Page 13

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 lunch time, 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 lucky to 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 they need a 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 tell your story.”

“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 of it.

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.”

“Why don’t you call one of the roster boys. You’ve got a list of them in waiting.”

“Umm… no. The roster has only boy scouts. I want a big, rough and tough guy. Someone no one will dare question.”

“You and me both.” I roll my eyes. “Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.” She smiles and leans in. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” I laugh under my breath as I try to figure out how to put my feelings into words. “Aaron is a good guy, he’s just…”

“Boring, emotionally unavailable, predictable… should I keep going?” She takes a sip of coffee and sets the cup back on the counter.

“He’s just very regimented.”

“Transactional, you mean.”

“Transactional?”

“Yeah, like he does the things you need him to do on a schedule because he knows that’s the price he pays to be in the relationship, instead of having any kind of passion.”

I’ve never heard of this concept before. “Yeah, but I don’t know... maybe it’s not transactional. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe he wants to connect, but he doesn’t know how.”

She tilts her head to the side as she swallows down another bite of flaky pastry.

I’ve known Sienna for about five years now, and she’s always been a very straightforward person.

Some days, it’s nice. Others, it’s hard to swallow.

“I don’t know about that,” she sighs. “I’ve seen the way you two interact.

Sure, he remembers your birthday, never forgets to ask how your day went, and he kisses you when he sees you, but does he have the passion you’re looking for?

” She clears her throat and glances away before leaning in.

“I love you, but you’re stuck. I get it.

I used to be stuck, too. Guys like Aaron look good on paper, but in reality, you’re left wondering why he doesn’t see how badly you need be bent over and fucked like some wild animal.

I mean, when was the last time you saw him do anything spontaneous? ”

I shrug. I’ve known the man for nearly two years, and I’ve got nothing. “Well, he did order a different salad dressing at lunch on Sunday. Even the waitress was confused.”

“Groundbreaking!” Sienna says, plastering an exaggerated smile.

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “He’s stable. I should appreciate that. The last thing I want is some asshole who’s wild and fun but spends every night at the bar.”

“Stable is great… for houseplants. You’re not a houseplant, girl. Plus, he’s not that stable. I mean, he is responsibly steady, but you forgot the part where he’s emotionally inept. You’re complaining about how insensitive he is all the time.”

I drag in a deep breath, thinking back to our last conversation.

The one where I asked him to be a little less predictable.

Instead of listening, he took it as a personal attack.

It spiraled fast. Words sharpened, voices rose, and by the end of it, I was curled up on the couch, crying into the silence while he sat there, unmoved.

Still, for one fleeting second, we felt something. We were alive .

“Babe,” Sienna reaches her hand out for mine, “I get it. I do. My ex was a total nightmare. One second, super sweet and predictable. The next, he was a raging lunatic. It confused me for years. I know you think Aaron isn’t that bad, but looking at you right now, I’d say he’s not good for you, and that’s enough for you to leave. ”

“I don’t know what leaving means. What if I don’t know what happy looks like? What if I’ve been lying to myself?”

“I think that’s your answer.” Sienna squeezes my hand. “You should eat another croissant. I find that the flakier the pastry, the clearer my head gets.”

I take her advice and reach for the golden croissant in the back, though I’m not sure that’s going to help much. Lately, not even food is doing the trick. It’s like I’m numb and I can’t feel anything.

“So,” I say, leaning over the box as I take a bite, “who’s the local bad boy you’re bringing to your cousin’s wedding?”

“No idea. I don’t know any bad boys. I guess I have to—”

The bell over the door rings and a giant steps through the frame as though someone somewhere is listening to our prayers.

He wears dark faded jeans with tears above one knee, a tight black T-shirt and a motorcycle cut with patches sewn into the front.

I don’t usually see guys like this in here.

He looks out of place, but why is my heart slamming against my chest like he’s part human, part feral beast.

Clearly, he’s not here to murder me, right? Truth be told, I might be down for a chase.

He steps into the store, one heavy foot after the other. I should say hello. I say hello to everyone. Why aren’t I saying hello?