Page 26 of Secondhand Smoke
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On the drive over, he wondered if this was some practical joke, but when he pulled to the curb in front of the shop, his worries were pointless. Janelle’s bike was leaning against the display window.
He hesitated in his seat and peered through said window to see if he could catch a glimpse of her. All he saw was Toni bagging up something for a customer, but no sign of her.
Barrett filled his lungs with enough air to make him float and gathered the nerve to get out of his van.
The shop door tinkled its familiar chime as he walked in. Toni had put on some older album that rang through the speakers, and the store was bright and lively for a Tuesday morning.
Barrett found Janelle immediately, in almost the exact same spot she’d stood last time, staring at the guitars hung on the wall.
In one hand, he carried a book that he’d brought with him, while the other fiddled with his rings. He glanced at the front counter, where Toni was sporting a shit-eating grin. Barrett flipped him off then looked back at the girl whom he’d washed his face, brushed his hair, and put on his favorite black shirt for.
Taking another deep gulp of breath, he cleared his throat and approached. “It’s a Sigma DM3,” he said with a practiced salesman appraisal and studied the sleek body of the acoustic guitar she was staring at. The air shifted as she jumped at the sound of his voice. He smiled softly. “A great choice for beginners.”
She was quiet for a few moments before she answered, “I like it.” Her voice lacked the twinkling that it had when she was carefree and high. Now it was back to the same polite, mellow tone it had been before.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” He turned to her, tucking his hands behind his back so she couldn’t see his fidgeting or the book he’d brought.
“Oh, umm . . .” She reached into the pocket of her high-waisted jeans and pulled out something green and wadded up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave with it.”
He blinked down at the cash—double his usual rate, just like they’d agreed. He forgot things quite often, but he had never forgotten to take payment. “I didn’t even realize.”
“About that night . . .” She trailed off, her voice soft as she looked to the side and bit her lip.
Barrett tilted his head and waited for her to continue.
“I said some . . . stuff. I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about what I said. I’m sure you can imagine it wouldn’t go over well if my parents found out.”
Barrett raised a brow. “Oh, that?”
She gave a curt nod. “Yes.That.”
The corner of his mouth rose, and he huffed a soft laugh. Janelle looked up at him, her brow furrowed and worried.
“In case you haven’t heard, I’m too busy performing satanic rituals to worry about outing someone else’s business,” he said.
Her bottom lip sucked into her mouth.
Barrett wasn’t good at focusing on what he should, so his rebellious eyes caught sight of the movement and followed it, before his mind reminded him that he shouldn’t and directed his attention to the crease between her brows. He softened his tone. “You have nothing to worry about. I won’t tell a soul.”
The effect his assurance had on her was unmistakable. Her shoulders dropped, and an audible sigh of relief made him study her like she was a confusing but pretty painting.
“Thank you.” She met his eyes for the first time that day, and he welcomed the warmth in her blue gaze. Despite her newly dark and rough exterior, her eyes were consistent with the softness he believed was there. “I should go.”
She turned to leave, but Barrett jumped to block her path. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast.” He kept the book behind his back but held the other hand out in a halting motion between them. “Since you were kind enough to bring my payment, I have something for you too.”
“What?”
He enjoyed the confusion wrinkling her nose.
At last, he revealed his final card. The beginner guitar book she had tried to steal was still damaged from the rain, but it was readable—he’d checked.
“This one isn’t bad, but I do have a few other recommendations if you’re interested.”
She stared at the book. “This is—”
“Yours. A gift from me to you.”
