Chapter 3
Ashlynn
Ipeered out the tinted window of the black Cadillac XTS, confusion lining my face as the car slowed to a stop in front of a row of white buildings with large wooden boards covering the windows. “Are you sure this is the place?” I turned and locked eyes with the gray-haired gentleman in the driver’s seat. “It’s so dark out there, I can’t see the building numbers.”
“I’m positive, ma’am.” He pointed to the screen that displayed the GPS system he’d used to get me here. “This was the address the dispatcher gave me.”
“I see.” I pulled in a deep breath, trying to rein in my growing anxiety. “I’m sorry I’m asking so many questions. It’s just I?—”
“Hate surprises,” the man, who’d introduced himself as Mark, finished, wearing a smile. “I understand. My wife’s the same way. You’d think after almost forty years of marriage, she would’ve learned to trust me by now. I’ll tell you like I tell her. You know he ain’t gonna steer you wrong. So, sit back and enjoy what your man has planned for you.”
He ain’t my man, I wanted to say. Instead, I unlocked my phone and navigated the screen to my texts, clicking on the thread I’d exited less than five minutes ago. I scanned the messages for the address sent to me, then fired off a series of texts:
Me: I’m here.
Me: Why am I in the middle of the Farmers’ Market?
Me: Where are you?
RR: I’m right where I’ve been since the car pulled up, looking at you.
My head snapped up. I searched around but didn’t see him anywhere.
RR: I think your Double R radar needs an adjustment. Call me a mechanic, ’cause baby, I know how to fix it. *sly emoji face*
Me: …
The fact he remembered me telling him about my Double R radar should’ve annoyed me, even in the slightest, but didn’t. I didn’t want to begin to analyze what that meant.
“You still seem nervous, miss. Do you know the person who arranged for this pick-up?”
I looked up from my phone. “Yes, sir. Very well.” Intimately.
“And he has never hurt you, correct?”
Not the way you’re thinking. “No, sir. He hasn’t.”
“Now, sweetheart.” He turned in his seat to face me. “I may not know you, but you look to be my daughter’s age. There’re way too many missing persons cases involving our young, Black women. If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll put this car in reverse, and carry you back home.”
I smiled, appreciating his concern. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” Mark didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “I haven’t seen him in a long time,” I supplied, hoping my explanation would be enough to get him off my back while I mentally walked through each direction our conversation could take, and the possible outcomes.
A knock on the window jarred me from my thoughts, but the gasp I released had nothing to do with being startled, and everything to do with the man staring at me.
“Damn.”
Each time I saw Raphael, it felt like the first time. I couldn’t stop the smile splitting my face or the warmth spreading through my body, threatening to consume me. Inside of my chest, my heart raced, and nervous flutters filled my belly. How did seeing him after all this time have such a dizzying effect? No, the better question was how did I expect myself to work closely with him when I couldn’t even get my libido under control? It wouldn’t take much for him to pin me to the nearest wall with my face smushed against it, his hand on my throat, and me creaming on his dick. All he’d have to say was ‘now’ and I would be a goner.
I hadn’t seen or talked to Raphael since he left my office four days ago. To be truthful, four days to deliberate on a business decision while trying to keep my heart and emotions from taking over, wasn’t enough, but I’d promised him he’d hear from me by the end of the week. And here we were. There was a war waging inside of me. A never-ending battle with no clear victor in sight. I’d spent the entire time going back and forth, trying to decide what was best for me as well as HFV. I still didn’t have an answer, but the one thing I did know was no matter what, I had to fight my attraction to him. There was no way I could fall back in love or in bed with Raphael.
Yet, as the door opened, and Raphael took my hand, desire shot through my body. The touch was simple, yet the way he held on to me, helping me out of the car, and placed his hand on the small of my back as we crossed the street, felt oddly possessive. I hated how much I liked—and missed—this feeling.
“I see you’re in good hands now, Ms. Harrison,” Mark called as we stepped onto the sidewalk. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine. Thanks again.” I waved, then faced Raphael. His eyebrows were furrowed. “What?”
Raphael hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “What did he mean ‘you’re in good hands?’ Was there ever a doubt?”
“The jury is deliberating with the verdict. Now, you wanna tell me why we’re at the Farmers’ Market at,” I looked at my phone screen, “eight-fifteen on a Friday night?”
