Fifteen minutes later, my now-satisfied belly is full of yogurt and granola, and I’m changed and ready to head out to the greenhouses. It’s been a long time since I’ve been awake early enough to enjoy a morning 4:20 spark-up. And I’ve neglected my babies for way too long.

With the first blissful intake of smoke into my lungs, I lean back in the lone office chair and scan the crowded contents of the glass-framed building. The efficient system Doug and I devised a couple years ago for growing and cultivating the plants continues to work perfectly, even now that our garden has grown tenfold, but we’re at production capacity for the space we have. And I want more green babies.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you up this early.” My dad doesn’t bother to hide the surprise in his voice as the door closes behind him and he walks over to me. “Is everything okay, sweetie?”

Rotating around in the chair, I extend my arm to offer him the joint. “Mornin’, Doug, and yes, everything is fine. I missed the girls, so I thought I’d come out and give them some love,” I reply with a hint of a smile while standing up to hug him.

“I’m sure they’ve missed you too,” he accepts the smoke, tipping his head in silent appreciation, “especially since they’ve been stuck with me for the last few weeks. I don’t quite have the gentle touch that you do with them.”

“Now that finals are over and I’m not dealing with—” My voice fades as the image of Crew at the dispensary appears in my mind, which reminds me that I’m upset with Doug. Propping my fists on my hips, I lift my eyebrows at him and grunt, “Wait a minute! I forgot I’m mad at you! Gimme my joint back.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, holding the weed high above his head so it’s out of my reach. “No chance. Not until you tell me why you’re mad at me. What did I do?”

Not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to talk about him, I stomp away from my dad, down one of the aisles. He follows, but doesn’t ask again, not wanting to press the issue, ‘cause he knows exactly why I’m cross with him.

Unaware of where my feet are leading me, it’s not surprising I end up skulking in front of my special project plants, causing me to think about Crew even more. I’m turning into some sort of emotional masochist.

“How much longer are you gonna let them flower?” he asks after several silent minutes, his voice soft.

Shrugging, I trace my fingertip around one of the buds. “Another four to five weeks I think. I’m anxious to test the final CBD to THC proportions. I’m hoping to get something close to 50:1.”

His head bobs as he steps up to get a closer look. “Have you named it yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m nervous to get too attached,” I snicker, pretending as if I’m not already emotionally involved with these plants.

He fidgets for a minute, awkwardly shuffling his feet around before whispering, “I’ve been calling them Lovesong.”

“Lovesong? Where did you come up with that?”

“Well, at first I was calling them The Cure,” he admits without looking over at me. “’Cause that’s what they are, right? Your attempt to develop something that will prevent seizures, and all but cure epilepsy?”

My tight-lipped non-answer is all the confirmation he needs to continue. “But something about The Cure just didn’t sound right, and then something in my crazy, middle-aged brain made the connection between the musical group, The Cure, and their hit, Lovesong, and I thought it was perfect. It was because Caleb had epilepsy that their family came here in the first place, and it was their coming here that ultimately led you and Crew to find each other.”

Tears spill down my face during his explanation as I struggle to keep my breathing regulated. “But Crew and I aren’t together anymore,” I choke out. “You know that.”

Turning to face me, Doug wraps his arms around my quivering shoulders and pulls me into a tight father-daughter hug. “But you will be,” he says like it’s a predetermined fact while smoothing my hair down. “I saw the way you both looked at each other across the table the very first day he was here, and I knew then you’d end up together. The spark between you two was undeniable, and even though it’s been difficult here lately, I have faith you’ll rekindle that fire soon.”

I squeeze his neck even harder while leaving wet streaks across his sweatshirt, and then I say something I haven’t said in a really, really long time. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

After resuming my morning duties of preparing breakfast for the resort—a job Mel was more than happy to hand me back the reins to—I loiter around the office at the lodge, cleaning and reorganizing, anything to keep my mind off Crew. He was trying to apologize before Uncle Danny interrupted him—at least I think he was—and although I’m dying to know what else he was going to say, I have to wait for him to come to me. This is his wrong to make right.

By noon, I’m wearing the wood off the floors, pacing out of sheer boredom. Without classes and studying to keep me preoccupied, I search out Brighton and Cheyenne, hoping they’ll want to go to the mall or see a movie with me, but they’ve already left to go skiing with some friends. Too bad the one friend I made in my first semester at college turned out to be a fake, manipulative piece of shit, or I’d call Beckham and see if he wants to hang out.

I’m also still a little irritated with my older three sisters, not really wanting to do anything with them; although, I did talk to Juno this morning right before breakfast, and she told me she’d had words with Crew that night, and she felt he had my best interests at heart. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

That leaves me ridin’ solo wherever I go, which, as I snag my keys and purse from my room, is still undecided. I just have to get out of this place. Too many memories of him everywhere I look.

As I amble out to my car, I scroll my phone for movie times at the local theater, figuring watching Bradley Cooper for a couple of hours could never be a bad thing, no matter how pathetic I look going by myself. I almost miss the white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper, but just as I’m bending to slide behind the steering wheel, the edge of it flaps up in the wind, garnering my attention.

With my breath held, I stretch around and grab the small package with my name printed on the outside of it, a lot nervous and a little bit hopeful. My trembling fingers tear into the paper, and when I get a good look at what’s inside—a single joint with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written on it in red marker—I damn near melt into a puddle of forgiveness on the pavement.

Crew.

He came to find me.

Turning around in a complete circle, I comb the area with keen eyes, but don’t see any sign of him. I’ve got no way of telling when he put this here, and I’m not sure if I should text or call him to let him know I got it or not. My thumb hovers over the screen on my phone as my mind weighs the pros and cons of reaching out to him now, or waiting for him to contact me again.

I chuck the rectangular device onto the passenger’s seat without opening the screen and beam down at the joint resting in my other hand. Dropping down onto the leather captain’s chair, I tuck the apology ‘note’ in a safe place in my purse then pull out of the driveway with a genuine smile on my face—the first one I’ve had in way too long.

There is no contact from Crew for the rest of the day, but my spirits stay positive. I’m cautiously optimistic I’ll hear from him again soon. The following morning, I wake up before my alarm and bounce right out of bed, feeling almost back to myself again.

Once my morning duties are complete, I discuss with Doug my idea to expand the current marijuana greenhouse or to have another one built. Traffic through The Green Halo steadily increases each week, and with the limited space we have, soon we won’t be able to keep up with the demand, which will only mean those buyers will move on to our competition. Thankfully, he’s onboard and agrees to run some numbers to see which option will be the best bang for our buck.