I wanted to roll my eyes so hard it might have done actual damage.
“Old times don’t interest me anymore,” I said, finally letting my hands rest on the counter.
“Come on,” he said, sidling a little closer, tone soft but loaded. “We made good music together. Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”
I ignored him, pretending to reorganize some guitar picks. It was the best way to make sure he kept talking while I plotted my escape.
A cluster of teenagers spilled into the store, laughing and shoving at each other, already making a beeline for the guitar wall. Relief hit me so hard I almost laughed.
“I’m working,” I said quickly, already moving. “We’ll talk another time.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I slipped out from behind the register and headed straight for the guitar section, a little too eagerly, positioning myself between the teens and the rows of instruments.
Normally, I didn’t hover, especially not with kids. I let them mess around, try things out. Too many questions scared them off. But right now, I needed the excuse.
I chatted with them, pointed out a few models, then, when they were distracted, ducked past the wall of guitars and into the back.
The storeroom was dimmer, cooler, stacked with boxes waiting to be unpacked. I pretended to check inventory, flipping open a box I already knew was empty.
From here, I could see the security monitor. Theo was still out there.
Theo drifted slowly through the shop, fingers trailing over instrument cases, lingering near the counter. Waiting. I exhaled and rubbed a hand over my face.Of all days.
One of the teens wandered over to Theo. Even from the grainy black-and-white feed, I could tell how it went.
The kid pointed at Theo’s jacket, eyes bright, probably recognizing the brand or the cut. Theo smiled, small and smug, and patted it proudly. Another kid handed him a guitar.
Theo took it, tested the weight, fingers sliding along the neck with practiced ease.
For a split second, I thought he’d play something, make the kid’s day. Instead, he barely strummed a single muted note before handing it back.
“Nah,” I could see him saying. “Not my thing.”
The kid’s shoulders fell just a little.
I felt irrationally annoyed. It would’ve cost him nothing. Five seconds, a handful of notes, tops.
That was the thing about Theo. He loved being admired, just not enough to actually give anything back. Eventually, the teens drifted out. Theo stayed.
He’d moved on to the sheet music section now, flipping through some guitar books. He didn’t linger long on any page. Just skimmed, sniffed faintly, and put them back slightly out of place.
I waited another minute. Then another.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped out of the storeroom and said bluntly, “Why are you still here?”
Theo looked up slowly. “Done hiding from me?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I shot back. “I just didn’t want to see your face.”
He actually smiled at that.
“You were good yesterday,” he said, ignoring my words. “Really good.”
His gaze flicked over me, assessing. “You’re wasted here. And you’re definitely wasting yourself with that guy.”
I stiffened. “His name is Mark.”
Theo hummed, a short, unimpressed sound. “So, what’s his background? Band experience, genre?” His lips quirked. “Doesn’t really seem like your usual type.”