“You’ve been gone from the city too long. They call it Union Market now.”
I smacked my teeth. “Whatever. I see what gentrification has done, but let’s be real, putting up a few high rises around the neighborhood and opening some upscale businesses doesn’t change a thing. This is still a Farmers’ Market where wholesalers come to shop. We’re still two blocks away from Gallaudet, and Trinidad is down the street.”
“True,” he laughed. “As for your question, we’re here to eat.”
I frowned. “Eat? Where?”
“You’ll see.”
As Raphael led me up the sidewalk to a white brick building with a black gate over the black door, I began questioning his and my sanity. When I’d texted him earlier this afternoon to tell him I had an answer for him, I wasn’t at all surprised when he asked if we could meet up to talk. Per his parting words on Monday, I needed to be ready to have the discussion about us, something I wholeheartedly agreed with. There was no way we could work together without establishing rules or boundaries. However, I was shocked when he asked for my address, since I thought my big mouth best friend would’ve blabbed about me moving into a guest cottage on the vineyard grounds while house hunting, then confused when he’d mentioned hiring a car service to pick me up, despite texting me the address himself. He’d conveniently left out what he planned for us but told me the dress code was After Five.
After pressing a button, Raphael waited until a buzzer sounded, then opened the door to reveal a small entryway and a set of metal steps. He motioned for me to go first.
“Nah.” I shook my head. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we are. What is this place, Raphe?”
Bathed in a soft green glow from the lone pendant light hanging above our heads, the small entryway felt cold, desolate, and uninviting. Had I not heard the faint sound of music and the hushed whispers of conversations happening, I would’ve turned right back around and left.
Raphael closed the door behind him. “The Swishation Room.”
“The what?”
“The Swishation Room,” he repeated as though doing so magically answered my question.
“Imma need a little more information if you wanna get me up those steps.”
He removed his cell phone from his pocket and turned on his flashlight. “I don’t wanna say too much because it’ll give away my surprise. Just know this is an experience unlike anything you’ve ever had.”
“And judging by the name and your connection to it, it’s safe to assume marijuana is somehow involved?”
“Maybe. Come on upstairs and find out.”
Ten minutes later, we were seated across from each other at a private table surrounded by a frosted glass partition. My eyes skated around the room, trying to take in the canopies of lush green foliage hanging from wooden beams on the ceiling and the several pergola-type features scattered throughout the space. White string lights were woven through the flora, while lanterns hung from the walls, creating a magical garden ambience. The Swishation Room was intimate. Ten tables, with no more than four people, each were arranged in the dining room, allowing patrons to have a sense of privacy as they ate by not having them on top of each other.
“The mood in here is sexy and sophisticated, but it feels fun and whimsical. I love how it looks like the lights are twinkling. Its giving faery wonderland realness.”
“Well, if you start seeing faeries, let me know. You’re supposed to feel lifted, not hallucinating.”
“A girl has a conversation with a Treasure Troll one time, and muthafuckas won’t let her forget it.”
“Another example of why you’re going to jail if Dina witnesses your crimes.”
“Look,” I said, pointing at him, “I get she’s your sister, but Imma need you to get your foot off my homie’s neck. That’s my best friend. Imma stick beside her.”
Raphael lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll leave your lil’ friend alone. I’ll also bail you out if she snitches.” He winked before glancing over the menu.
Slowly, I scanned the page. My eyes widened with each word I read. Finally, I snapped my head up to stare at him incredulously. “Seriously, Raphe,”
He sat back, taking a sip of his ice water. A mischievous smile curved his lips. “I told you, Dream. This is an experience.”
I shook my head. “Sky diving is an experience. Getting your first Brazilian wax is an experience. Eating a prix-fixe four-course meal infused with marijuana is insane.”
“Not really. The entire meal contains less than one-hundred milligrams of THC and CBD, split between the courses.” He smirked, leaning forward. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve had edibles with more.”
“True.” I smacked my teeth. “This explains the hired car service.”
“Gotta make sure my clientele make it home safe.” Raphael shrugged. “Years ago, MJ had a dinner party with six-courses, and they all contained a healthy amount of cannabinoids. On top of the infused mocktails, the blunts in rotation, vapes, edibles, and the free-flowing liquor, we got fucked up to the point no one left the house. Despite me waking up in a bathtub with a pillow and blanket, the idea stuck with me. I decided to do a four-course meal but eliminated the hors d’oeuvres and added a salad.”
