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The first day he comes in is a smothering hot day in July. There’s quite a few notable details signaling his arrival: That sodding bell above the door chiming like a songbird. The gust of heat that crashes against her back, disrupting the valiant efforts of the fan she’s got pointed directly at her face to keep from sweating through all her clothing. His laugh, nestled amongst the others, rowdy and boisterous and brilliant.
He doesn’t notice her at first. Whether that’s because he’s so consumed by the joke his mate is telling him, or the plethora of records on display, or the fact that the cashier’s counter is tucked hidden in the corner behind the door, she’s not sure. But she notices him. It’s impossible not to, with the way the air seemingly stills and ripples around her simultaneously.
He and his friends beeline for the rock section, which is strategically placed up front, directly in her eye line. She gets a closer look at him, this way. Messy hair, a strand or two curling behind his specs. The lean shoulders of a boy still in the midst of filling out his frame. Long fingers flicking through the bin of records, the light snick sound filtering through the hum of the fan blowing by her ear. The others — another dark-haired boy with sharp cheekbones and penetrating grey eyes, a taller, lighter-haired one with a weary but fond smile playing at his lips, and a stouter, eager boy shifting on his feet — are bickering alongside him.
“Led Zeppelin IV is clearly the superior album, Pete, I can’t believe you’re disagreeing with me about this—“
“But Kashmir!” The shorter boy says, indignant. He beholds the indignant expression of someone caught defending an unpopular opinion on far too many occasions, Lily muses.
“It’s about the album, not one song,” the long-haired boy rolls his eyes. There’s something distinctly and idly regal about him, paired with a coolness like he resents the fact. He must be some posh boarding schooler home for the summer. The others, too, it stands to reason.
Lily watches for a moment before she thinks she should probably do her job rather than gawking at the group of them.
“Can I help you find something?” she asks, in her best customer service voice. It’s only her third day on the job, but she’s quickly come to find that putting on an air of politeness works wonders.
The four of them turn to her, surprised, as if it hadn’t crossed their mind anyone would be working in the shop at all. Her gaze immediately catches his, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. She wonders if she imagines the way his eyes widen imperceptibly.
A moment of silence passes in which Lily begins to think she has something on her face, or perhaps she unknowingly spoke in Russian, until he says, quite abruptly: “You weren’t here before.”
Lily raises an eyebrow. The attraction that had begun to shape in her gut melts, snuffed out. “Excuse me?”
The other dark-haired boy next to him stifles a snort with his fist.
“Oh, no, I just - I meant-“ He glances at his friends for help, but they merely stare back at him. He sighs. “I come in here almost every day and I’ve never seen you before.”
“Oh,” Lily says. She glances at the rest of them, who are all still looking back at her with varying expressions ranging from discomfort to indifference. “Well, my summer holiday just started.”
“Ah, right.” He nods. Another moment slips by before he clears his throat, hand trailing through his hair.
“So, do you need any help, or…” Lily trails off, peering expectantly the boys.
Before he can answer, the other dark-haired boy cuts in: “Yeah, you can tell my mate here he’s an idiot for thinking Physical Graffiti is a better album than Led Zeppelin IV.”
He claps a hand on the blond boy’s — Pete’s — back. Pete blushes, mumbling something under his breath.
“Erm…” Lily trails off. She meant something more along the lines of, oh, the Blues section is over there.
“Do you not have an opinion?” The princely boy interjects, brows raised. A challenge.
Lily bristles. “I do. I’m just not sure you’ll like it.”
“You prefer Physical Graffiti?” he asks, horrified. The taller, sandy-haired boy behind him rolls his eyes.
“No,” Lily insists. She lifts her chin up. “I prefer Houses of the Holy.”
“Oh,” the boy replies. He almost sounds bored. “Well, that’s no help to me.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Lily says, dry.
“Sorry about him-or, both of them, rather,” the sandy-haired boy interrupts. He wears a considerate smile, eyes apologetic. Even from this distance, Lily can make out a faint scar splitting across his cheek. Next to him, his mate scoffs in offense. “I’m Remus. This is Sirius —” Remus points to the Led Zeppelin IV enthusiast, then to the smaller, watery-eyed boy next to him— “Pete,” and then finally to him. The breathtaking boy who had notably stuck his foot in his mouth two minutes earlier. “And that’s James.”
