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Chapter One

Nicole

The scent of old vinyl clings to my skin. It’s a sweet, musky smell that reminds me of playing at my grandma’s house as a kid. I used to love watching her records spin. The needle rotating smoothly over the grooves, coaxing warm, crackling melodies into the air. She loved those afternoons together as much as I did. We’d hum along to the music while we baked banana bread or danced in the living room. Even then, I remember loving those days when music was more than a sound. It was a bridge that connected people together.

Some things never change.

I run my fingers over the edges of a Fleetwood Mac sleeve. The plastic has been worn with time, but the overall condition of the record is nearly perfect. It’s original, and the last one I have in stock. I have a buyer coming this morning interested in purchasing it… maybe.

What was I thinking, opening a record store in a small town like this, or opening a record store at all, for that matter? People love coming in to browse the bins, but no one ever buys.

I stare aimlessly through the large picture window at the front of the shop. The mountain town I love hums its usual slow, predictable, suffocating rhythm.

Yeah, I said it.Suffocating.

I don’t know when the feeling took hold, but it’s rampant now and nearly impossible to ignore. The white-capped mountains I loved so much have become a backdrop to my restlessness. Towering reminders of a life that once felt so expansive, now feels so small.

Lord, I’m dramatic today.

My fingers tap against the counter as I try to figure what kind of fun I can make out of the day, but I already know exactly how it’ll play out. I’ll tend the store until this collector comes in, visit with my friend Sienna around lunchtime, then I’ll go home with Aaron.

Most people would be grateful to be in my spot. I have my own business, and despite the fact that I’m not thriving, I do bring home a paycheck. I also have a nice cabin to go home to, and I have a very consistent boyfriend.

What’s my problem?Seriously, what’s my problem?

Who cares that his kisses come at the same time every day? Who cares that his texts and calls arrive in perfect intervals, as if his heart beats to a preset reminder? Who cares that he unwinds with computer games while I sit on the couch, unraveling piece by piece from the inside out? Who cares that we listen to the same playlist on the way home, sing the same words, talk about the same things at dinner… every night?

I need to get a grip. This is life.It’s the life I chose.

I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as the bell above the door rings. It’s my friend Sienna. She’s early, and she comes bearing gifts.

“Damn. Just when I thought life was a predictable and dull cycle of blah, you save the day.”

She smiles wide and lands a pink box from Josie’s bakery on the counter before smoothing down her pale pink dress. She’s so good at putting together these ultra feminine outfits. I’ve always been terrible at dressing myself. Most days, I’m luckyto throw on a simple sundress or a romper. “Croissants… with chocolate sauce inside. Don’t say I never give you anything.”

“Oh damn, you just made my day. I went by there yesterday to see if they had any left and she was cleaned out. I guess I should’ve been a baker.”

“That bad?” Sienna sets two cups on the counter next to the box. I assume it’s coffee. “Maybe you should run a sale or something.” She opens the box of pastries and snags one out, taking a bite as she talks. “Since I started my event’s business, I’ve been at my wits’ end trying to stay afloat. The only thing that made a difference was the two weddings I planned for free next year. Word of mouth is the best advertising around.”

“That’s bold, but it’s good that it worked.”

“Yeah,” Sienna shrugs, “you’ve gotta make people think theyneeda record. Like getting a record from your store makes their whole week.”

“And how do I do that? “

She glances around my shop, taking in the neatly lined shelves, every record carefully displayed. “I love your shop. It’s nice, but it doesn’t really tellyourstory.”

“My story? How is the shop supposed to tell a story?”

She shrugs, biting into her croissant. “Don’t know. That’s for you to figure out.”

I make a mental note to grab a notebook on the way home to brainstorm ideas. At least it’ll give me something to think about while Aaron is playing computer games tonight. “Well,” I sigh, “you are killing it over there. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Try telling my family that. My mom never shuts up about how much money I wasted on the place. She can’t figure out why I need a physical location for events planning.” She sighs. “My cousin has me planning her wedding and I’m nervous as hell. Something is gonna go wrong and I’ll never hear the end ofit. Plus, I’m currently searching for a fake boyfriend to play the other fake boyfriend I told them all I was madly in love with.”

“What?” I laugh. “Why’d you do that?”

She glances toward me with downturned eyes. “Are you kidding? My mother is relentless. That’s why. To her, I’m not valid until I have a man by my side.”