When we walked into Howell’s music store, I was surprised to see a fresh-faced teenaged boy behind the cash register, leaning on one elbow and flipping through a music magazine. I was amused to realize Cherry Lips was the main feature in that very same magazine.

“Hey kid,” I called out. “Where’s Frank?”

The teen looked up, startled, his elbow nearly sliding off the counter.

“He’s off today,” he replied.

Frank never used to take a day off. Even if I was holding down the counter, he would still be somewhere in the back room messing around. The old man must have been mellowing in his old age if he was letting some kid take care of the store without him.

The teen stared at me, his face scrunching up as if thinking hard. I wondered if he might be trying to place where he knew me from. His gaze drifted from me to Julian. His eyes went wide, and I knew he recognized Julian.

“Holy shit!” he blurted out. “You’re—!”

“Just here to look,” I cut in smoothly. “That cool?”

“Yeah, yeah, go right ahead,” he replied, his mouth still agape.

“I told you people recognized keyboardists,” I murmured to Julian.

“That’s not completely fair,” Julian replied. “My face is on the cover.”

“Hidden behind layers of hair,” I teased.

The music store wasn’t the biggest in the city, it wasn’t in the best location, and it didn’t have the most impressive selection, but it did have one thing going for it.

This was the place where I’d first met Julian.

I wandered to the far end of the store, where there were stacks of vinyl records for sale. I flipped through them, one by one. I had owned most of them at one point or another.

“Do you remember the day we met each other?” I asked.

Julian followed me, not making a sound. He always had been just like a giant cat, striding on light feet through the jungle, as if he were stalking his prey. But there was never anything menacing about it. He walked with this restrained power, like you knew he could leap on you at any minute, but wouldn’t. He was more likely to rub his chin against your hand and purr — but only if he decided he liked you.

“I remember,” Julian replied. “I was that quiet emo kid, like you said before. And you were that cool punk girl behind the counter with the bright pink hair.”

“You were so tall, even back then,” I said. “You towered over me.”

“Unless you were wearing your platform boots,” he countered.

“Why do you think I bought them?”

We shared a quick smile. I went back to thumbing through records, not looking at Julian.

“I had wanted to go up to you when you first walked in, but you were kind of intimidating,” I confessed. “All dressed in black, looking so serious and foreboding.”

“Me? What about you?” Julian countered. “With your combat boots, nose piercing, heavy eyeliner and that lift of your eyebrow that told people you didn’t have time for their shit…”

“Is that what my eyebrow said?” I asked. “And here I thought I was being a perfectly pleasant retail worker.”

“You scared me shitless,” he said. “I had wanted to ask you about the keyboards, but I was worried you’d think I was a dumbass.”

“After that moment when you first put those fingers to those keys, I would have known you weren’t a dumbass.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I started playing right there in the middle of the store.”

I faked a gasp. “Julian Woods, were you showing off for me?”

He shrugged easily, but a small, sheepish smile crossed his lips. “Maybe.”

“You peacock,” I teased. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” I leaned closer to him and pretended to whisper. “I fixed my eyeliner before coming up to you.”

We chuckled at each other’s expense.

“I can’t actually remember the first words I said to you,” I told him. “Probably asked if you needed help or something. How uncool.”

“I don’t remember either,” he said. “I was too stunned by the pretty girl standing in front of me to understand what she was saying.”

“So that’s why you stayed silent,” I said. “And here I thought you were just playing mysterious.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t able to string more than two words together whenever you were within five feet of me,” he said.

“Is that why you started bringing Seth in with you?” I asked. “So he could talk for you?”

“No, that was him insisting on coming when I accidentally let it drop that I’d met a girl at a music store. He wouldn't shut up about it after that.”

“But eventually you managed to speak for yourself,” I pointed out. “It only took a couple weeks of coming in and playing before you mustered up the courage to ask me out on a date.”

“Is that what you thought that was?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“As I recall, I mumbled something about seeing a show together and shoved the ticket in your hand before skittering away.”

“Is that how you remember it going down?” I asked. “And here I thought you were just playing it smooth. You know,” I lowered my voice and imitated Julian’s deep tones, “I’m going to see a show, it’d be cool if you came, but if not, whatever.”

I snickered as Julian gave me the side-eye.

I moved on from the albums to the section of guitars. There were rows of them hanging from the walls with a few on display to touch. I ran my hand lightly over a hot pink guitar that almost matched my old hair color.

“I didn’t know much about you back then.” I plucked at a string. It thrummed through my bones. “But it didn’t stop me from falling for you, and fast. There was just something about you.”

Julian snorted.

“You saw a tortured, broken bad boy and wanted to fix him,” he said.

“That’s not it at all,” I replied. “You may have been quiet, but your actions spoke so loud.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Julian skimmed through the albums I’d just rummaged through. I’d always been more into vinyl than him. He hadn’t even owned a record player before I’d met him.

“You listened attentively,” I told him. “You were always interested in what I had to say.”

Julian hummed, not protesting. He knew he was more of a listener than a talker.

“You would hold me close and protect me from the crowds at concerts so I wouldn’t get trampled on,” I continued. “You scared away the guys who tried to touch me without my permission.”