James smiles at her, tentative, lips crawling up as if he’s scared to make a wrong move. The thought makes her own twitch upward.
“Lily,” she says.
“Well, Lily,” Remus replies, that consolatory smile still fastened on his face. His customer service skills could rival even hers. “We’ll leave you be. We know the shop pretty well.”
He claps a hand on his mate’s shoulder, tugging him further back towards the bins filled with garage rock. The other two send her a strained smiles before following dutifully behind, and he glances back at her. It’s as fleeting and imperceptible as a wisp of smoke.
The four of them mill around for awhile, continuing their argument. He — James. Lily tests the shape of his name in her mouth — is quiet for most of the dispute, though. This surprises her. He doesn’t seem like the type to be quiet about much of anything. More like he was someone quiet itself catered to when he needed it. When he had entered the shop, she felt the space shift, reshaping itself around him. She can tell by the way his friends laugh in his direction, the way they sometimes flick their eyes toward him after he cracks a joke.
She catches his gaze a few times over the course of his visit, just as immediately tearing it away each time.
The four of them start strolling back to the exit when Sirius — who she’s heard referred to as both Sirius and Padfoot, inexplicably. They all seem to have multiple names — asks for his opinion outright.
“Come on, Prongs, settle the debate, then” he says. “Led Zeppelin IV or Physical Graffiti?”
“Neither,” he declares. His eyes skitter towards her just as he steps through the door. “Houses of the Holy.”
His friends groan, indignant. They’re already launching into yet another argument. Lily feels a tug of heat behind her ribcage as the bell chimes with their exit.
The boys come back every day after. The combinations vary a bit, like their own private square dance, sometimes coming in different pairs or trios and sometimes all four again. Today, though, he’s in alone.
Lily is not usually bothered by silence. In fact, there have been plenty of times this week where she’s welcomed it, even prayed for it, on the job (particularly when two children entirely too rambunctious for their tiny bodies raced in yesterday and practically pillaged the Country music bins).
Now, though, the quiet — but for the hum of her trusty fan and the soft shuffle of records — feels oppressive. James’ mere presence is enough to straighten her spine in anticipation and raise gooseflesh across the nape of her neck. She is shaken with the need to fill the silence with something, just in the hopes it would rid her body of the feeling.
He’s steadily browsing through the Pop section, carefully studying each record as if one of them might hold the meaning to the universe, when she finally breaks.
“Are you ever going to buy something?”
His head snaps up at the ring of her voice, eyes wild. “Huh? Oh, er…yeah.” Without even looking at the cover, he lifts a record from the bin and strides over to her. “This one.”
She picks it up. It’s a Barry Manilow record, one of his first that her mum likes to play in the kitchen when she cooks. Lily’s heard it too many times to count at this point. Lily glances up at him, sees the way his lips purse slightly when he notices what he’s offered her. She raises an eyebrow. “Barry Manilow?”
A moment of silence passes before James clears his throat. “Yeah, I, er…love him.”
“Really?” Lily questions, cocks her head to the side. James has begun to shift his balance between his feet. “I’ve never seen you listen to him before.”
He and his friends sometimes commandeer the record player behind the counter. If they ask really nicely — so usually it’s Remus’ job to request it.
It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows. His smile peeks through, all sense of nerves lost. Lily feels her chest flush, splotchy and red. “You’ve noticed what I’ve listened to, Evans?”
She rolls her eyes, hoping she’s exhibiting a nonchalance that doesn’t quite exist within her. “You’re here almost every day.”
As if that is explanation enough. As if she doesn’t sneak glances at him throughout his visits, the summer sun dappling his skin through the window, painting caramelized patterns in his hair.
At her words, there’s an almost unnoticeable deflation in his shoulders. She might be imagining the movement.
James nods. “Right.” He gives a breathy laugh, runs a hand through his tousled hair. It’s an infuriating habit, to be sure, and one that sets her pulse burning nevertheless.
