Page 85 of That Reunited Feeling

“Hi.” My overexcited eyes dart around the room, trying to take it all in as I approach him. “I’m looking for Sven.”

“You’ve found him,” he says with a smile. “Let me guess. You’re Hannah. Tom’s friend.”

“Um, yes.” That someone I didn’t even know existed was expecting me is a slightly awkward feeling.

“Okay, well, you’ve hit the jackpot today.” He rests his forearms on the counter and leans toward me as I approach, lowering his voice. “Whatever you want is yours. On Tom’s account.”

“What?”

“Whatever you want,” Sven says. “I mean, I’d rather you didn’t take everything, because it would take me forever to find things good enough to restock the whole place. But if that’s what you want…”

“Oh, God, no. I certainly don’t want everything. Or anything, actually.” Someone, even Tom, telling me to have whatever I want and to hell with the cost makes me cringe. It’s wasteful and, frankly, icky. Like I’m for sale.

“You don’t wantanything?” Sven asks, straightening and looking down at me. “Do you not like”—he looks from side to side at the record-packed shop—“music?”

“Oh, yes. I do.” Now he thinks I don’t appreciate what he has. Which is the opposite of the truth. And I’m sure if I looked through it, I’d appreciate it even more. “Love it. And this place looks amazing. But I can’t just take whatever I want on someone else’s bill. That would be terrible.”

He picks up his clipboard again. “Everyone who walks through this door would give their right arm. And probably theleft. And likely at least one leg as well, for the offer you’re turning down.”

Now he thinks I’m rude, when what I actually am is uncomfortable. And possibly a bit offended. I mean, Tom and his aunt have already employed me for things they don’t really need me to do. But at least I can work hard for that money. This is a straight-up lavish gift.

“I can’t be the woman who shops on the rich guy’s credit card. That would be awful. I mean, I don’t even have a record player.”

“What?” Sven’s eyes grow to the size of a twelve-inch. “Seriously? Oh my God. The irony.” His head drops back on a disappointed laugh. “The one person allowed to have whatever they want from my shop doesn’t even own a record deck.”

And now my music cred is in the toilet.“I mean, I’m getting one.” I can’t let this man, for whom vinyl is the world, think that someone who’s been given a blank check neither knows nor cares about what his, clearly, beloved store has to offer. “Soon. I’m just…between homes…and moving…and so haven’t settled down yet.”

“Okay, No Deck Lady.” He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to his empire. “Shop if you like. Don’t if you don’t. Up to you.”

He turns his attention back to his list.

I gaze around the room and take a big lungful of the deliciously dusty, vinyl-infused air. Just being surrounded by all these records and getting to browse at leisure through this unique selection is enough of a treat for me.

Will Tom’s feelings be hurt if I don’t get something? Would that be churlish? Probably. If our roles were reversed, I’d definitely want Tom to get whatever he wanted and I’d get a kick out of seeing him happy.

I’ll just enjoy browsing. And if something catches my eye, then I’ll take it. I can always get an actual record player, like theimaginary one I just told Sven I was getting, once I’m in LA and have a job.

One of my heartstrings twangs a dull note akin to Dylan’s first strum of the guitar, and my eyes are drawn to the star tattoo on my hand. If I pick up something here, it would be a little piece of Tom I’d always have with me. In one way it’d be a unique memento from this brief time we have together and my first trip to London. But in another, it would rip me to shreds every time I looked at it, reminding me of the thing I can’t have.

Not that we’d ever work out. His life is here, and I’m moving mine even farther away than it already is.

Anyway, Tom has been kind, thoughtful, and generous enough to give me this amazing gift. And, yes, it would be wrong of me to completely waste it.

Now, where to start?

25

TOM

“I

s that it?” Hugo asks, downing the dregs of his first pint of beer, as Hannah pulls two albums out of her big red paperGoing Around Againbag. “Just two?”

Hannah’s kid-in-a-candy-store face transforms to a hurt frown. “I didn’t want to get anything just for the sake of it,” she says, handing them to me.

“Yeah, leave her alone, Hugo. Better to have two things that mean something than two hundred that don’t.”

I hold the albums up in front of me, one in each hand. A smile hits my lips as I nod at the one on the left. “I assume this is for Dylan.” The limited edition of the soundtrack from the firstOverlord Hybridsmovie bears the stampSpecial Pressing on Fluorescent Green Vinyl.

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