The Stars Will Shine (19 page)

“The 1930’s,” I say, choosing possibly the most miserable decade in the past century of American history.

Aiden studies me in prolonged silence, his mouth parted in thought.

Then finally he says, “Me too.”

I’m a little taken aback because here’s the thing—Aiden knew my answer wasn’t serious. But his is.

“You want to go back to the Great Depression?” I ask while stuffing a Ritz cracker with Havarti cheese into my mouth. “That’s just depressing, man.” Aiden smiles knowingly to show he knew the 1930’s wasn’t my real answer. But then his face turns thoughtful again.

Just when I think we might have nothing more to say to each other for the rest of this lunch, he says, “There’s something truly humbling about that time period.” I search the far-off look in his eyes as if maybe by doing so I’ll be able to see what he sees. “I think living it, even for a moment, would give one a much greater appreciation of life and the way we live now.”

I think my heart stops beating as a whole as I look upon him, unable to draw my eyes away from the striking sight of introspection in the angles of his face.

“And besides, do you know what great music came out of that period?” he says, breaking my trance. “Those old classic blues musicians knew how to make music from the soul. Music that made you
feel
something, you know? Robert Johnson, Charlie Patton, Howlin’ Wolf, Mississippi John Hurt, Muddy Waters? What I would give to be able to come across even one of those guys playing on a Mississippi street corner, so completely unaware of their future renown and influence, yet so completely devoted to their music.”

Slowly, I eat another cracker, and when his face turns from contemplative to blissful, I feel like I’m melting at my core. The cracker scrapes its way down my dry throat.

Aiden takes it upon himself to entertain me all the while Trevyn and Amber are away. He shows up at Miles of Vinyls every day around noon for the remainder of the week, always prompt and always with a smile on his face. On Tuesday, he brings his acoustic guitar, and whenever there are no customers, he insists on teaching me some basic chords and strumming patterns. I’m no savant when it comes to music, but because of my piano training, I understand musical theory quite well. The thing is, I’ve found I like testing Aiden’s patience. And, while his patience proves hard to test, I like even more when he leans in close to help me fix my misplaced fingers on the guitar strings.

By the end of the day, it’s both sunny and raining outside, and so he has me playing the fitting “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” by Creedence Clearwater Revival while he taps his foot and sings along. Even though he’s not taking our session too seriously, he has a great voice—one of those that spills naturally from him without any effort. I can only imagine what he sounds like performing on stage.

On Wednesday, I learn that Aiden has played baseball pretty much his entire life, and that over the summers he helps coach a youth team, ages ten to twelve.

“We’re called The Clash,” he informs me.

“Of course you are.”

He smiles proudly.

“When do you coach?”

“Usually Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from four to six at night, and on Saturdays whatever time our game that week is scheduled. Anywhere from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m.”

I suppose the coaching explains the tan he’s been getting. He notices me noticing it, and the corner of his mouth quirks up.

“How many games have you guys played so far this summer?” I ask, rolling my eyes at his complacent smile.

“Just two. Want to come watch one this Saturday? Game starts right when you get off work at six. It’s at some public fields about three miles away.”

Before I can decline, Aiden takes my face in his hands and kisses me so sweetly, so tenderly for an entire minute, and we meld together like molten wax. It’s the first kiss he’s granted me since the night in my bedroom. When he pulls away, he meets my eyes and softly says, “Please?” I can’t find it in me to turn him down.

On Thursday, Aiden is the talk of the shop. A group of three pre-teen girls struts in, and as soon as one of them takes notice of him sitting behind the counter with his feet up, swagger radiating from him, they whisper up a whirlwind and don’t stop stealing glances at him for the entire hour they stroll about the store. At one point, we hear them giggling out of sight in the back until one of them goes, “No,
you
talk to him first, Melissa,” and is hastily shushed by the other two.

I share an amused look with Aiden.

“You’re a hit with the little girls,” I tell him.