She tears her gaze from the particularly intriguing muscle in his forearm and rings him up. “Three thirty-five. You need a bag?”
“Nah, I’m set, thanks.” He waves a hand, taking the outstretched record from her with the other. His fingertips graze hers for a moment, the lightest brush. He clears his throat. “So, uh, I’ll see you around?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Right.” Another cough. “Bye, Evans.”
He’s already at the door.
“Bye, James.”
She looks up at the tap of his fingers against the desk to the beat of the song — Janis Joplin — and he’s smiling at her unabashedly. Lily fights to keep her own smile from escaping. “Yes?”
“Do you choose the music playing yourself?” he asks, bright. Sometimes Lily thinks he illuminates every room he walks into. Or this one, at the very least, as it’s the only room she’s actually seen him in, but she’s willing to test her theory. As if the world turns in his direction, like flowers towards the sun.
“I do,” she replies, a little wary. She’s not sure whether he’s about to insult or compliment her. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything negative. If he did, Lily thinks she might have to boot him out of the shop altogether. It would be lonely afterwards, of course, but she can’t have any boy insulting Janis around her.
“I like it.” His smile is breathtaking. Lily can feel the bloom of red upon her cheeks at the dimple he flashes at her. This is pathetic. Yesterday a forty-year-old mother said the same thing and she was fine.
Lily musters up a confident smile and says, “Thank you.” A pause as she feels her air turn flirtatious. “But it’s no Barry Manilow.”
James’ grin grows even wider, a beacon even amongst the light flooding the shop.
Lily makes a mental note to tease him more often, if this is the reaction it elicits.
James leans in slightly, his hands folded behind his back and a mischievous look glinting in his eyes as he states, wry, “Well, no one’s Barry, Evans.”
He spends the next twenty minutes picking out songs to play for her.
The local town cafe is packed with people escaping the oppressive heat: little kids winding around the feet of their parents, couples valiantly sharing body temperature, and old men wiping sweat off their brows. It’s Lily’s day off, and she’s spending it shopping for wedding decorations with Petunia, which was neither of their idea. Their mother is still under the impression that forcing the two of them together will result in a perfectly mended relationship and maybe an offer for Lily to be maid of honor. Petunia drags her feet behind Lily, whining about the wasted time, even though Lily knows she’s secretly thanking a higher power for the cool air indoors. Lily is barely paying attention to her surroundings, mainly just craving a cold drink to take her mind off the heat on the walk home. When it’s her turn to order, (“Caffeine at this hour, Lily, really?” Petunia scolds), she hears her name called out from behind, enticingly familiar.
James is sitting at a table in the back corner with his mates, eyes trained on her. He waves, ever-present smile directed right at her.
She grabs her drink from the counter and turns to Petunia. “I’ll be right back.”
When she arrives, James grins up at her. She’s never looked at him from above like this before. She likes him from this angle. “Hi,” she says, a little dry.
“Are you escaping the elements, too?
“Mostly,” Lily nods. “I’ve been walking around outside all day.”
“Rookie mistake,” James shakes his head. “You’ve got to take breaks.”
“Is there a manual I can read?” Lily raises an eyebrow.
“Nah,” James doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m afraid you can only get face-to-face lessons.”
Beside him, Sirius expels an unflattering snort. She thinks Remus kicks him under the table immediately after, because a “Shit!” spills from his lips and he levels the taller boy with a glare.
Lily opens her mouth to respond to James when a shrill voice rings out through the shop. “Lily! I can’t wait for you all night!”
Lily rolls her eyes before calling out, “Coming!” over her shoulder. She turns her gaze back to James, who’s brow is wrinkled so sweetly. She’s struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss it smooth. “Duty calls.”
She’s already halfway turned around when he interrupts, “Um-I don’t know how pressing those duties are but you can stay and join us, if you’d like.”
His voice, soft, like honey.
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out,” Lily waves a hand in dismissal.
Remus speaks up then. “It’s no trouble.”
Lily considers the invitation for a moment. She could walk home with a miserable Petunia, listening to how she’s wasting her time working at a record shop, or she could spend a few hours with James and his mates. It’s not a particularly difficult decision.
