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“HEY!” CASH YELLS to the loft above the record store. “Want to commit a misdemeanor with me?”
“It’s not as fun as a felony, but I’m in,” I say as I bound down the stairs towards him. Before I get to the bottom step, I push off and Cash catches me. He grabs my thighs and I wrap my legs around him.
“I knew I married the right girl,” he says as he smiles against my lips.
My ponytail sways as he carries me into the storefront, and I see a short, bulky man standing by the door. I stiffen and Cash looks in his direction.
“This is Angel.” Cash swings me around so I can wave to him. He takes a look at me and says hello and then something in Spanish that I don’t understand. I know some Spanish, but my Mother did not raise me bilingual. “He’s letting us borrow his pickup truck so we can get rid of that giant mirror.”
“Oh, you mean the one we used to have on the ceiling above our bed?” I ask innocently.
“We didn’t…” he stammers, looking at Angel apologetically. “The one that used to hang up in here,” he says through gritted teeth with a warning in his eyes, and I find it so amusing. “She’s joking,” he explains to Angel as he lets me down and pats me on the ass.
“I don’t care where the mirror was hanging, just have my truck back by ten. That’s when I close up.” He tosses Cash the keys and walks out the door.
“Okay, but just so you know, we never had a mirror on the ceiling!” Cash yells, but Angel is already gone. He clenches his jaw in frustration.
“Now he fucking thinks were kinky psychos,” he mutters and raises his arms.
“But we are kinky psychos,” I joke, pinching his stomach.
Cash cocks an eyebrow at me and then a smile spreads across his face.
“Who was that guy anyway?” I ask.
“You say shit like that to somebody you don’t even know?” Cash shakes his head and pulls me into his arms, spinning me around. “He owns the thrift store down the block.” He gestures through the door where Angel just left, and I remember the large building that occupies the corner of the block. I’ve actually been there before.
“Why can’t we just throw that mirror in the dumpster behind our building?” I ask.
“Because you’re not supposed to put shit like that in a dumpster, we’ll get fined. We’re supposed to take it to the dump, and you have to pay to do that,” Cash explains.
“My guess is we are not taking it to the dump then?” I spin out of his arms and lean up against the counter.
“We’re going to put it in someone else’s dumpster,” Cash says mischievously.
“I didn’t know I married a criminal.” I grab his shirt and pull him to me. “But I think it’s kind of sexy,” I say with a smile as I kiss him.
“Only you would think committing a crime is sexy,” he says with exasperation and rolls his eyes.
I look around at the storefront and smile. Everything is coming together. “I’m really proud of you, Cash.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “L.A. County is run by a bunch of fuckwads, but I finally managed to get all the permits.” He refers to the wall he knocked down to open up the space, and the small renovation to build an office in the back. The permits took months, stalling the opening, but it’s almost ready for business.
“You don’t know how to take a compliment do you?” I brush the hair from his face and he blinks bashfully.
“I just wanted to create something that was all mine.” I understand what he means. Being in a band together, you never get anything that is just yours. It’s important to be able to have that.
“You did. It’s gonna be great,” I reassure him.
“Wade is flying in for the grand opening,” Cash says and smiles, knowing how excited I am to see him. He’s been away at school, and even though we text and talk on the phone, it’s not the same as seeing him in person.
“I can’t wait to see him.”
“I still have a lot to do before the store is ready to open.” Cash looks around at the empty space. Shipments of merchandise are due to arrive soon. He’s still trying to figure out the accounting system, having had no experience with that before. There are a lot of things about owning a business neither one of us had any clue about. At least with my publishing company it’s only a matter of paperwork and proper accounting, and that was the advantage of having it under Bret’s label, I have help.
“At least my mural is done, no thanks to you,” I tease him.
We both look at the mural behind the cash register. The splatters of white remind me of the heavy promise that sits on my finger. I never thought something so small could mean so much.