The waiter came over to take our orders, refill our water glasses, and placed a basket of fresh baked bread with a whipped honey cannabutter. Once he left, Raphael continued. “As a Ganjier, I work with a talented chef to craft the perfect menu.”
“Ganjier? You mean, like a weed sommelier?”
“Exactly”
A quiet, “Wow,” was all I could manage. I vaguely recalled Dina telling me Raphael had gone back to “school” and was required to attend in-person training about five hours from where I’d been in Sonoma, CA. “So, how long have you been a Ganjier?”
“Four years. Completing my certification wasn’t something I had to do to run my businesses. I’d received the best hands-on training money could never buy from MJ. Everything I learned from him ultimately helped me in the long run.”
Feeling another case of FOMO rearing its ugly head, I looked around the dining room. “Your dedication to your business and your clients is commendable. Just looking around, you can see the lengths you’re willing to go through for them. It’s obvious a lot of thought goes into these events.”
“Thank you,” Raphael replied with a bright smile on his face that made my heart flutter. He gestured around the dining area. “High Society members deserve it. These are men and women who have set the bar high in their chosen professions. Some are famous, while others aren’t as well-known. The one thing they have in common besides their love of cannabis, is wanting their privacy. So, I do so the best way I know how while aligning to Weed the People’s core values. My mission has always been to provide the best in alternative methods of healing to those who need it, while educating people on the benefits of medicinal marijuana.”
I stared at Raphael with a sense of pride filling my chest by the endearing passion in his voice. There was a time when the man sitting across from me with a smile on his face while talking with such conviction and determination, felt defeated and was at the lowest of the low, ready to give up on life. Having his dreams of playing professional basketball snatched away from him in an avoidable instance had broken his spirits, his resolve. He’d been lost, shrouded in an unforgiveable darkness that siphoned his energy, his will, and his desire, and made it difficult for him to pull himself out of the icy grasp depression had on him. Basketball was once his everything. Now, he was thriving, and although it did good for my heart, I couldn’t help but think about what we’d lost during those dark times.
“Dream? You good?”
“Yeah.” I forced a smile, which did nothing to persuade Raphael.
He quirked a questioning eyebrow.
“Seriously.” I hurriedly took a sip of my water.
“You aren’t. Your gorgeous brown eyes betrayed your poker face. Always have.” Reaching across the table, Raphael took my hand in his. “If the sadness in them has anything to do with me or us, I’m sorry. I know what I said on Monday, but if talking about certain subjects hurts you, then it’s not a topic I want to explore. All I want to do tonight is discuss business and enjoy a fantastic meal and make muthafuckas jealous because I’m sitting across from the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Removing my hand from his, I sighed. “That’s taking the easy way out. Besides, if we’re going to work together, I think this is a discussion we need to have.”
His eyes went wide in surprise before he could school his expression. “So, you’re saying we can work together.”
“I am.”
“And I can host the Smoker’s Soiree at the vineyard?”
“Yep. I know you spoke to Tiffany before she went on maternity leave. So, the decision had already been made.”
“Okay. This is great news. However, something’s telling me not to celebrate. What is it?”
I closed my eyes and pulled in a shaky breath. My entire body felt weighed down by the heaviness of my emotions and the topic at hand. The tension enveloping us was thick, choking. “We need to set some ground rules and establish boundaries.”
The waiter appeared once again to deliver the first course along with two glasses of wine. I was thankful for the interruption. His reemergence gave me a much-needed reprieve.
He placed the food in front of us, then took a small step back. “For our first course, Chef Shanti has prepared stuffed mushrooms. The infusion comes by way of the oil used to cook the aromatics. This dish contains less than ten milligrams of THC and is paired with Happy Place, a non-alcoholic Cabernet Sauvignon from Harrison Family Vineyard. Enjoy.” He bowed his head and disappeared.
My gaze swung to Raphael. “Something you wanna tell me?”
Taking his sweet time, Raphael unfolded his napkin and made a show of placing it on his lap. “Not really. I’ve always used HFV wines for my events. It was one of the reasons I suggested we work together.”
