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Begin Again: Allie and Kaden's Story by Mona Kasten (17)

Chapter 17

No sooner had Rachel gone than Kaden brought my bag up and put it down next to the bed.

“Thanks,” I said. And then I could only stare at his arms. He’d taken off his sweater, and his plain T-shirt revealed his tattoos, just as I liked it. Since he’d told me what they meant, I found them even more exciting.

Damn Kaden with his damn sexy arms.

“Sure.”

I tore my eyes away and smiled at him. “Your mom is great.”

Kaden rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed.

I turned to face him and saw that he was already smiling again. The awful truth dawned on me: No sooner was Kaden back at home with his mom, than he became almost tame.

“What are you thinking?” he asked right away, sensing a change in me.

“About how happy it makes you to be here,” I answered in all honesty.

Just a few days earlier I had doubted it was a good idea to go with Kaden to Portland. Now that I was here, I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place to be.

We spent a wonderful day together. Kaden finished the house tour while Rachel cooked. Eventually we joined her, but since Kaden’s mother hated giving up control in the kitchen, we just handed her the tools she asked for, and tried to stay out of her way.

After downing an endless supply of mac ‘n’ cheese, we cleaned up. It was almost like being at home in Woodshill. I thought I could feel Rachel’s eyes on me, but didn’t pay any mind.

“Feel like taking a walk?” Kaden whispered as we dried the dishes.

“Are there mountains here that you want to chase me up? ‘Cause hiking shoes weren’t on the list of stuff to bring,” I teased.

He leaned back against the sink, his hands on the counter behind him. “I thought I’d show you a few spots where I used to hang out. We could get a coffee or something.”

Or something. I smiled. The Portland-Kaden was enchanting.

“Why not.”

He gave me a sidelong glance. “Why are you grinning like that?”

I pressed my lips together. But I still couldn’t suppress my smile.

He took his jacket from the closet and held the door open.

“Later, Mom!” he called back over his shoulder. And then we stepped out into the cool autumn air.

Portland in the fall was gorgeous and quite different from the other cities I’d visited so far.

Kaden had grown up in a nice, cozy neighborhood. Everything looked well-kept, and as we walked toward the main road we saw several families, their small children zipping around on bikes. I watched them until they turned the corner, glad to have an excuse not to look at Kaden.

I was ashamed. Not only because I would’ve been sitting alone in Woodshill if I hadn’t come here. To be honest, it was mostly because I couldn’t fight the tingling sensation that his nearness always triggered. The more I got to know him, the less firm my conviction seemed that we’d never be more than just friends.

“Did you always live here?” I asked as we left the neighborhood.

“Mom bought the house after the divorce. It was totally run down when we saw it for the first time, and I couldn’t imagine living here,” he answered.

“Really? It doesn’t seem that way at all.”

“We tried to do a lot ourselves, to save a little money. I wasn’t much help at that time.” Kaden shrugged. We were walking so close that I could feel him against my arm, and I increased the distance between us.

Kaden stopped walking. “Oh come on,” he growled, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back against him in a powerful motion. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing,” I blurted out.

His brow was furrowed. He looked down into my eyes. “You’re totally tense. I want to know why, so I can do something to help.”

I cleared my throat and tried hard not to gaze at his mouth again. “You could keep a little space between us, Kaden.”

Now he looked confused. It took a few seconds before he understood me. He let go as if he’d been burned. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable near me.”

It was just the opposite. I felt way too good when I was near him. But I could hardly tell him that.

“That’s not it, Kaden. I’m just a bit … self-conscious because of your mother.”

He paused. “So that’s why you’re so tense? Because you’re worrying about what my mom might think?”

I nodded. It was the perfect excuse, and I embraced it with open arms.

“And here I thought I was smelling sweaty or something,” Kaden mused.

I leaned forward and sniffed at him. “No, false alarm. But I’d tell your friends the opposite if they asked.” I gave him a shove. “Monica once told me you complained that I smelled bad.”

Kaden snorted. “And you do.”

I raised a brow.

“I’m just being honest. We’ve already talked about your distorted sense of taste. You should be grateful that I’m so honest with you. Whenever we’re in the same room it smells like a candy factory exploded.”

He dodged another shove from me, and started walking again. When I made no attempt to follow, he turned to me and jogged backward. “I wanted to show you the shop where I used to work. So stop sulking and start walking!”

We were back to normal, and I was glad about it.

“You worked here?” I leaned my head back and observed the battered sign with the words Bold Records painted on it in dark green. The paint was already peeling off at the edges, and the façade had seen better days, too. Still, I was curious how it looked inside. I’d never been in a record shop before.

