Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Astrid
Castle exits my store at five minutes to eight.
Normally, I’d be preparing to lock up for the night, but that’s not happening.
Berk Morgan wandered in, and I’m not about to order him out when the clock strikes the hour.
Looking like perfection in his well-tailored suit, he smiles. “Castle is a unique name.”
I stutter out a nervous laugh. “It’s his last name. He doesn’t like his first name, so he goes by Castle.”
“It doesn’t suit him.”
This time I let out a full-on chuckle. “He thinks it does. He’s a good guy.”
Castle has been dropping by the store bi-weekly for months.
His love of vinyl rivals mine.
We’ve had several hours-long discussions about our favorite artists, but we’ve never spent any time with each other outside the walls of this store.
Castle is great, but he’s not my type.
“Good.” He nods like my confirmation that Castle is an upstanding person matters to him.
Since Berk has been focused on records since he walked in, I shift the conversation there. “Can I help you find something? My inventory is huge.”
That lures a soft smile to his lips. “I can see that.”
Since he avoided the go-to question I ask every customer, I try my backup approach. “Let me guess. You’re into classical music.”
That perks his left brow. “I listen to Mozart when I work out.”
That sends my greedy gaze over his body. It may be covered in a suit at the moment, but it’s not hiding the fact that he’s tall, trim, and muscular.
He strikes me as the type of man who has defined abs and biceps that I can’t wrap both of my hands around.
I dart my eyes to the floor. “What do you listen to when you’re not working out?”
“My daughter singing.” He laughs.
His daughter.
I haven’t forgotten about her or the fact that he’s likely married.
He looks like he’s in his thirties. He’s probably established, successful, and blissfully happy with his beautiful wife.
They most likely eat at a formal dining room table. Then, when the dishes are done, they tuck their daughter into bed together before they retire to their opulent bedroom.
That’s when he fucks his wife into tomorrow before she falls asleep in his arms.
I tear my thoughts away from what he’s like in bed and focus on his daughter. “What kind of songs does she sing?”
It will give me a clue about her age.
I’m not an expert on kids, but some of my regular customers bring their little ones into the store, and often I’ll join them in a rousing song about wheels on a bus or a twinkling star.
“Whatever nine-year-olds are into that day,” he answers. “Recently, it’s been a song by some pop idol.”
I laugh. “She sounds just like me when I was nine.”
“When was that?”
That unexpected question sets me back a full step.
Maybe he’s just making small talk, or maybe…
“I was nine twenty-six years ago.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “To Stevie, the music I listened to is ancient.”
He’s thirty-five.
That’s old enough to know more than me but young enough to still learn from me.
“I’m twenty-five,” I tell him. “Stevie is your daughter?”
He nods. “My very musically inclined daughter. She not only sings, she plays piano and is trying to master the drums.”
That’s impressive.
“Does she get that from you?” I smile. “Are you as talented as she is?”
“In my own way,” he counters as a grin ghosts his mouth. “But, alas, the only instrument I can play is a guitar, and that’s poorly at best.”
A fleeting image of him strumming my guitar while he gently sings to me wafts through my imagination.
I chase that away with my next tentative question. “Is your wife more musically inclined than you? Did Stevie inherit that from her?”
His eyes drift over my face. He swallows hard before his lips part ever so slightly as if the words he wants to say are perched there waiting for him to release them.
I’ve seen that before when a man has felt cornered.
I save him because it’s time for me to close up shop and his hesitation is all the answer I need. “I’m only asking because I inherited my love of music from my mom, so I wondered if it was the same for Stevie. The store closes at eight, so I hate to push you out, but…”
I follow that with soft laughter that sounds as unnatural as it feels.
“My late wife sang Stevie to sleep every night,” he pauses before he goes on, “I like to think that my daughter’s love of music was born in those moments.”