In a small corner of giant London resided a small record shop with the name of Spinning Hits. It wasn’t a very popular shop. In fact, it was rather an unknown location. Hidden in plain sight of a busy street; it rarely got a lot of foot traffic, largely earning its revenue from the senior regulars and broke college students. But it got by. Not earning enough to cause a celebration or a vacation, but neither did it cause starvation.
It was here, in this small corner of the world, you worked.
Spinning Hits had been founded by your grandfather in the late nineteenth century, first massively popular but quickly deteriorated in popularity, and was now owned by your uncle. He was an excited and eccentric man doing his best to get by in a swinging economy. Continually trying to keep up with the times without letting down his regulars who came for what they knew and liked.
You had first been hired in your early teens in an attempt to teach you about responsibility. Or so it was explained to you. Secretly, you had always thought it to be because your parents wanted you out of the house as much as possible. They had never wanted a boy but a girl to prim and pamper. But your uncle had welcomed you with open arms and had quickly made you feel welcome. Accepted. And loved.
The moment you turned eighteen, you moved out of your parents’ house and into an apartment of your own. Close to the record store, bought with the money you had saved up from years of dutiful work for your uncle and whatever small jobs you could find.
It was early on a summer morning when you arrived to open up the store for the day. The sun was already high and bright and the short walk from your apartment to the store had been comfortably warm. You would be alone in the store for the next few hours before your uncle would show up around lunch and do inventory work and the like in the back offices of the building.
The day went by slowly as you sat behind the register, hardly doing anything as you listened to the radio as you doodled on loose pieces of paper. The books you had to read for University laid neatly in a satchel on the floor but your concentration for reading them was long gone as you neared lunch and your hunger grew.
It was then the bell that hung at the door rung and you glanced up at the entrance to see the new customer. His back was turned to look out through the glass pane and you raised your brow at that rather odd behaviour but moved on to look down at your paper. You weren’t great at the whole drawing thing but the small birds you had drawn didn’t look too bad.
You glanced up, slightly curious at the newcomer as the only other customer in the store was a daily visitor whom you had come to know quite well.
He was gone from the window and were now looking intently down in the boxes containing new folk releases. He wore a black suit, neat though slightly ruffled in some places as if he’d been running or pulled at. He wore a newsboy cap that matched the suit and shades he also wore. Indoors… okay.
You wore your greatest customer service smile and called out to him; “if you need any help, you just say so!”
He looked to you very briefly with a curt smile and looked back down at the records.
Only a short moment later a loud disorder came from outside and a great big flock of screaming girls rushed by the shop and you shook at the commotion. That was strange. Who could they be chasing? You had heard of something of a mania following a recent band called The Beatles. They sold the most records in the shop too. But, surely, none of them was anywhere near your shop at this time of day.
Your quiet regular came slowly up to the counter, holding hard unto his cane so his knuckles turned white and bought a used copy of a Franz Liszt recording. You wished him a great day and watched him as he gradually made his way to the door. Much to your great surprise; the newcomer opened the door for him and helped him down the steep curve that connected the entrance to the sidewalk. The old man whispered his thanks, it was the loudest volume he could muster, and went on his way home.
Your eyes connected with the younger man, or so you thought as he was still wearing his dark shades, and smiled in silent thanks to him. He gave you a short nod and stepped away from the door with a brief glance out its clean window. He faked interested in the used classical record section as he finally took off the sunglasses that had bothered you so much. They had no real reason to have bothered you; they just had.
He looked briefly at you once they were off and you recognised him immediately but said nothing and continued your business at the register. It was John Lennon, of The Beatles. So the herd of young women that passed by earlier finally made sense. He had gone into your uncle’s shop to escape the rampage. You granted him this moment of solitude in the store for some privacy and silence as you thought it was something he might not have a lot of, deeming from what you had seen moments before.
You hummed along to whatever song the radio played, you didn’t pay much attention to it other than that the melody was familiar enough for you to follow along with, as you continued doodling and letting time pass with the occasional glance cast to the Beatles mulling around the various boxes of records. He did seem to actually have some interesting in the store’s stock and weren’t just there until it was safe enough for him to leave again.