“Young and old alike. They all love me.”

With a game of Rock Paper Scissors, the girls settle a dispute about who will ask for Aiden’s number. Aiden’s eyes widen in horror, and he dives behind the counter and crouches by my legs just as they come out of the aisle and up to the counter. They trade confused looks and scan the store as if Aiden may be wandering around the aisles. Finally, two of the girls nudge the other one ahead of them.

“Drew the short straw?” I ask her.

She nods, twirling her hair around her finger and pulling it downward nervously. “Did that guy leave?”

“That guy…” I say, feigning ignorance.

“Yeah, you know.” She swirls her hand then looks back at her friends. With hands covering their mouths, they giggle and wave her on. She fixes her eyes on me with a suddenly sassy stance. “The really hot one.”

“Hmm,” I say, tapping my chin. “I don’t really remember any hot guys being in here…Ow!” Aiden pinched the back of my thigh—
hard
—for that one. “Um”— I laugh as I swat blindly at Aiden’s head—“I mean, yeah, I guess you mean the one that was sitting behind the counter with me?”

Her eyes grow saucer-sized. “Yes!
Him
. What’s his name? Is he in here often? Oh wait, is he your boyfriend?”

“Slow down, girl.” I press my palms to the counter. “He doesn’t work here, so he’s here when he’s here, and I can’t tell you when that is. Seriously, the guy just has a tendency to show up places.” I steal a glance down at Aiden, who looks up at me with a pleased smile. “No, he is not my boyfriend”—I feel Aiden’s touch on the back of my knee, just a soft graze of his fingers, almost as if done unconsciously. My breath catches—“and his name is Aiden.”

“Aiden!” they sigh together and squeal some more. I take a moment to look down at Aiden again and roll my eyes while they’re focused on each other. He’s silently laughing and mouthing an apology. A devious idea comes to me then.

“Hey girls!” They whip around with an expectant urgency, looking high on love. With a smirk, I tell them, “I happen to know where he’ll be on Saturday night, though, if you’re interested.”

On Friday, Aiden is still informing me how unjustly unkind I am—“You are so cruel! So cruel, Delilah! Oh, the betrayal!”—but I ignore him. “I can’t believe you told them about the game,” he pouts. “They’re going to show up
all summer long.
”

I frown playfully at him. “Terrified of a few little girls, are you?”

“Yes, actually,” he says with a kind of boyish honesty. “I need my boys focused on our game, not on some preteens screaming my name with wild abandon…”

“Oh, they’ll run out of breath eventually.”

“…Hopping the fences and storming the field…”

“I really don’t think they’ll go that far.”

“…Tackling me and plastering lip-gloss kisses all over my cheeks…”

I cock my head. “An improvement on your face, I’d say.”

Aiden gasps, runs forward, and tackles me. Laughing, we fall to the floor together, just barely behind the checkout counter, and my body becomes trapped beneath his as he braces himself with his elbows so that his weight is light against me. We’re still laughing as I try to push him off me and he doesn’t budge an inch. And then in a breath, something changes.

As we look into each other’s eyes, our smiles fade slowly, and before I know it Aiden dips his head and steals a kiss. I catch his bottom lip between mine, and then together we’re moving them, softly parting and closing them in a dance that has become intimately familiar. On their own accord, my fingers find the back of his neck and push up into the untidy waves of his hair. He breathes out, long, a low hum in his throat that sends me into a tizzy. My fingers dig further in, pulling him closer, his lips an unstoppable force against mine. Chest to chest, our hearts strike each other in unpredictable rhythms, and as Aiden’s mouth starts to move down the left side of my neck and that entire side of my body prickles in response, I press my hips up into his.

“God, Delilah,” Aiden murmurs, tucking his forehead into the spot between my neck and shoulder, his voice hoarse and his breathing hard. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you, Aiden. I want you too.” I’m unable to keep a moan from my voice as Aiden’s lips move to the other side of my neck and sprout goosebumps all down that side of my body, too. We’re both breathing in shallow blasts and hanging onto each other like we’re adrift in a stormy sea. Desperate and dangerous and exciting. Floating and drowning at the same time.

