Page 28 of Not Part of the Plan
Niko jogged down the stairs and out the side door of the barn. Interest didn’t mean future. Interest meant present moment. Maybe he’d pick up a few things and drop them off at her place. That didn’t mean he was looking to settle down. He was just being a good friend. Niko nodded to himself. He’d hit the grocery store, pick up a few essentials for the diseased, and drop everything off.That’s what friends did, right?
CHAPTER NINE
Niko started at Farm and Field Fresh, the local grocer and discovered the produce and organics section to be sixty percent of the store.Only in Blue Moon,he thought, eyeing up the yards-long sprouts section.
He decided to entertain himself and hopefully Emma by texting her a running commentary on his shopping trip.
Deathbed deliveries arriving shortly. Any special requests? Ginger ale? Vomit bucket? Coffin lining samples?
He stocked up on tissues and tea and was studying the medicine selection when he felt a firm tap on his shoulder.
The woman had waist-length hair the color of the palest gold. She wore cowboy boots, jeans, and a plaid button down. She smiled at him, and her lavender eyes crinkled when she smiled. “You must be Summer and Carter’s house guest,” she said, shoving her hand at him.
He took it, intending to shake it, but she flipped his palm up and skimmed her fingers over the skin. “You have a very long, very fractured love line,” she said matter-of-factly as if she were discussing the weather.
“Hi, I’m Nikolai,” he said pointedly.
“Mmm, yes I know,” she said, frowning intently at his hand. “My, eleven children is a lot. Oh! Silly me, that’s your money line. My mistake!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name,” Niko said with growing concern. The crazy meter in Blue Moon went higher than anywhere else he’d visited.
“Willa,” she said in a breathy voice.
“Can I have my hand back, Willa?”
“Hmm? Oh, sure,” she said. She made no effort to conceal her study of the items in his basket. She frowned, placing a hand on his forehead. “You’re not ill,” she announced. Strangers just didn’t walk up to people and try to diagnose them in grocery stores in the city. Blue Moon was fucking weird.
“It’s for a friend,” Niko said, even as he warned himself that he didn’t actually owe Willa an explanation.
“Of course!” Her eyes widened. “Your ‘friend’ Emma,” she said, with an exaggerated wink.
“Yes, myfriendEmma.”
“Well, you’re going to need some flu medicine because she refuses to go strictly holistic,” Willa said, switching into I-play-a-doctor-on-TV mode. “And let’s get you some bone broth and coconut water. Maybe some fresh yogurt full of probiotics. She’ll need protein and electrolytes.”
She floated off, and Niko wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow her or if he should just try to escape.
“Hurry up, Nikolai.”
Think I’m being kidnapped by someone named Willa. She’s trying to lure me into a van by promising me extra probiotics in my yogurt.
There was still no response from Emma by the time he left Farm and Field with four canvas bags of ingredients that Willa and the rest of the entourage they’d picked up around the store recommended to treat Emma’s flu. Each item that went into his basket—and then cart when the basket overflowed—was Blue Moon-made. Niko felt like he’d gone shopping in the visitor’s center gift shop.
Then, as if to prove how friendly the town was, Willa, the store clerk, an elderly farmer named Carson, his friend Ernest in grease-stained coveralls, and the girl in the meat department, all chipped in for a get-well card for Emma and signed it.
Niko tucked the bags into the backseat of his rental. He picked up the packet of loose tealeaves and shook his head. He had no idea what the hell to do with thistleweed tea. Hopefully Emma knew what to do with it. But first, he was under strict orders to hit OJs by Julia before stepping foot in Emma’s house.
He found the shop, painted a bright green, situated on the corner of Main and Patchouli next to Abramovich’s Jewelry. A bell jingled above his head when he ducked into the storefront. Benches and chairs with thick plum-colored cushions butted up against lime green wainscoting. The coolers, filled with mason jars holding a color wheel of juices, were highlighted under stainless steel spotlights. The chalkboard menu was artistically drawn, but still legible, and listed juices with catchy names like Beet Root Reboot and Berry Balance Blend.
He pulled out his phone and rattled off a text.
At the juice joint. How many prunes do you want in your smoothie?
“Nikolai, I presume?” A woman with a pink punk rock haircut and an eye-searing neon apron propped her elbows on top of one of the coolers.
“Word travels fast,” he said, rubbing his temples.
“Especially when it involves ‘six-feet-two-inches of walking sex.’” She laughed when Niko cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m quoting Mrs. Nordemann, who caught a glimpse of you in the grocery store while buying out their selection of trashy romance novels. I’m Julia, by the way.”