“One second,” she says to the boys, holding up a finger, and heads back to Petunia, who is standing by the door with pursed lips, tapping her foot on the linoleum. “I’m going to stay with them for a bit. You can go on home.”
“Really, Lily?” Petunia clicks her tongue. “Who are those boys?”
“They come into the shop often,” Lily responds. “They’re nice. And it’s not as if we had any more errands to do. We were just about to head home anyways.”
“They’re not errands, Lily. It’s my wedding,” Petunia sniffs.
Lily fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Sorry, not errands then. Is it alright if I stay?”
Sometimes, she’s learned, it’s better to simply let Petunia think she has some authority over Lily’s decisions, even if none of them seem to be the right ones. As if on cue, Petunia releases an dramatic sigh.
“Fine,” she’s already straightened and turning towards the door. She looks back, fleetingly. “Don’t be too long.” Then she’s out the door.
Lily strides back to the boys’ table, where James has already pulled out a chair at the head. She slides onto it, lifting her gaze to all four of them looking at her expectantly.
“Who was that?” Peter pipes up first.
“Erm, my sister,” Lily explains. “She’s a bit stressed out today. Wedding planning.”
“Someone’s marrying her?” Sirius brows raise deep into his hairline. She thinks he’s on the receiving end of another kick to the shin.
“I’m sure she’s lovely,” Remus supplies. He seems to be the tactful one, Lily’s noticed.
“Not really,” she shakes her head.
“Have you lived in Cokeworth your whole life?” Peter asks.
Lily nods. “Born and raised.”
“And we haven’t seen you around before?” Sirius challenges.
“Maybe you weren’t looking,” she shrugs.
“Maybe you were holed up in James’ mansion,” Remus adds.
Lily turns her attention to James with a raised brow. “Mansion?”
He sends her a sheepish look, his cheeks dotted with red. “It’s not that big.”
“That’s what all the rich boys say,” she teases.
“Do you think less of me now?” he asks, but his tone is light. He leans his elbow on the table, sneaking closer to her. The other boys have already continued their own conversation, but Lily’s not really listening.
She sticks her chin in the air, lofty. “Hm, I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Be gentle with me, will you? I’m fragile.”
She can only smile back before Sirius is demanding her attention again, but she can feel James’ eyes on her like a sixth sense.
The sun has disappeared by the time Lily and the boys leave the cafe, having officially exhausted the poor staff. The only light emitting is the soft glow of the streetlamp, and the previously muggy day has given way to a discrete evening chill.
The boys began to amble down the road, the opposite direction of Lily’s home.
“Oh, I’m this way, so…” She trails off as they turn toward her, waiting for a simple nod of their heads so she can continue on her way. But James immediately moves back to her.
“I’ll walk you.”
“Oh, you don’t have-“
“Evans,” a glare in frustration. “I want to.”
They wave goodbye to Sirius, Remus, and Peter before heading on.
“So, how’d you start working at the record store?” James ventures. He has a distinct walk. Both hands tucked in his pockets, long legs ambling along as if he as all the time in the world.
Lily shrugs. “Needed something to do, I guess.” After a pause, she continues. “My house can feel a bit…claustrophobic, especially during the summer. Besides, the money’s not too bad.”
“You’re good at it.” She raises a brow. “I mean it. You should see the other bloke who works there. Absolute mess. Didn’t know his Stones from his Police.”
“Are you talking about Roger?”
“Kind of short? Ginger? Big ears?”
“They’re not that big-“
“Like an elephant’s, Evans, I swear.”
She snorts, shoving an elbow into his side, which he clutches, stumbling dramatically off to the side. The wind picks up then, sending a shiver down her back as if in punishment, and she rubs her hands up and down her arms in hopes of facilitating warmth.
It’s as she’s preoccupied with ridding herself of gooseflesh that she feels the slip of his jacket over her shoulders. She turns to him in surprise but he only sends her a stubborn smile in return.
“Well, I’m glad you’re there anyway,” he continues, as if nothing at all is amiss. “Good to have someone around who’s good at their job.”
“It’s not like you ask me for help.”
“Maybe not, but I like you there anyway.”
