hømetøwn

• : / twenty three / : •

His lips tasted like ice cream but somehow they were still warm.

We spent the rest of the day together. He walked me out of the ice cream shop with his arm draped around my shoulder. I felt like I was walking with springs in my shoes. His presence lifted me into the sky.

We walked to the old record store together, and this time, we managed not to get lost.

"It's a bit of a walk, isn't it?" said Brendon.

"It's not too bad."

"You'll have to go there by yourself every morning, all this way. That's freaking lame." He paused, glancing away. He scratched the back of his neck. A car honked. "I'm going to walk with you."

"What?"

"You're not gonna be walking all that way in the mornings," he said. "Make sure you wake me up once you start working there, because I'm going to be walking you there. And back. Hell, I'll walk you to and from lunch if you want. There are too many sketchy people around, you know? I don't want to risk something. Just...you have my number, right?"

I tilted my head to the side, gazing at him. "Yeah," I said, after a moment. "Yeah, I have it."

"Okay, sweet," he said. "That's awesome. You know you can call me whenever, right? Whenever you need something and we aren't together, you can text me. Or call me."

"I hate calling people."

"Me too. But you can call me if you want to."

"How generous of you."

"Right? I'm basically the best boyfriend ever. Okay, come on, the light changed," he said.

His arm tightened around me as we passed through the crosswalk. The sharp muscles in his arm pressed against my shoulder. A light shiver traced the contours of my back. Cars shot past us, horns blaring. For second I thought I saw a familiar redhead in a car passing by, but when I blinked I realized that I was wrong. He was a stranger. I shook myself; I needed to get a grip. My phone blazed in my pocket. This was bad. I was seriously paranoid.

"Here we are," said Brendon. "This is the right record store, right?"

"How many record stores are there around here?"

"No clue."

"Well, since records are so relevant nowadays, I'm sure there are at least twelve we could have mixed this one up with."

Brendon let go of me and slammed his hand dramatically against his heart. "OH," he groaned. "Wow. Your sarcasm physically hurt me right then. Right in the heart."

"What a shame."

I grabbed the door and held it open for him. He shot me a cheesy grin.

"Wow, such a gentlewoman," he said. "Nice."

His fingers brushed against my collarbone as he strolled inside. The casual touch made my head spin. I followed him inside, letting the door thunk shut behind me.

Again we were enveloped by the dark wooded scent of the old record shop. I breathed in deeply. The scent was strangely familiar, but this time there was a subtle sharp edge to it. A thin jagged scent like paint. I looked around. Mr. Chester was nowhere in sight. I peered at the records. The dusty stacks of vinyls stared back at me. Brendon rustled around behind me, looking through the records.

"They have From Under the Cork Tree," said Brendon.

I turned around and inched up next to him. Our shoulders brushed. Electric tension fizzled in the space between us.