“Oh.” This was news to me. I’d been gone for five years now but made sure to keep up with the happenings of the vineyard. One of the agreed upon conditions to me studying abroad was I had to attend monthly meetings via videochat and update my Uncle Lance on the things I learned. Had it not been for him and the connections he’d garnered over the years, my trip around the world would not have happened.
“So, ’bout these rules,” Raphael said, after we’d blessed the food. He picked up his knife and fork and sliced into one of the three mushrooms on the plate. “Lay it on me, pretty baby.”
The endearment flowed from his sexy ass mouth like it was the most natural thing he could’ve said, and the ease of it excited me, which irritated me to no end. I ignored him, and bit into my mushroom, releasing a contented sigh as the earthiness of the mushroom and the savoriness of the cream cheese filling hit my tongue. Chewing slowly, I wanted to savor every morsel of this bite, while trying my hardest to identify the taste of the marijuana used in the dish. I held up my hand and took another bite. “This is fucking amazing.”
“Thank you,” Raphael said, touching a hand to his chest.
“You’re welcome.” I dabbed the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “Umm …” I paused, needing a moment to gather my thoughts. “Deciding to work with you wasn’t a choice I made easily. I went back and forth with this decision so many times, I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
His face fell, and his eyes grew sad. Raphael shook his head, placing his fork on his plate. “In the thirty-plus years I’ve known you, I have never sought to purposely hurt you, even at my darkest times. I wasn’t perfect, and there were times I fucked up. I’m sorry if I’m bringing you unnecessary stress. This project, though time-consuming, is supposed to be fun and light-hearted.”
“I know it’ll be fun, I’m not doubting it at all. It’s just?—”
In my head, this felt like the point in a movie where heroine blurts out to the hero how she feels, and they ride off in the sunset. But this was real life, and while I was about to confess to Raphael, the past proved there could be no happy ending.
“Dream, tell me.”
“I’m scared,” I whisper-yelled. “Not that this venture will be a waste of time, but we’ll fall into the same friend-fuck-fail cycle.” It was what we did. Our thing. All it took was a heated glance, an innocent touch, a softly whispered endearment, and a hard surface to pull us right back into a situationship. “I don’t want to get close with you, Raphael, love you, then lose you again. The hardest part of our break-ups isn’t dealing with a broken heart. It’s not our families refusing to accept we’re no longer together. It’s seeing you overcome and accomplish so much in your life, and me not being there for you. Or not being able to call you when I receive good news. You were more than my boyfriend. You were my protector, best friend, confidant, and my peace rolled into one person. I could count on you and talk to you about any and everything. I miss those parts of us.”
“Me too,” he admitted, taking my hand in his. The pads of his thumbs gently drew circles along my skin, causing goosebumps to form. “We went from spending hours talking on the phone to greeting each other with a head nod or a polite ‘hello’ while attending the same functions. It used to piss me off to see muthafuckas in your face, and not being able to do a thing about it.”
The waiter appeared, removing the dishes from the first course off the table. He replaced them with the second course, a butternut squash cream soup infused with cannabutter, then disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
Over the next few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard between us were the sound of silverware hitting the bowl and the occasional hum of satisfaction. The silence stretched until I could no longer stomach the awkwardness.
“I hate that I still love you after all this time.”
Raphael’s head popped up. His eyes grew big, but he didn’t say a single word, allowing me the chance to continue.
“It’s like I can’t let the thought of you go. I can’t let you go.” I bit out a short, sardonic laugh. “Memories of us haunt me. I don’t understand it, but I’ve done just about everything I could to sever the hold you have on my heart.” I’d even contemplated hiring someone to do one of those cord-cutting ceremonies I’d seen online. “Nothing worked.”
“Maybe it wasn’t supposed to work,” he offered, shrugging.
I frowned. “You think so?”
Raphael nodded. “It makes sense. We were apart, but went through the same thing, experienced a similar pain, and probably wondered how life would be had we not made some of the decisions we did. You wanted to get me out of your system, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do the same. You were the air I breathed, and without you, I was choking. In both instances, we thought breaking up was the right thing to do given the circumstances. Me getting injured tilted my whole world on its axis. On top of dealing with the grief of a loss I couldn’t process because I was in denial, there was the constant pain, the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, the rehab, and the fear.
“Ashlynn, you were the soft, flickering flame of a candle placed in a window to illuminate my life during the storm, the beam from a lighthouse on the inky black waters of the ocean. I sought out your glow when shit was too hard, and it wasn’t fair to you. You weren’t even out of your teens yet.”