Kaden nodded and held the door open for me; our arrival was announced with a ring. Inside, soft rock music played, and I looked around in amazement. What seemed like endless shelves, all overflowing with vinyl records, filled every millimeter of space; light bulbs dangled down from the ceiling between lengths of white fabric, casting their glow on the CD stands in the middle of the shop.

“This is amazing,” I murmured and went straight to the first shelf. I didn’t own a record player, but records had always held a certain fascination for me. As I moved down the aisle, I ran a finger along the backs of the albums. I stopped to look at one or another of them up close before sliding it back onto the shelf. When I came to the end of the first row, I turned to Kaden, who had followed me at a distance, and beamed at him. He grinned back and gestured with his chin to go on.

In the back of the shop, a few steps led down to an area with comfortable furnishings. Here, too, the walls were covered with album covers. A patterned rug lay on the dark wood floorboards, and a leather chair and a sofa were arranged between a couple of boxes filled with CDs and records. CD players and headphones lay on large flat tables. Along the right-hand side of the room was a kitchenette with a coffee maker. A man stood in front of an open refrigerator and grabbed a Coke, while teens hung out on the sofas and nodded in time with the music. I’d never seen anything like it.

Kaden walked past me to the coffee maker. He took two mugs from the shelf, filled them, and handed me one.

“No creamer, unfortunately. And the coffee isn’t the best either, but … ” He left his sentenced unfinished and shrugged.

“I love it here,” I reassured him. “Really, Kaden. I’d like to buy all my favorite tracks on vinyl right now. And I don’t even have a record player.”

“When I worked here, I felt the same way. But I had to save money for my car at the time. In addition, CDs take up less space. But someday when I have a bigger apartment, or maybe even a house, I’ll set up a huge music room.” He blew on his coffee and took a sip.

For a moment we just grinned at each other. Then Kaden pointed with his cup toward the last free leather chair, located in the middle of the room.

Kaden offered me the seat but I declined, instead getting comfortable on the broad backrest. Kaden sat down but slid over toward the side so we could face each other. He told me how, as a fourteen year old, he had spent nearly every afternoon here and eventually started to recommend music to customers. The owner, Trudy, had always chided him over it, but she also saw that he not only had good taste but also knew what he was talking about. By the time she asked him if he’d like a temp job, he already knew the store as well as the owner and agreed. Okay, at first he could only take deliveries and unpack the new releases, but even now his eyes sparkled when he remembered those days.

After I’d finished my coffee, we went back up into the shop and looked at records. We found lots that we both wanted, but also some that Kaden sniffed at. I let him lead me to a listening station, where he put huge, black headphones on my head that instantly swallowed all the sounds around me. From a basket that stood between the listening stations he randomly picked out CDs and put them in the player, one after the other. If I liked what I heard, I would give it a thumbs-up. If not, the corners of my mouth turned down. By now, Kaden knew my taste pretty well. One album made my heart pound, because the songs—though old and forgotten—seemed so familiar. Beaming, I glanced up at Kaden. A satisfied smile spread across his lips.

After a while, I closed my eyes and thought back to the last time I’d heard Ocean Avenue by Yellowcard. Music had helped me through so many hard days. Some songs were associated with a specific emotion, and I only needed to hear a few of the first notes to bring that feeling flooding back, no matter where I was. With this song, it was like it had a magic ability to heal me, each and every time.

“I love this song,” I said, and Kaden winced—his hand shot out and he held it over my mouth. I guess I’d been a bit loud—several people had turned to look our way. After the last notes faded away, I removed the headphones and shook out my hair.

“After this morning’s trip I wanted to be sure that your taste is still intact.”

“You only had to put up with two songs by Taylor, so don’t even.”

I put down my headphones and moved on to an aisle I hadn’t yet explored.

Kaden walked along the left side, looking through the shelves, while I rummaged through the ones on the right. Whenever either of us found a record we liked, we’d show each other. The new cover of Fall Out Boy had a face on it, and when Kaden held the record up to look at it, he unknowingly held it so that it looked like his body belonged to the head on the cover. I giggled and pulled out my phone to capture the image. When I showed it to him, he insisted on taking a similar photo of me. It didn’t take long before he—with a triumphant grin—found the Ocean Avenue record whose cover featured the face of a girl against the background of the sea and a sunset. Kaden wanted to take the photo, but I insisted that he stand next to me so we could take a selfie. This wasn’t easy, since I couldn’t see what I was doing, and by now I was laughing so hard that I dropped the record and then the phone. But after several tries we managed, and in the end of our impromptu photo session I had not only a cool photo but also a bellyache from laughing.

By the time we walked back to his mom’s house that evening, it was already dark. Kaden had given me one of the nicest days I’d ever had. Against my own expectations, I realized that spending the holiday here was making me happy.

Actually, very.

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