uncompromising love truly refreshing.”
“You’re
making fun of me.” I said it almost as if it was a question, eying Ian as he
returned his own gaze with a playfully wide smile.
He
laid his palms flat and swiftly swung his legs over the register counter,
meeting me. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Standing
face-to-face with me, he continued to stare with his fixated grin as he drew in
closer until there were no more than a few inches between us. “Last copy.”
Before
I knew it, the album slid right out of my grasp and ever so effortlessly fell
into Ian’s possession. Despite my quick response, he managed to be just a
millisecond faster and raised it over his head.
“Damn
you and your height,” I said in jest, still trying to wrestle his arm down.
“I
think you’re gonna have to make a new artist selection,” he teased.
“Callaghan!”
called out a voice from the entrance of the backroom.
We
bashfully turned to be met with Ian’s boss, Jerry.
“Do
you always antagonize our customers when I’m not around?” he said wryly.
“Only
the ones deserving of it,” Ian remarked.
I
jabbed him in the stomach, and he finally surrendered the CD.
“Okay,
missy,” Jerry said, pointing at me lightly. “Who was the rock guitarist
responsible for creating the drum beat in Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’?”
Without
hesitation, I replied, “Jeff Beck, sir.”
“Damn,
you’re good. Your dad certainly raised you well. Say ‘hi’ to him for me,” he
replied. “Ian, you’ve got a keeper here. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Ian
and I both exchanged awkward glances.
“Oh,
we’re not together,” I confirmed.
Jerry
looked at the two of us disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? You’re gonna leave
her on the market? If I was twenty years younger and not married to Sheila, I’d
be on one knee right now.”
I
could feel my cheeks blushing with embarrassment as Ian shook his head with an
uncomfortable snicker.
“Seriously,
what’s wrong with you?” Jerry insisted.
“Oh,
where do I even begin?” said Gwen, sauntering through the shop doors. “I mean,
just look at him. There’s a whole variety of possibilities. I’ll take CLOTHES
for 200, Alex.”
“Here
we go.” Ian and I both deflated.
“Let’s
start with why Ian always looks like he raided the costume department on a Tim
Burton set?”
“Hey,
I like it,” I said. “He’s well kempt, doesn’t blend in with everybody, and the
look is iconically his. It’s rare to see someone marching to the beat of their
own drum without looking like they’re trying too hard. It’s plainly evident to
anyone paying attention when a person is doing all they can to stand out,
verses someone like Ian who is perfectly and effortlessly unique.”
“Well
put,” Jerry complimented. He motioned to me as he looked at Ian again, mouthing
the word, “Keeper.”
“Okay,
then justify his taste in music. Listen to this,” Gwen said, cringing at the
sounds of Nick Cave’s “Red Right Hand.”
“What’s
wrong with it? It’s Halloween,” said Ian defensively.
“Oh,
please. This time of year only gives you an excuse. How much do you want to bet
that this song is on your TOP 25 MOST PLAYED list? It’s creepy,” Gwen
countered.
“I
love this song,” I equally protested.
“Because
you’re weird, too. Listen to your ringtone. It oozes creepiness,” she said.
Ian,
Jerry, and I all went up in arms.
“Don’t
you dare speak such things against Led Zeppelin!” I cautioned. “‘Kashmir’ is
one of the greatest instrumental achievements in the history of rock music and
its abstract lyrics make it one of the best songs of all time.”
“Bull,
I’ve heard better sounds coming out of my cat when it’s hocking up a hairball,”
said Gwen.
Just
as I was about to unleash hell on her, she smiled ever so slightly. There it
was.
“You
really enjoy getting a rise out of people, don’t you?”
“You
know it,” Gwen replied, flipping through
“You’re
making fun of me.” I said it almost as if it was a question, eying Ian as he
returned his own gaze with a playfully wide smile.
He
laid his palms flat and swiftly swung his legs over the register counter,
meeting me. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Standing
face-to-face with me, he continued to stare with his fixated grin as he drew in
closer until there were no more than a few inches between us. “Last copy.”
Before
I knew it, the album slid right out of my grasp and ever so effortlessly fell
into Ian’s possession. Despite my quick response, he managed to be just a
millisecond faster and raised it over his head.
“Damn
you and your height,” I said in jest, still trying to wrestle his arm down.
“I
think you’re gonna have to make a new artist selection,” he teased.
“Callaghan!”
called out a voice from the entrance of the backroom.
We
bashfully turned to be met with Ian’s boss, Jerry.
“Do
you always antagonize our customers when I’m not around?” he said wryly.
“Only
the ones deserving of it,” Ian remarked.
I
jabbed him in the stomach, and he finally surrendered the CD.
“Okay,
missy,” Jerry said, pointing at me lightly. “Who was the rock guitarist
responsible for creating the drum beat in Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’?”
Without
hesitation, I replied, “Jeff Beck, sir.”
“Damn,
you’re good. Your dad certainly raised you well. Say ‘hi’ to him for me,” he
replied. “Ian, you’ve got a keeper here. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Ian
and I both exchanged awkward glances.
“Oh,
we’re not together,” I confirmed.
Jerry
looked at the two of us disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? You’re gonna leave
her on the market? If I was twenty years younger and not married to Sheila, I’d
be on one knee right now.”
I
could feel my cheeks blushing with embarrassment as Ian shook his head with an
uncomfortable snicker.
“Seriously,
what’s wrong with you?” Jerry insisted.
“Oh,
where do I even begin?” said Gwen, sauntering through the shop doors. “I mean,
just look at him. There’s a whole variety of possibilities. I’ll take CLOTHES
for 200, Alex.”
“Here
we go.” Ian and I both deflated.
“Let’s
start with why Ian always looks like he raided the costume department on a Tim
Burton set?”
“Hey,
I like it,” I said. “He’s well kempt, doesn’t blend in with everybody, and the
look is iconically his. It’s rare to see someone marching to the beat of their
own drum without looking like they’re trying too hard. It’s plainly evident to
anyone paying attention when a person is doing all they can to stand out,
verses someone like Ian who is perfectly and effortlessly unique.”
“Well
put,” Jerry complimented. He motioned to me as he looked at Ian again, mouthing
the word, “Keeper.”
“Okay,
then justify his taste in music. Listen to this,” Gwen said, cringing at the
sounds of Nick Cave’s “Red Right Hand.”
“What’s
wrong with it? It’s Halloween,” said Ian defensively.
“Oh,
please. This time of year only gives you an excuse. How much do you want to bet
that this song is on your TOP 25 MOST PLAYED list? It’s creepy,” Gwen
countered.
“I
love this song,” I equally protested.
“Because
you’re weird, too. Listen to your ringtone. It oozes creepiness,” she said.
Ian,
Jerry, and I all went up in arms.
“Don’t
you dare speak such things against Led Zeppelin!” I cautioned. “‘Kashmir’ is
one of the greatest instrumental achievements in the history of rock music and
its abstract lyrics make it one of the best songs of all time.”
“Bull,
I’ve heard better sounds coming out of my cat when it’s hocking up a hairball,”
said Gwen.
Just
as I was about to unleash hell on her, she smiled ever so slightly. There it
was.
“You
really enjoy getting a rise out of people, don’t you?”
“You
know it,” Gwen replied, flipping through
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