Page 20 of Sorry, We're Closed

Gwen interrupts what was about to be a massive ramble of words similar to word vomit.

“Hun, when will you start thinking about you?” She gestures to all of me before grabbing my hand and rubbing her thumb over the back of it.

“Gwen, you know I can’t. You know that she won’t let me, she won’t allow any of this. I’ve already ruined enough in her life; I can’t ruin this too.”

She stops rubbing her thumb and begins pressing every freckle sprinkled along my hand – she’s always loved playing dot-to-dot on them. Her eyes don’t leave my hands.

“You know that if anything happened, Xander and I would take you in a heartbeat, right?” She peers up from my hands and smiles, her dimples appearing either side of her grin.

Gwen and Xander live together above their bakery, and I remember the many after school trips over to theirs for all of the gossiping and chatting about boys on Gwen's bed filled with pretty pillows.

“I know, but I couldn’t put that pressure on you guys, and I would still have here to deal with…” My voice trails off as my mind is overrun with everything that could happen if she even finds out about this conversation.

Gwen pulls her watch to her face as she realises it’s time to get back to the bakery – we didn’t realise how quick the time had sped from us.

“One last thing, hun, take a look at this! Is this your guy?”

She slides over a black poster with two figures outlined in white. One stands tall with an open shirt, stocky build and microphone in hand, while the other stands ever so slightly shorter, smaller build and a large, electric guitar in both hands. Is that…?

“Bright Lights?” I look up at Gwen as she towers over my chair, her hair nearly tickling my eyebrows.

“Yeah, a brand-new band whose posters are spreading like wildfire. Their first gig was apparently amazing, and look here,” she leans over me and points to the small text underneath the band name, it reads Marcus and Avory Bright.

“Oh my god, that’s him.”

“Then youdefinitelyhave yourself a keeper.” Gwen winks at me before planting a kiss on my cheek, her lip balm leaving a sticky mark. “Please oh please, eat something, drink some water, take a deep breath and think about it, or him, your choice! You know where we are, always for you.”

The pestering ringing of the front door goes as Gwen leaves, waving her way out and down the street we were just staring out at.

Bright Lights, huh? I yank my phone out from my pocket and google the band, multiple clips, photos and links coming up of Marcus and Avory. My bottom lip tugs between my teeth as I browse anything I can find.

Ten

Avory

Sales are slow today. So slow that Marcus decided to bundle up a few of our band posters into a ball, constrict the paper tight with elastic bands he found hidden in the bottom of our drawers and throws it directly at me. So, I do the most reasonable thing and throw it directly back at him, thus beginning our game of catch.

I rest in the desk chair with my feet propped up as Marcus pivots himself around the room, attempting to do something productive while his thoughts are clearly preoccupied.

“So, I finally got some contact from the pub.”

My mind runs back to the thoughts of being on stage again. The bass pumping through my chest as I strum the strings, Marcus and I back-to-back and earning a roar of cheers, the sheer amount of alcohol beverages being thrown around by everyone and anyone.

“They loved us! They want us back! At least once a week while we’re here!”

We are definitely settling in and becoming a favourite in Tetherton, and the idea of guaranteed shows, night in night out, is becoming a reality. The nightlife has always been our calling, but a new feeling arises in my stomach, a small tug wrapping itself around me with the idea of those daytime visits to Sombre’s Café.

I’m brought back to reality as the now crumbling ball bounces against my chest.

“Marcus, that’s amazing! When’s the next gig then?” I make sure to put as much power as I can behind this throw, but the ball is paper after all. It doesn’t go very far or hit very hard. Marcus dives across the table to catch the ball of crumple.

“They’ve agreed to Friday night, every week, but they’ll let me know if they want a second gig a week. Also, I’m talking to some other places! I’ve got a good feeling about this town.”

So do I, Marcus, but maybe for a different reason than you.

I can’t get that beautiful barista off my mind. I can’t piece this puzzle of a man together, no matter how much I muse about him. These feelings are anything but familiar to me.

I want my hands all over him, but to also figure him out. That feeling of lust is prominent, as my eyes often find themselves staring at what could be hiding in those snug jeans of his, front and back, but I know that Sawyer isn’t just some fun.

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