Most of those customers have been shopping at Vinyl Crush since before my mom bought the store.
“Welcome to…” My voice trails when I catch sight of the man who just walked into my store.
It’s him.
It’s the handsome stranger from the subway platform yesterday.
He’s dressed in a dark blue suit, and his hair is slicked back, but it’s definitely him.
The sharp cut of his jaw and his striking blue eyes are unforgettable.
I’ll take a coincidence like this any day of the week.
“Hey, there,” he says as he approaches me.
He’s tall with broad shoulders and a five o’clock shadow that must feel like heaven when it brushes against a woman’s inner thighs.
I shake that thought away.
Being in a serious relationship doesn’t fit into my life right now, but I’m all for hooking up if the right guy comes along, especially if that guy looks like this.
“I’m Berk Morgan.” His hand reaches out to me.
I take it in mine without questioning why he’s introducing himself to me. “Astrid Rehn.”
“Astrid Rehn,” he repeats my name softly as though he wants to feel how it weighs on his tongue.
He smiles, and it’s life-altering.
That’s clearly an exaggeration, but he has one of those smiles that can chase every bad thought away, so only good things crowd your mind.
I shake myself out of the daze I dropped into when he walked in. “How can I help you, Mr. Morgan?”
“Berk,” he repeats his name. “I’m looking for something.”
“I have everything,” I say with a circle of my hand in the air. “Classical, jazz, country, pop. You name it. I have it.”
A low chuckle escapes him. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I believe we crossed paths yesterday on a subway platform.”
He’s here for me? This gorgeous Adonis who smells sinfully good is here to see me?
Hope brews inside of me.
The last man who wandered in here looking for me was three times my age with a comb over and a host of bad pickup lines. He had convinced himself that I was his soul mate after he heard me belt out one of my original ballads.
He followed me to work. Thankfully, he was harmless. He bought a dozen records, and I never saw him again.
I glance at Berk. Not wanting to seem too eager, I smile. “We might have.”
I suddenly wish I had skipped my standard black T-shirt with the Vinyl Crush logo, faded jeans, and black boots today. I should have worn my red dress with the plunging back. It would be overkill for this place, but it would leave him with a lasting impression.
“I dropped something in your guitar case by accident,” he says.
That sends my hope crashing back down to earth with all the grace of a bowling ball hitting the gutter.
“It’s a small diary key,” he goes on, “I think it got caught up in the change I tossed in your case.”
I move toward the checkout counter with quick steps. “I have it.”
“You do?” he asks from behind me, relief flooding his tone. “Thank Christ. My daughter told me her heart is locked in that diary. She’s desperate to have that key back.”
Daughter.
He’s a dad. He’s probably a husband too.
I grab the key from the drawer, and by the time I look up, he’s standing next to the counter.
As I move to give him the key, he opens his left palm.
No wedding ring, but that’s not confirmation that he’s single.
I drop the key into his hand. “There you go.”
His eyes catch mine. “You have no idea how much I appreciate the fact that you didn’t throw this in the trash.”
I pat the front of the drawer. “You’d be surprised how many things end up in my guitar case that shouldn’t be there.”
“Yeah?” He perks a brow. “Like what?”
I tug the drawer back open and start listing everything I spot. “Buttons, business cards, packages of gum, candies, condoms.”
I wince after ‘condoms’ falls from my lips. Draco is the one who always held onto those after I’d find them in my guitar case. I make a mental note to throw them away before the day is over.
Berk laughs. The sound is deep and masculine. “That’s quite the collection.”
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I smile. “Busking is all about the treasures you collect.”
His gaze wanders to the large glass jar sitting on the checkout counter. He reads the label that Eloise taped to the front of it on the first of this month.
Every month she changes it out with a new label.
I explain what it is the way I always do before a customer can ask what they’re looking at. “I put my busking money in there. Once a month, I donate it to a charity. This month the money is going to a food pantry.”
“You donate all the money you earn busking?” His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that catches me off guard.