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“Is that the one?” she asked in a normal tone, closing the door and locking it behind her.
“It is,” I mused.
“Oooo. It’s even prettier than I imagined. Where is it?”
“A music shop in…” My fingertip flicked over the ball of my mouse, and I scrolled to the bottom of the page. “Cupid’s Cove, Pennsylvania.” The time I spent away from my adoptive mother had given me time to clear my head and figure out what I wanted. My first priority was to find my bio mom. After that, I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. Once I had found my real mother, I quickly hated myself for letting Bonnie Jane stand in my way all of those years.
I wasn’t able to find a ton of information on my bio mom at first, but once I got a hold of her name, Jonica “Angel” Highlander, it didn’t take long to realize my journey was a dead-end. Literally. According to the obituary she had “passed peacefully at home leaving behind her most prize possession,her one-of-a-kind guitar her dad had handcrafted for her.” I didn’t understand why a guitar would be listed in an obituary at all, much less why it was mentioned where most people’s family members were normally. That was until Trinity and I did some digging. The guitar was signed by Jimmy “Feather” Highlander, who not only was a rock legend, but apparently her dad. My grandpa was famous, and my mom was a Hollywood kid. Learning that information alone knocked my self-esteem down eighty-seven more pegs lower than it already was. I had always figured my bio mom gave me up for adoption because she couldn’t afford to take care of me and that she truly believed she was giving me a better life by not keeping me.
Years had passed since I had heard her name, but after I read it, it clicked. So many things made sense and then a thousand more confused me. Bonnie Jane had cussed anytime Dad or I played Feather’s music. I never understood why exactly, always chalking it up to another thing she used as an excuse to treat us like shit. She never wanted me to find out who my bio mom was. That part made sense. What I was not able to fathom, despite how hard I tried, if she knew my bio mom came from old money, why hadn’t Bonnie Jane blackmailed her for money or something equally as skeevy. There had to be more to the story, and seeing as I couldn’t pry any of my lineage from my deceased parents, and I wouldn’t talk to the one living, the only thing to do was find that guitar. It was silly. There was no particular rationale behind me finding Feather’s guitar. It wasn’t like it could magically play all of the answers I wished for by a simple pluck of a string. Nonetheless, it was the only thing I had connecting my bio mom to this world, and even if I had no right to it, I wanted the guitar for my own and would do everything in my power to make it a possibility.
3/
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“Cupid’s Cove,”I huffed aloud, pressing the button to power up the open sign of the music store. I tried to keep a wide variety of things in the store, something for everyone. When I opened the doors to this place for the very first time, I had dreams of broadening the music taste of the town and maybe adding a little bit of refinement to said taste by helping musicians find their instrument of choice. For a while, that was exactly what I had in my life and shop alike. Nowadays, the majority of my clientele had zero to no interest in anything in the shop except me. Having anyone fascinated in me should be flattering, and it was, but I liked a challenge, and as of yet, life had failed to throw one at me when it came to the opposite sex.
The town had a population of three thousand eight hundred, and the number of patrons grew almost every day. Cupid’s Cove was notorious for all of its Valentine’s Day themed festivities and the festival, which had been a tradition for fifty years, half as old as the town. All of the lovey-dovey shit worked for most of the people who attributed to that population, again I was an exception to that factoid. None of the women in this town piqued my interest, or at least, that rang true for the ones that came into my shop or the ones who all but threw panties at me. Ofcourse, any other guy would love to be in my position, but I was just bored with everything. I wasn’t your typical man, so really, it wasn’t fair to expect me to act like one when women put me in the situations they had in the past.
I never claimed to follow the traditions of this town. In fact, I hated Valentine’s Day. In my opinion, it was a fictious holiday people used to show their significant other how they could be treating them every day of the year. If, and it was a very big if, the day ever came I found myself in love, I fully intended to use every day to show how much the person I loved meant to me. However, I never expected that day to come; therefore, I was not holding my breath for that thought to ever transform into a reality.
My fingertip scrolled through my playlist while I tried to decide on an album to start out the day. Every year, I attempted to keep up the bare minimum for appearances, at least a little, because although I didn’t feed into the holiday at all, it didn’t mean I was going to ruin it for everyone. If they weren’t in a direct beeline to me with expectations of being showered with gifts, then I didn’t care what anyone believed or did. I had never participated in the Festival of Love or the Secret Valentine, and I didn’t plan to start this year either. Thankfully, I still had a month and a half before Valentine’s Day was here.
“Screw it,Bad Omensit is.” I finally decided, double clicking their album. My eyes closed when my favorite breakdown of “Miracle” filled the speakers that had been placed with precision, and the sick bass drop pulsated in the air around me. I felt those lyrics in my bones. The band was singing about exactly where I was in my life and what I needed to get me through to March. It was exhausting being the town asshole, but hey, someone had to wear the shoes.
Any minute now, the walls would be filled with the hushed chatter, suspicions of who might be my potential date to theFounder’s Day Dance or to the Sweethearts Dance. It never mattered that I hadn’t stepped foot on either event’s dance floor; there was always speculation if this would be the year someone would finally land Skip Turner. At that moment, I got it. I was the challenge I was looking for in a woman. Did that make me a hypocrite? Probably, but there was no way I was settling for less than what I wanted. Doing so was not fair to who I did it to or myself. I liked what I liked, and I refused to budge.
I just wanted something new and exciting, which for everyone else typically came around this time of year. It just never happened for me. Perhaps I was caught up with the idea of all the things and work that went into having a relationship with someone. Keeping my business up and running occupied a big part of my life, not that I wasn’t able to devote my time to someone else; I chose not to do so.
“Wouldn’t you just love to see what those hips could do on the dance floor?” A female voice coughed.
“I wouldn’t mind watching them other places,” another said. I recognized them both at once but didn’t bother opening my eyes at first. Maybe if I kept my eyelids closed, they would get the point and see themselves out the same way they stealthily came in. Clearly, I had been lost in my music and didn’t hear them enter. My body stilled, and I sighed a little. Out of all the women in the town to enter my shop, I almost enjoyed these two. Almost. They at least kept me on my toes.
“Maryland,” Violet faked a gasp and giggled at her friend.
“What? I only said what we were both thinking. If I were thirty years younger…actually, if he’d let me test drive his stick shift, I’d give it my best shot any day of the week.” Maryland grinned as I opened my eyes and winked at her.
“Ladies, what brings you in today?”
“It’s not whatever you call this.” Violet waved her hand in the air as “Miracle” repeated. I must have accidentally picked the loop option, but I didn’t mind. I loved the song.
“Music?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Honey, this isn’t music, at least not in my opinion. Now, those forty-fives you special order for us, that’s what real music is,” Violet pointed out, moving a step forward.
“I think it’s kind of spicy. I like it. It has an edge,” Maryland said, nodding her head along with the beat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Violet. I don’t do special orders. You know that.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Skip Turner. We know the truth.” I would never admit she was right; they just happened to enjoy some of the same older music as me. The rest of her point was pure coincidence.
“Just like you tell everyone you don’t believe in love.”
“I never said I didn’t believe in, love, Maryland,” I answered her. “I said I didn’t feed into the Valentine’s Day bs like everyone else.”
“Same difference.” She waved me off. “Regardless of your beliefs, I hope you have a secret this year.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, cocking my head to the side as my nails raked through the scruff of my beard.