“Do you?’ Her heart skitters, the traitorous thing.
“Oh, yes,” he nods with enthusiasm. “You have a calming presence.”
They’ve reached her house, the porch light still flickering like a glowworm in the still summer air. It’s too quick, she thinks, the walk back. Too much time to enjoy him and too little to act on it.
“Well…” Lily’s face tilts naturally up to see him. She wishes she had the courage to close the distance, damn the consequences. Instead: “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
James smiles, the stretch of his smile spreading a chill up her arms again despite the jacket around her. She tugs it off to give it back to him. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”
He touches his hand to her arm for a millisecond before walking away, smile still fixed firm on his face.
He comes in alone the next day, bursting in as if he owns the place, and he kind of does, she thinks.
“Evans!” he calls, immediately heading her way. He plants his forearms onto the counter, shooting her a conspiratorial grin.
“Potter,” Lily replies.
He lifts his chin towards the music echoing from the record, one of her favorites. “Mamas and Papas? Are you on a sixties kick today?”
“A bit,” she shrugs. “Did you come here to look around or just to comment on my musical curation?”
“I’m fine right here,” he says. The uptick of his lips sending a thrill through her stomach.
She nods, not quite tamping down the smile threatening to escape. “Any requests?”
“Hm…how about ‘I’ve Just Seen a Face’?”
“I’ll have to find it in The White Album,” she warns.
“I think you’ll manage.”
“Alright,” she says.
Lily rifles through the records piled underneath the desk, the numerous options available to her to decide the shop’s soundtrack. The White Album is in the back, always in the same place so she knows where to find it. She sets it on the turntable, dropping the needle onto the record in estimation of where the song is. James is right. She guesses it almost perfectly. The beginning notes chime out as she turns back to him.
“Is this your favorite Beatles song?” she asks. She would’ve guessed something a little more rock and roll. ‘Get Back,’ maybe, or ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun.’
“Nope. Just seems fitting.” He grins. The moment holds still, along with her breath. After a pause, James continues, “So, I’ve got a proposition for you, Evans.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you like James Bond?”
“That’s a question.”
“Just answer.”
“I do.”
“Well, we’re going to see The Spy Who Loved Me tomorrow. You want to come?”
“Oh. Sure.” She tries to tamp down the impulse to read into the invitation. “That’s really kind of you, James. Thank you.”
“Brilliant,” he nods. “The showing’s at six-thirty. Meet us out at the theatre?”
“Sounds good.”
“See you then, Evans,” he salutes her and dips out the door as Paul McCartney’s voice echoes behind her.
The sun is still high and staggering amongst the clouds when she arrives at the theatre. All four of the boys are standing under the red awning, three of them somewhat deep in conversation while James looks as if he’s vaguely exploring the streets for a bee. Despite the roaming his eyes are currently occupied with, he only notices her when she’s less than a foot away from him. He beams at the sight of her, as if she’s some sort of beacon offering him eternal life. Lily doesn’t want to be so bold as to assume it’s all her, but the brilliant stretch of his smile makes her stomach flip in an embarrassing manner nonetheless.
“Hi,” he says, grinning down at her.
The rest of the boys notice her as James speaks, each acknowledging her presence themselves, with a nod of the head or a jovial hello.
“Hey,” she says, waving. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“‘Course,” James replies brightly. “We were just ready to head in. You like popcorn?”
The film is fast-paced and brilliant, exceeding Lily’s - admittedly low - expectations. When the five of them had trudged into the theatre, Lily was left sitting next to James on the end, sharing one of two bags of popcorn they’d split amongst the group. He had rested the bag on the armrest between them, and their hands had bumped together when they’d both reached in at the same time for a fistful. Each time, James had chuckled awkwardly and pulled back, letting Lily scoop her own handful before diving in himself. The sheepish grin he sent her had released a flurry of butterflies scurrying throughout her stomach.
If it were possible, he was even more excitable as they exited the theatre, each of the boys riling each other up as well. Lily allowed herself to revel in the vibrant display before her, these four boys rapidly listing off their favorite moments.
“And then when the car turned into a submarine-”
“-And when he skied off the mountain?”
