Page 14 of The Sound Between Us

“Sorry, would you mind if we got off the street?” I ask, voice dropping.

She follows my line of sight, then turns her face away with a grimace. “Too late. You’ve been spotted.” A wince. “Again—sorry.”

She cradles the milkshake cup against her jacket, smearing pink down the sleeve, then leads the way back to the record shop.

I trail behind. She’s in black tights, andl. the view’s excellent.

The bell above the door tinkles.

Warm air hits me like a wall.

“Jesus, did you milk the damn cow yourself, Seren?” a voice calls from the back.

She glares at him. “Closing early, Simon. Get your coat.”

“What?”

I hang back, angling my face away from the window and the guy at the counter.

“What’s going on, Seren?” he asks, stepping out of the back. “Why’s there a crowd? Are you okay?”

She draws in a sharp breath, shoulders going rigid.

“Fine,” she says. “Just get ready for Flick’s do. I’m sure Andrew needs coaxing.”

“Well, now that you mention it⁠—”

“No. Nope. Don’t elaborate. Go. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Cocktails?”

“Apparently mandatory.”

There’s a beat. She doesn’t sound thrilled about cocktails.

“Don’t worry, Ser—we’ll get you a pint and shove an umbrella in it.”

“That’s better. Now fuck off.”

She pushes him—physically—to the door.

“Don’t talk to anyone,” she warns.

“About what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The bell rings again as the door swings shut behind him.

She locks it. Pulls the blinds.

Doesn’t turn around.

“Clothes?” I ask, glancing around.

I pull out my phone and hit Lee’s number.

“I’m in Vespa Records. Minor incident with a fan and a dairy-based projectile. I’ll find you soon.”