Just What I Needed (Revisited)

Chapter One

The store was empty. Not that the information was all that surprising, a music store in the middle of Bellingham wasn't exactly thriving at the best of times – let alone edging into the evening with dwindling days left of summer. But it was getting rather boring. Even Mr Summers in store, humming brightly away, wasn't much of a distraction. There was nothing to do.

My elbows were propped on the counter, chin in hand, and I couldn't help the heaving sigh I let out. It felt like I'd been standing there for an eternity. And maybe that's why I allowed my eyes to drift to the side, catching sight of the magazines stacked on the counter.

A sigh left my lips, but I still looked, couldn't really help myself.

The magazine had a reputation for catering to rock stars, so the guitar the guy held was far less of a surprise than the fact he was on the cover. There was something so very defensive about his posture. The guitar was clasped in his hands, pressed against his stomach as he eyed the camera almost reproachfully. His hazel eyes were narrowed, and I wondered incredulously if there was suspicion in there, dark brows drawing together across his forehead with hair that was certainly made to look messy.

The whole thing was outrageously pretentious. Yet it had been enough to have me blinking, remembering a concert I'd managed to push to the back my mind since the beginning of summer vacation.

And that had been without reading the bolded headline.

"Seth Ryan Starts Over: Inside the Mind of Rock's Budding Genius."

Even then I couldn't help but scoff as I read the headline, because I remembered that concert despite my better judgement and I'd not seen genius there. All I'd seen was painfully bland music and a whole lot of indifference.

However any irritation on my part was short lived. In fact, the moment my eyes drifted back forwards, I was sighing again. It was hard to maintain any feelings about boy band members attempting to be taken seriously at the moment. There was a reason I was so desperate for something to do. I didn't want my thoughts to linger, because I knew exactly where they'd fall back to and it was the last thing I wanted.

The problem was that there was still nothing to do. I'd been on a mission for the past five days, every one spent tirelessly at work. I'd dusted off all the instruments, been tirelessly helpful with the few customers who wandered through during a day, tidied and scrubbed the back room, reorganized what I was allowed – which Mrs Summers allowed graciously – and was now spent. Upon him arriving, Mr Summers had told me to take a breath already and stay put behind the counter while he retuned the instruments.

I could've done that, and easily. I'd gotten close to piping up about it too, especially when he picked up the first acoustic guitar. However my voice caught in my throat when it came to that sort of thing. That was nothing new, though.

And now there was nothing to do.

With a rather dramatic groan, I dropped my head onto the counter, letting the smack echo through the little store. It went to show just how not out of the ordinary the moment really was when Mr Summer's humming didn't so much as falter. He only continued strumming the bass guitar lightly.

Of course it was in that moment when the door finally deigned to be open; revealing me in plain view spread haphazardly across the counter.

The way the bell tinkled ever so delicately was inordinately different from the way I responded violently. A reaction that was probably Pavlovian in nature. In my startled rush to straighten, my arms slipped across the slick counter only to sprawl downwards again and knock the magazines to the ground in an extra flourish.