He winces as he shifts his weight, and I make a displeased sound under my breath as I walk past him.
“Did you hurt your leg?” I ask, swinging open the door to walk through.
“No,” he grunts, following me in. “Be careful where you swing that thing. I don’t want you to trash my store.”
Brow raised in question, I put my case down where it’s far enough away from the door and harder for someone to run off with it. My grandfather bought me the guitar, and it’s one of the last things I have of his after he passed away. I will chase a dickweed down for it and then shove my size fifteen shoe up their ass.
I’d hate to have to ruin my already dubious reputation by killing someone in front of Tav.
Blowing out a breath to calm my blood pressure at the thought, I begin walking down an aisle and immediately notice how organized the vinyls are. There are four aisles total, each essentially a long table with dozens of organizers on top, all labeled and so damn meticulous. I stop between the first two, fingering a few albums when his system becomes clear. Genre seems to be first with the biggest label, then sorted by decade, and finally alphabetically. This had to take a ton of time. I lift my head and look around, noting how the entire store is somewhat the same; CDs and cassettes across from me, sheet music against the wall to my right. Even the music merch corner is similarly organized.
It’s an interesting quirk, and my lips twitch as I pass an album that I’ve been thinking about picking up. I am in the process of buying a pretty ranch style house, so I add buying a record player to my mental list for furnishing it. I’m signing theclosing paperwork next week, and can’t wait to move out of the tiny box I call an apartment.
I need a reason to continue coming into 88 Keys if Tav is going to be difficult about my serenading skills. Maybe I’ll ask him for some music recommendations just so I can hear his voice and get to know him better.
There’s only so much that hacking can get you.
“Tav, if you’re fishing for my name, you can ask,” I tease him as I pick up the record. It’s more difficult for him to kick me out if I’m actively shopping, right?
I think that’s a thing, but Tav is grumpy enough to not worry about proper shop keeping etiquette. I may need to tone it down a bit.
“I don’t fucking care,” he grumbles, glaring at me with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass and I promised my dog I’d walk him soon.”
“I didn’t think you were someone who would like pets,” I say, smirking. “Let me guess, it’s a little rat chihuahua, isn’t it?”
“Eat a dick,” he growls. “I would never have an ankle biter for a pet.”
“Yeah, that’s not your style, I suppose. I have a golden retriever that’s staying with my family at the moment, a pet bearded dragon, and oh yeah, my favorite horse,” I muse. “It’s crazy, loud, and absolutely terrifying.”
Damn do I miss the chaos of animals. Don’t tell anyone, but I even miss the smelly cattle.
“That sounds awful,” Tav says as he shudders. “Why does it sound like you miss it?”
“Probably because I do, but there are things here in Pine City that are growing on me,” I murmur. My lips twist sardonically as he turns even pinker, and I show him the record I’m currently looking at.
“Do you have any records of their older stuff?” I ask.
“Angelic Demons are a little hard for you, aren't they?” Tav asks. “You know, based on your selection of songs you insisted on singing.”
“Awww, you noticed,” I say, clasping a hand to my chest in my Aunt Molly’s best ‘bless your heart’ impression. “I think I should come back tomorrow and show you some of my love of alternative music. For today, I’m claiming this record. Want to ring me up, sweet cheeks?”
“I’m going to have to kill you, aren’t I?” Tav asks, ignoring my chuckle as he takes the record from me.
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t recommend it. You’d probably throw your back out trying to get rid of my body, and I’m a bleeder,” I confess, enjoying the look of horror on his face. “We aren’t going to talk about how messy it’ll all be.”
Oh yeah, I think I need to lean into the blood and guts of murder so he’ll stop thinking about killing me. Besides, his lips are begging to be kissed, and I can only do that if I’m alive.
He doesn’t seem the type to enjoy necrophilia.
“Gross, please stop,” he begs, shuddering.
I’m beginning to see a pattern to Tav, but I’d never diagnose anyone just on that. I’m not qualified to, and I’m kind of worried about him. He seems more concerned about the mess than the moral liability of killing me.
“Can I buy that?” I prompt. He didn’t tell me not to call him ‘sweet cheeks’ so it’s definitely my new nickname for him.
“Fine,” he sighs violently, walking over to the register. I could pay for this with cash, but hand him a credit card instead because it has my name on it. “I didn’t peg you for a ‘Bentley’.”
“My mom had a thing for classic cars,” I explain. “She was actually a mechanic, and that’s how my dad met her. He broke down on the side of the road.”