Suddenly; a shadow was cast over you and you looked up to find musician looked down at you and the paper your hand rested on. He was smirking, for whatever reason, and it was then you noticed the song you had hummed along to had been one of his.
You blushed slightly and stood up from your chair to have an ounce of professionalism about you. You had assumed he had come up to buy something but his hands were empty and you blinked confused at him as you looked back from his empty hands and his still smirking face.
“Like what ye hear?”
He asked, still with the smirk, and your blush only intensified. Well, you couldn’t deny the fact. He had could you red-handed with the fact that you did like what you heard. So you just nodded with a half-hearted shrug, suddenly feeling rather bashful as you fought the urge to give in and look away from his brown eyes.
“…’s okay,” it came from you at a low volume. You weren’t used to talking more than necessary to people in the store. And certainly not to someone of his status… or appearance. He was rather handsome. Which was far and few between in this shop as your customers were usually pretty fucking old. And that wasn’t exactly in your tastes.
John looked to be about to say something again when the phone next to the register rung and you quickly took as to not having to say anything more to the handsome singer. It would only get awkward as you were far too unused in communicating with people you got those… warm tingling feelings for.
You did the typical introduction for the store in a chipper voice but quickly relaxed as it was your uncle’s voice that greeted you back. He informed you that he couldn’t make it in for lunch and that you should close for the day and do the paperwork for him. You agreed, always having wanted to take on more serious work. You wished him well, and he equally did so, and hung up.
Now you were only left with asking Mr Lennon to leave. Something you were getting quite nervous about. He didn’t seem the rich entitled type who could get pissy about things not going their way. But you’d never met him before so, who’s to say?
You turned around and looked at him; he had a look in his eyes that made you feel rather warm and you flushed at the sudden thoughts that sprang up in your mind. Willing them away, you informed him of the shop’s closure.
He looked dismayed but did no further and followed you along to the entrance. But before you could open it; he placed himself between you and the door. He stood close to you and you took a sharp intake of his wonderful smelling cologne. He didn’t make it easy for you to keep your mind on track as he looked at you with his hooded narrow eyes.
“You’re a rather cute lad, aren’t ye?”
He asked you as he got closer and closer to you and you blushed at the sudden compliment. Was he hitting on you? Was even he into men? You were but, by God, you had never acted upon it. Not from shame or anything of the like. You were just always an asocial mess when it came down to it.
So, again, you shrugged and moved slightly on your feet. You were unsure of what to do or say and just went with whatever your gut told you to rather than what your mind wanted, (it wanted to yell and hide but that would really just make things worse).
“You’re… you’re not bad yourself,” you muttered and stared hard down at your feet. Shit, was that the right thing to say? The hell did you know?
Well, he snickered and a hand with calloused fingers on your jaw guided you gently up to look at him again.
He asked you in a soft whisper as he leaned in towards you. You weren’t sure what he asked of you but you nodded slightly and were soon met with chapped lips on your own soft ones. He tasted of whiskey and tobacco and you thought one of which was rather odd for the time of day. But it was nice and you closed your eyes as the kiss deepened. You had never before kissed someone you just met but… well, it was very nice.
On hand was still on your jaw while the other had sneaked itself unto you waist as the kiss continued at a leisurely pace.
You still had your eyes closed when he pulled away and opened them up to see a snickering John. You must’ve been quite a sight, all warm-faced and giddy from the kiss. It had been… wonderful. He was wonderful. Gosh.
“Got to get back before the others get their knickers in a twist,” he murmured with his rough hand still on your jaw. You nodded and the hand moved along with it. You didn’t want him to leave, quite honestly, but you were sure he was a busy man. He moved to open the door and you impulsively asked;
“Will I see you again?”
But with a sauve smile; he just shrugged and went out the door with a wave.
You cursed under another your breath and looked up and turned the ‘Closed’ sign. It had been worth asking. Well, if he had any interest in you other than the superficial- he knew where to find you.