“-The EXPLOSIONS!”
James turns back to Lily, who is following behind them. “How’d you like it?”
Her chest squeezes at the inclusion. “It was brilliant.”
He grins, clearly pleased.
“What was your favorite bit?” Peter asks.
“I liked when Barbara Bach’s character quite a bit.”
“Christ, she’s fit,” Sirius sighs wistfully.
Lily raises her eyebrows, amused.
“Don’t look so scandalised. James thinks so too,” he says, clapping a hand to James’ back. His lips tug up into a dangerous smirk. “Although he prefers redheads.”
“Shut up, Padfoot,” James grumbles. A blush steals across his cheeks, warming his brown skin.
“Charming,” Lily deadpans, but there’s no heat to it. Sirius knows it, too, by the way he grins back at her, unabashed.
“What do you say we stop at the ?” He suggests. “I could use a nightcap.”
“Of what?” Remus replies drily. “Milk?”
Sirius shoves him in response.
“I should head home,” Lily offers, slowing to a stop. “I told my mum I’d be back for dinner.”
James pipes up immediately. “I’ll walk you home.”
She knows better now than to dismiss him. And regardless, the bloom of relief she feels throughout her chest that she’ll get at least another ten minutes with him is enough to make her nod in assent.
They walk in comfortable silence for a minute or two, James loping beside her, hands in his pockets. His legs are so long she’s sure he could walk five times faster than he currently is, but he keeps his strides shorter so she can better keep up with him. The realization pulls a smile from her lips.
“I’m glad you came out tonight,” he says after a couple minutes have passed.
“So am I.”
“I mean, I’m sure I would have had fun with the boys anyway, but…”
“I’m sure,” she agrees, light.
Her home comes into focus ahead of them. The porch light is still on. Lily doesn’t feel like getting questioned by a nosy Petunia, so she pulls the both of them to a stop just beyond the gravel driveway.
She notices a second later her hand is on his arm. Lily retracts it, cheeks flushing at her transparency, but James only seems to be emboldened by her slip-up.
He steps forward. Up close, she can detect patterns in the moonlight dancing across his jaw. The deep violet of the sky brings out the blue in his eyes. Up close, she can see they’re shining. With nerves? Anticipation?
“I’m glad you came out,” he repeats. “And I’m glad you started working in the record shop. ‘Dunno how we would’ve met otherwise.”
It’s such a simple statement. From anyone else it might have been devoid of romance, but the way James says it, like it’s the biggest confession he’s ever made, causes Lily’s breath to shake.
“I’m sure we would’ve run into each other eventually,” she supplies, for lack of anything better to say.
“Maybe,” James shrugs. “But I wouldn’t want to have taken those chances.”
Another step closer. The tips of his trainers brush against her boots. She has to strain her neck to look at him. James draws in a breath as if he’s about to say something else, but quite honestly Lily can’t be bothered with the waiting any longer.
She lifts up, resting a hand to his chest for balance - and yeah, vanity - and gently presses her lips to his. It’s soft as the flutter of an eyelash, just a taste. Lily pulls back a centimeter, their breath mingling in the shock of the moment, before they’re both closing the space once again.
The kiss is languid, easy, as long and patient as the summer nights she’s spent with him. She may go back to school in less than a month, but Lily feels, inexplicably, like she has all the time in the world left here. He runs a hand through her hair, down her neck, her shoulders. A nip at her lower lip, a squeeze of her waist. Every movement, every touch, sweet and slow and utterly mind numbing.
A few minutes pass before they finally pull away, shy but blinding smiles mirroring each other. Lily lets her hand linger on James’ chest before sliding it down to grasp his own, squeezing it. She has no desire to go inside, but she’s already running late. James nods, already knowing what she means to say.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” she says. She doesn’t add the hopefully as soon as I open her brain tacks on to the end of her sentence. By the content and slightly dazed look on James’ face, though, he seems to be thinking the same thing.
He says as much, too. “Good luck getting rid of me, Evans.”
One Year Later
The door to the shop opens with a bang, and Lily almost wonders if it doesn’t knock the bell chiming wildly above it clean off with the force, as her boyfriend strides inside.