A car door slams just outside the store, and Aiden tugs back from my neck. I scramble beneath him and push him off of me just as I hear the front door swing open.

“Delilah?” someone calls.

Aiden and I share a look of dread and resignation. The voice belongs to Dylan.

Not again
, Aiden mouths, dragging his palms down his face. My hands are still shaking from the way Aiden wound me up, coiled my nerves.

“Yeah,” I call out shakily.
This is so over.
“Behind here.” I shoot an arm up so he can see it from the other side of the counter. “Cleaning up some stuff.”

I look around, searching for something I can use to make a mess. There’s a pile of vinyls below the counter that I hurriedly knock over and spread around on the floor. Dylan’s footsteps come around until he’s right behind me.

Aiden looks straight up at him. He manages to keep his face composed, betraying to my cousin no signs of what just transpired between us, but I can tell by Dylan’s silence that the deduction gears are spinning overtime in his head.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asks. The question is clearly directed at Aiden, since I work here. There’s no accusation in his voice, but his tone is tight enough that Aiden probably needs to tread lightly. Aiden stares at him for a moment then waves his hand in a dismissive manner.

“Oh, I just came by to see if they have that old Shins album I’ve been wanting on vinyl.
Wincing the Night Away
.” He gestures to the mess of albums on the floor. “I accidentally knocked this pile off the counter.”

I manage to maintain a straight face as I scoop up the rest of the albums and slide them back under the counter. I stand and put my hands on my hips. Aiden stands, too, and moves around to the other side of the counter, far away from me. I wonder if his body was buzzing with my proximity as much as mine was with his.

“You said you have it in stock?” Aiden asks me as he wanders off down an aisle toward the Rock section.

“Yep, should be there,” I call after him. Finally, I meet Dylan’s eyes. He’s looking right into me, as if trying to discern the emotions, the secrets, hidden behind the mask I wear. Maybe he wonders whether there’s something going on between his best friend and his cousin that he should know about it.

I clear my throat and change the subject. “So why’d
you
come by, beloved cousin?” Dylan scowls at my term of mock endearment.

“Came to browse the store.” He glances around then looks back at me. “And talk to you actually.”

That surprises me. My lips bend downward. “About what?” Playing with a pen on the desk, I try to focus my breaths. A part of me is terrified he’s about to tell me he heard Aiden in my room the other night. Dylan and I have made progress in our relationship—as in, we don’t constantly harbor desires to kill each other anymore—so I’d hate for this to be the thing that throws us back into a spiral of animosity.

“I’m guessing you already know about Aiden and me playing here next Friday,” he says. I tap the pen against the counter, nodding. Really, where is he going with this? It almost seems hard for him to get out, so apprehension twists my insides more tightly. “Well, one of our friends is throwing an after party, so I thought I’d invite you.”

“Oh.” I let out an explosive breath, relieved this had nothing to do with Aiden, after all. His invite surprises me, though—I mean, considering the last party we attended together ended rather horribly.

I flash a teasing smile. “I think I recall that at the beginning of summer you said to me—and I quote—‘No tagging along with me and my friends.’”

“C’mon, Delilah,” Dylan says with a sigh. “You know it’s not like that anymore. Besides, Trevyn told me how much you’ve been helping him with bringing in business, and since the concert thing was your idea, and gives exposure to Aiden’s and my music, I think you deserve to be a part of our celebration.” I don’t answer, just watch the pen I’m still tapping against the countertop bounce up and down, up and down.

“Think about it,” he says then calls out for Aiden and joins him down an aisle somewhere.

The two of them browse the store for a good twenty minutes, weaving in and out of shelves. Aiden buys The Shins album, and then they leave. Behind Dylan, he gives me a parting wink, and my heart skips a beat.