“I was a couple months shy of twenty, Raphael.”
“You were a sophomore in college,” he retorted, his voice dropping into a pained whisper. “You were never supposed to be anyone’s emotional crutch at nineteen … especially not mine. And I damn sure wasn’t going to allow you to be one.” Raphael went quiet. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Dream. I don’t want you to think you’re in this alone. You’re not.”
“I know.” I hated how tiny my voice sounded to my ears. This conversation was heavy, and I hadn’t even breached the surface of what I needed to say. “It might seem like I’m coming at you with a lot right now, but I have to, or else this,” I waved a hand between us, “won’t work in any capacity. We’ve always had an open-door policy with trust playing a central part in our relationship. With that said, I don’t want to rush into anything. I want to take things slow, get my friend back, discover the man you’ve become in the last five years, and let you get to know me.”
A look of triumph split Raphael’s face as he sat back in his chair.
Ignoring his smug look, I continued. “Before we go forward, we need to set a few ground rules.”
“Like?”
I swallowed hard. “No kissing.”
“Hell nah. No. Nope. Nuh-uh.” He shook his head like the Tracy Morgan gif floating around. “How am I supposed to go back to not tasting you? I’ve been deprived for a month now.” Raphael scratched his arm. “You know I’m addicted to you.”
Unable to stop myself, I smiled at his antics. “You better figure it out, sweets. Also, no inappropriate touching. We need to be respectful of each other’s personal space. While I doubt we can cut talking about our past out altogether, I think we should limit how much we reminisce about us as a couple. This is a new opportunity for both of us. It shouldn’t be overshadowed by what once was.” I waited for Raphael to cut me off with his reasoning on why that wouldn’t work, but he didn’t.
He nodded his agreement. “Anything else?”
“Imma need you not to ruin my dates. I won’t lie and say I was having fun with ol’ boy, I wasn’t.”
“So why did you go out with him? Were you trying to forget me?”
“No.” Yes. I’d spend the majority of the evening thinking about Raphael, wondering whether or not I’d iced him out long enough and should call him. Brighton was handsome, but he was also boring, spoke about himself too much, and believed a woman’s place was in the home. “My mother set it up. Apparently, he’s the son of someone she knows.”
Raphael snorted. “Lemme find out Joslyn is trying to marry you off when you already belong to me.”
I gasped, not sure how to respond. Shifting in my chair and clearing my throat, I decided to ignore the comment. “The last thing I ask of you is to not be on the creepy, hiding in bushes while watching me from afar behavior. I’ve been trying to figure out how I didn’t see you at every event you named, and I’m stumped. That shit is scary.”
“We’re both home now. Chances are, we’ll attend the same events.”
“I don’t doubt it, but instead of watching me from afar, you can come over and speak. Or at least lemme know you’ll be there.”
Raphael twisted his lips, appearing to think about it for a minute. “Okay. You got it.”
“Are you serious?” I’d expected a little pushback from Raphael. Not a lot, but enough to know he wasn’t happy with us acting like we didn’t have history. If anything, I kinda thought he would bring up the kiss, but he didn’t, shocking the hell out of me.
He placed his elbows on the table, steepled his hands, and rested his head on them. “Honestly, Dream, I would agree to anything you ask if it meant having you in my life in any capacity.”
His words created a storm of emotions that swirled inside of me. I took a sip of my wine, wishing it were something a lot stronger.
“Now that we’ve laid the foundation of this arrangement, maybe we can enjoy the rest of the meal.”
I nodded. Looking down at the plate the waiter placed in front of us, my mouth watered. The third course was Chicken Cacciatore—or Chicken Canna-cciatore—as the waiter described, paired with The Hills, HFV’s finest red wine blend of Merlot, Cabernet Franc and Chambourcin. I picked up my utensils, ready to delve in. “If I recall correctly, you mentioned wanting to have samples of the cannawine by four-twenty.”
“Right. I know this infused wine won’t be absolutely perfect. Perfection takes time. However, if we can give the High Society a little sumthing sumthing, I know they’ll love it.”
“Okay. So, when do you want to begin?”
Raphael’s lips curled into a smirk, and instantly I regretted asking the question. His answer only made matters worse.
“Tomorrow.”