Page 56 of It Never Was

But Parker is there putting the earbud in his ear, keeping his eyes on my puzzled face. Then he just turns and walks back to his work, his head starts to nod to the beat of Three Days Grace, the same beat I am hearing in my one earbud now.

I stand in place, confused but flattered all at once.

I stagger through the rest of the way through the door, dropping my arm full of items on the counter before putting them away. I start to hear singing from in the kitchen, and I can't help the smile that forms across my face. I heard Parker sing in the car in a hushed tone but the volume this time was loud enough to hear through the door that separates us.

It is by far my new favorite sound that he makes.

First is his laugh, then it's his singing.

I make my way around the counter to start putting the chairs into place at the tables, a smile still on my face as I let the sound of Parker's voice filter through the shop. The Halloween decorations Willow and I put up hang from the ceiling, vintage jack-o-lanterns faces and witches riding brooms swing with a slight bounce to them.

I get one chair down with ease when I hear a tapping on the glass behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck rise and my grip tightens on the back of the chair.

Who the hell would be tapping on the shop's door at this hour. Everyone knows we are closed right now.

"Sorry, we are closed right now." I say as I turn slowly.

All thought is lost when I meet the golden eyes that are peering into the shop.

Eyes that are locked on me.

Devon's forehead is pressed against the door, his warm breath fogging up the glass. Both arms propped above his head, letting them rest against the door as if it's the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Panic sets in, my mouth goes dry, my feet glued in place.

He taps his finger, and without thought I drag my feet to him, like he removed the adhesive that was keeping me in place with one tap of his finger. My mind is screaming for me to run, that I shouldn't open the door. But the look in his eyes, as terrifying as it may be, makes my need to please him take over. As if I need to obey.

I stand in front of him, his eyes on me, and I can see the look on my face in the reflection that the glass shows me. My body is rigid, and my eyes are vacant.

I squint to see past my own face, to see Devon. His eyelids are hooded, the fog of the glass comes quicker, replacing it just as fast as it dissipates with each of his rapid breaths.

"Open-n the do-or Rye." His words are cold and slurred.

Was he drunk right now?

I don't move.

"You want me to freeze to death?" He rolls to brace himself with one arm, while he uses the other to shake at the handle fiercely, as if the lock will let up.

"Jus-st let me-e in," he closes his eyes, "I only want to-o talk." he added after a pause. As if it will ease my reservation.

My shaking hands are on the lock before I can think any further. The hopeful part of myself is taking over, eating up the words he is giving me.

He just wants to talk. Talk is good.

Talk is what we need to do, right?

"Yes, good." He watches my hands, "Unlock-ck it, I miss yo-ou."

My hand is trembling. Hesitating a moment, then it turns the lock of the door. Slowly opening it, basking in the small praise he gives me.

The door is pushed faster out of my grip as Devon barrels through it. Hands all over me, walking back further into the shop. The smell of cigarettes and whisky scorches my nose with every inhale. I look at the door, I am too far away to push him back out.

Fuck.

The motions quicker than I can understand them.

His full weight leans into me.

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