“They were lucky I didn’t break their fingers,” he muttered.

“You always asked for my opinion when it came to important decisions,” I said. “You never just decided things for me. I never appreciated that as much as I should have.”

“That’s basic human decency,” Julian said.

I sighed and went to him. I stood in front of him until he looked me in the eyes. I had to crane my neck. I wasn’t wearing my heels. I placed a hand on his chest.

“You cared for me,” I told him.

“I did.” He put his hand over mine and squeezed. “I do.”

“And I care about you,” I said. “That’s why I’m not going to pry.”

Julian blinked at me, surprised.

“Whatever happened before, it doesn’t matter now,” I said. “I understand it can be hard to talk about certain things. So I won’t push you on it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he said. “It’s just—” he hesitated, looking troubled. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but nothing came out.

“It’s okay,” I said. “When you feel ready to talk about it, I’ll be here to listen.”

Julian’s eyes softened with relief. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips, one at a time.

My skin tingled, the gesture making my heart swell and glow.

I knew I’d said the right thing.

Now I just had to be patient.

“There’s a face I haven’t seen in a long time!”

Julian dropped my hand and we turned toward a voice that was letting out a cackling laugh.

Frank Howell, the owner of the music shop, walked through the front doors with a large box in his hand.

“Julian Woods, you little asshole, is that you?” Frank set the box down on the counter, his wrinkled eyes widening. “Still got that same damn girly haircut?”

I suppressed a laugh. Julian’s hair was a little long, but nothing like a girl’s hair. Frank had always liked to give him shit, which was amusing because Frank also had long dark hair, greying in sections, that he kept in a low ponytail at the back of his neck.

“Good to see you, old man,” Julian said with a barely hidden smirk.

“Who you calling old, punk?” Frank came over and shook Julian’s hand while slapping him warmly on the back. “So it looks like you’re some kinda big shot now.”

“Suppose so,” Julian replied.

The teen at the counter gaped at both of them.

“You can go take your break now, kid,” Frank told him. He nodded and slowly edged his way out from around the counter and headed to the back room. I caught his face peeping out behind the door.

“I’m surprised you’re allowing some whippersnapper work the counter without you watching over his every move,” I teased.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to think about retiring and letting go of the reins sometime.”

Frank turned to me and gave me a beaming smile while holding out his arms.

“Come here, kid,” he said, pulling me into a big bear hug and nearly lifting me up off the ground.

I’d first started working at Frank Howell’s music store when I was sixteen, so I didn’t mind when he called me that. I’d probably always be a kid in his eyes, no matter how old I got.

“It’s been too long,” Frank said as he pulled back to look at me. “You been avoiding me?”

Truthfully, I sort of had. This place held too many memories, most of them memories of me and Julian. I’d spent a good few years avoiding anything that reminded me of him.

“Sorry, Frank,” I said. “I’ve been busy.”

“Does this visit mean you’re less busy?” Frank asked.

“No, actually,” I replied. “I’ve got some songwriting work right now. I just wanted to visit this place with Julian. Nostalgia and all that.”

Frank pursed his lips and looked between me and Julian. All Frank knew was what the rest of the world knew. Julian and I had been together, and then we weren’t. The band had broken up and we’d gone our separate ways.

But now we were back together. I could see the millions of questions in Frank’s eyes.

“I followed your careers for a bit,” Frank said. “Both of you. Whatever happened to that asshole, Keith Fielding?”

I started. I hadn’t expected Frank to bring him up. Maybe I should have. Frank had never much liked the guy either. From the few times the two had been in the same room, I always had a feeling Frank suspected the kind of manipulative bullshit Keith had pulled. He’d never said anything to me, though, aside from the occasional kind, and out of character, words, letting me know he’d always be there for me if I ever needed anything.

I’d never taken him up on it. Maybe I should have.

“Keith’s not in the picture anymore,” I told Frank.

“Good,” he said. “Never liked that asshole. Never liked the way he treated you.”

“Frank…” I said, getting uncomfortable. I didn’t want to get into it with Julian right there.

“What do you mean?” Julian asked.

I cursed inwardly and shot Frank a pleading look. He pressed his lips together.

“Just the usual,” Frank said, sounding sour. “Acting all high and mighty, like he knew everything, like he was better than all of us.”

I let out a silent relieved sigh that Frank hadn’t said anything worse. Despite what his suspicions might have been, Frank had never actually seen the worst of Keith’s behavior.

I was sure if he had, he wouldn’t have hesitated to curse the bastard to hell and back, at best.

“Hm,” was all Julian said in response.

“So does this mean the old band is getting back together?” Frank asked, changing the conversation.

“No,” I said. “I’m just working with Julian on his Cherry Lips album.”

“Shame,” Frank said. “You guys were really going somewhere. Coulda been up there with the greats, I always said.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

A sad pang went through my chest. I’d always thought the same. I’d believed it with every bone in my body. Then everything had fallen apart. And now Julian had Cherry Lips. And I had…

Nothing. Not really. A short term gig co-writing one song wasn’t a career.

Not for the first time, I regretted the day I’d ever met Keith Fielding. That man had ruined more than I’d ever realized.

Would I ever be able to get back everything I’d lost?