” Julian plops down on a counter stool and runs his palms down his face. “I’ll withdraw the complaint… on one condition.”
My shoulders immediately tense. I should’ve known there’d be a catch. “What.”
“Can I have a cup of coffee first?”
“No.”
“I’ll buy it.”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Of course it’s for sale.” His chin drops to the side, and he gives me an oh, really glare. “You sell coffee.”
“Fine,” I bark out, then slam a mug on the counter and pour him a day-old cup of coffee I should’ve cleaned out yesterday. Now I’m glad I didn’t.
Julian looks down at the old, cold cup of coffee with sorrow.
“That’ll be fifty dollars.”
He flinches but pulls his wallet out and throws a fifty on the counter. “Can you heat it up at least?”
“Nope.” I cross my arms. “And creamer’s extra.”
A stream of emotions pours over his features, but with great difficulty, he forces a smile and plucks a set of notecards from his pocket. He begins to read from the top. “Nomi, I—” His eyes snag on his loose cuff, and he pauses to roll both linen sleeves up to his elbows.
“Julian, what is this? I’m opening in twenty minutes. I have work to do.”
“I’m groveling. Don’t you want to hear me grovel?” His pale-blue eyes interrogate mine.
I blow out a long, tired breath. “Yes.”
He clears his throat again. “Nomi, I first want to express how regretful I am for successfully thwarting your ill-advised and amoral business venture—”
“Good God.”
“While plying a naive populace with intoxicating substances goes against my conscience, I concede that Sparrow Nook isn’t where I live and thus, shouldn’t be my sole concern when fighting on its behalf is directly impeding my own career.”
“This isn’t groveling, Julian.”
He ignores me and flips to the next card, flexing his forearms unnecessarily, then checks my face to see if I’ve noticed.
“As you see in your—” Julian picks up the folder and thrusts it into my hands, “—hands, I’m prepared to withdraw my complaint in a show of good faith.
Now it’s your turn to show good faith by issuing a ceasefire to all your acquaintances, instructing them to immediately halt all planned attacks on my reputation, body, and otherwise, and then design a curriculum and shadowing schedule for me to learn everything about cannabis—”
He flips to the next card. “From you.”
Julian taps the notecards on the counter, reapplies the rubber band, then tucks them neatly into his pocket.
“Wait, what?” I blink, trying to fuse together the last thirty seconds with reality. “Did you just ask me to do… what exactly?”
“Design a curriculum and shadowing schedule so I can learn everything about cannabis from you,” he repeats, as if that explains anything.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because this is a deal. I’ll withdraw the complaint in return for you teaching me about cannabis.”
“Why do you suddenly want to learn about cannabis?”
Julian flexes his forearms again, then looks away. “Because… I want to.”
I roll my eyes. “The truth, Julian.”
His jaw clenches, and he exhales through his nose. “Because Dr. Srinivasan won’t let me work again until I do, and if I don’t complete my—sabbatical with his practice, Philly Gen won’t… ah. They won’t like it.” His gaze darts back to mine. “Happy?”
“You must’ve really pissed off Dr. Appa.” Understanding rolls through me, and my eyes widen. “You weren’t mean to Mr. Gutierrez, were you?”
Julian says nothing, but shame colors his cheekbones.
“Let me get this straight. You do something spectacularly awful at Philly Gen, get slapped with some kind of conditional probation that requires you to work for Dr. Appa successfully for—what? Three months? Six?”
“Six,” Julian says to the wall behind my head.
“But then you act like an ass all over town, and now Dr. Appa’s given you his own conditional probation—where if you don’t drop the complaint and learn about cannabis, from me apparently, he’ll fire you, Philly Gen will never take you back, and your whole superiority complex will crumble to the ground.
” I fold my arms. “Do I have that right?”
Julian’s bottom lip is dangerously pouty. For some reason, it makes me check the length of his shorts again.
Yep. Still short.
“At a rudimentary level, yes,” he finally concedes.
“Then there’s no deal to strike here.” I huff. “You need me to rescue your entire career.”
“Fine. I’m desperate, but you’re desperate, too.
” His eyes flash, and he stands suddenly.
“You’re paying a lot of money to lease this space, and no matter how many rancid cups of coffee you sell, you’re losing hundreds of dollars every day.
Like it or not, Wyeth, you need me, too.
” He leans over the counter, meeting my gaze head on.
“Now, you can teach me about marijuana, and I’ll drop this complaint right now, or don’t and we’ll both go down in flames. What’s it gonna be, Wyeth?”
His eyes are the color of pure, glacial ice, a blue so cold it burns everywhere it touches.
Goddammit. Ever since Julian returned to Sparrow Nook, he’s been like a rock in my shoe.
Hobbling me, annoying me, hurting me, making it almost impossible for me to think of anything else.
Every time I fish him out and fling him into the distance, he reappears a few days later, more annoying and intrusive than ever.
And now, if I want to rescue my flailing dreams and avoid going broke for good, I have to work with him?
The last time we teamed up, we—
I suck in a deep breath. Whatever, we were seventeen, and Julian’s so obnoxious now, there’s no chance any of that would happen again. All I’d have to do is remind myself how much his bullshit opposition to my dispensary is costing me, and—wait.
An idea strikes. I lean over my counter, taking back control over my space and this deal.
“Pay me.”
“What?” Julian looks momentarily baffled as I lift my chin.
“Pay me, for both the prep time and the shadowing. And you’ll withdraw the complaint right now, while I watch. If you agree to these terms, we’ll start immediately.”
“How much?” Julian asks, his voice incredulous.
“Every month of rent I’m unable to sell weed during, Julian.” I cock my head to the side. “Or lest you forget, your entire career is riding on this.”
His eyes widen all the way to the whites. Finally, he grits out, “Deal.”
“Great. By the way, you work here for free now.” I ball up a towel and throw it at his face. “You can start by making the coffee.”
I saunter over to the door, flip the sign to Open, and smile for the first time in weeks.