Begin Again (Again #1)(46)

“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 fa?ade 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.