“Honey, I’m home!” he calls, not even bothering to move further to the back to look at the actual merchandise. He merely cuts right straight toward where Lily stands behind the counter, biting back a grin. James has the decency to spare a glance around, checking there are no witnesses, before scooping Lily up in his arms and planting a firm kiss to her lips. He lifts her up and off the ground, spinning her in a circle. Full of energy, the boy is.
“I just saw you yesterday,” Lily laughs, but she pushes back against him anyway.
“Hm, too long,” James hums, slightly muffled between their lips.
They kiss for a minute longer before James pulls back, seemingly registering the music playing in the background. He cuts her a stern look. “Carly Simon? Again?”
“I can’t help it!” Lily insists. “It’s too good!”
“It’s depressing!” James argues. “And there are so many other new albums you could play.”
“If they were as good as Boys in The Trees, then maybe I would,” Lily says haughtily.
James just laughs and kisses her once more. But almost as soon as he does, he pulls away again, eyes lighting up. Lily knows that look. His idea look. God help her.
“Hold on,” James lets go of her and strides towards the bins tucked further down the shop.
“What are you doing?” Lily calls after him.
“You’ll see,” he says, and she can practically hear the grin in his voice from here. He shuffles through a few of the bins before he lets out a triumphant, “ah!” and pulls a record out.
As he approaches the desk again, he slides the record out of its sleeve and deposits the latter in one of the empty bins by the desk. Lily cranes her neck to sneak a glimpse of the album art while James makes his way to the record player, but he quickly snaps a finger in her direction.
“Oi! No peeking!”
“Are you joking?”
“Do you even know the definition of a surprise, woman?” he chides, tutting. James gently places the record in place and drops the needle, already turning back towards her with that tell-tale gleam in his eye.
A beat passes, the soft crackle of the needle in the groove, before a melodic whistle and an accompanying jaunty piano rings throughout the shop.
James’ grin has spread across his face, already halfway laughing at Lily’s disbelieving expression.
And then, Barry Manilow’s voice, crooning above it all in the next measure: You know I can’t smile without you…
James extends a hand toward Lily. She wants to act put out, but she can’t help the laughter she expels at the exaggerated swing of James’ hips, the radiant expression on his face as he mouths the lyrics. He tugs her closer to him until they’re chest to chest, an arm sliding around to her back. He sways them side to side. Sunlight dapples the room, flooding them with warmth. From the summer. From each other.
Lily raises an eyebrow as James hums: You came along just like a song…
“You know all the words?”
“It’s a popular song, Evans,” he counters, but his cheeks tinge pink.
She lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh my God. You like Barry Manilow!”
“No, I-“ James stops at the look on her face. “I do have his record.”
“I have to listen to Barry Manilow all the time now all because you didn’t know how to talk to me?” Lily teases, but she sways contentedly in his arms nonetheless. It is a nice song, after all, although she slightly prefers the melancholic style of the Carpenters’ version.
“Can you blame me? Look at you.” As if showing her off to an invisible crowd, James gently pushes Lily out and twirls her around before pulling her back into his arms.
As cliche as it sounds, there is nothing so safe to her as James’ arms around her, his hazel eyes soft with wonder like he can’t believe she’s there, with him. His lips on hers pulling every thread of feeling out of her body.
As if on cue, James leans forward and kisses her. Her chest hums against his, content, as he deepens the kiss, lifting a hand from her hip to her jaw and tangling in her hair.
“You know, the shop’s still open,” she reminds him between breathless kisses. He presses his lips to her cheek, her forehead, her nose as she speaks. The tickle of his breath against her ear makes her release a shaky giggle. “Customers can still come in.”
“Customers can sod off,” he says. As if to prove it, he blindly reaches out an arm and flips the OPEN sign to read CLOSED. “What are you going to do with them anyway? Meet another boyfriend?”
He scoffs as if it does anything to drive his point home.
“Nah, I’ve already got one I quite like.” She presses up on her toes to kiss him once again, already knowing it will devolve into impropriety.
Behind them, Barry’s voice continues to serenade them, the key change almost flooding the room with the sound.