Her Song (Florence Pugh)

Dr. Feelgood

I place the Neighborhood's album, Wiped Out!, on the turntable and drop the needle. It was definitely worth investing half of my life's savings into an expensive record player that connected to the store's high-end sound system. If you're gonna own a record shop, you have to splurge on what really matters— the music.

Since it's past eight at night, there's nobody working in the store except for me. We close in half an hour, and I never make Ash or David (my other employee) stay that late because we rarely get any customers after seven. Syd fell asleep in the bean bag chairs half an hour ago, so it might as well be just me.

But I don't mind because that just means I can turn up the volume and sing along without fear of embarrassment. "Cry Baby" comes on and I turn it up as much as I can without waking Syd.

I sing the lyrics as I check the records inventory, writing down which vinyls are currently rented out, or are out of stock and need to be ordered. I get so into the music that I don't even hear the door open.

A gentle hand resting on my arm scares the shit out of me and I turn around to face the culprit, a small squeal of terror escaping my throat. I sigh in relief when I see Florence standing there and not a robber or axe murderer.

"Oh my god, don't do that," I breathe out with my hand flat against my chest, feeling my heart race in fear.

"I'm sorry," she cringed in apology. "I didn't mean to scare you. I tried calling your name a few times but it seems you were kind of in your own world," she explains.

"No- yeah, no, it's good. We're cool," I stutter, embarrassed that she saw my...performance.

We stand there in silence for a moment, though it isn't awkward; small smiles and rosy cheeks fill the void, happily keeping discomfort from seeping into the interaction.

"So, um, I was just thinking maybe I could get a cup of tea? And I really like this album that's playing so could I possibly rent it out?" Florence asks suddenly.

"Oh, of course! I'll go make your tea first and then I'll grab a vinyl for you," I tell her, already walking toward the cafe counter. "For here or to go?"

"For here. I think I'll stick around for a bit, see if you've got any other recommendations for me," she answers cheerily.

"Oh, definitely. Fair warning, though: my music taste is all over the place. I'm talking classic rock to pop to death metal to alternative to- well, you get the point, so anything I recommend will probably be totally random," I ramble, at which her intoxicating laugh fills the small shop.

I hum lowly to the music as I prepare the Yorkshire tea. Just from the one time she came into the shop, I already remember exactly how she takes it. I can feel her eyes watching me as I pour the steaming hot water, but I pretend not to.

She sits on one of the stools at the cafe bar, and I set her tea down in front of her. We exchange a smile and I say, "I'm gonna go grab that record for you. I'll be right back."

She nods and I navigate the aisles, already knowing exactly where the Neighborhood's albums are. I run my finger along the shelf before picking up the nicest Wiped Out! vinyl in the store. Technically, we have a rental copy of each album and I'm not supposed to rent out the for-sale vinyls, but I'm the boss, so who really cares if I make an exception just this once?

She hands me her card as I walk by her table and I ring up her stuff at the counter. The receipt prints out and I check to make sure she's not looking before flipping it over and writing "Dr. Feelgood by Mötley Crüe is one of my favorite rock albums :)"

I slip the receipt inside the record cover and place it down on Florence's table. Turning to walk away, I stop when she says "Wait, have a seat! I want to know more about you."

Sitting down across from her with a small smile, I ask, "Well, what would you like to know?"

"For starters, your name would be nice," she quips.

"Ah, fair game. I'm Y/N. And you?" I return the question even though I already know the answer.

She slightly squints her eyes, probably trying to figure out if I'm messing with her, before saying "Im Florence. It's nice to meet you, Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you, as well, Florence."

She smiles and slightly bites her lip, looking down at the table. "So where are you from?" she blurts out.

"Small town in Georgia," I reply. "Let me guess, based on the accent, I'm gonna say you're from...Texas. Oh yeah, definitely Texas," I joke, feigning seriousness.

"Hell yeah, I'm from Texas," she says with a fake southern drawl.

Laughing, I ask, "For real, though. Where are you from?"

"Oxford," she replies easily, returning to her normal British accent.

"Sounds posh," I mutter under my breath. She must've heard me, though, because she bursts out laughing once more and my cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much.

Her phone vibrates and she checks it, frowning at the message on the screen. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It's been nice talking with you, Y/N. Thank you for the tea and the record."

"Anytime, Florence. The rental details are on the receipt. Have a nice night," I say as she grabs her stuff and walks toward the door.

"Goodnight," she calls before leaving the shop. I sigh and check the time, realizing I should've closed twenty minutes ago.

I rush to shut everything down and about fifteen minutes later, I'm ready to go.

Gently shaking her tiny body, I whisper, "Syd, babe, wake up. It's time to go home."

She stirs slightly and mumbles, "Don't wanna get up, Momma. I don't feel good."

"What's wrong?"

"Just don't feel good." She falls back asleep immediately and I give up, gently picking her up and carrying her out of the store.

The rest of the night is filled with a sick five-year-old and thoughts of an enthralling British woman. She seemed very upset by that text she got. I hope everything is okay.