C H A P T E R 1: I Don't Even like You

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A/N: Author notes at the end of the chapter.

Song: "Six Feet Under," by Billie Eilish

Song: "Six Feet Under," by Billie Eilish

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R E N A T A

The soft melody of an indie track fills the empty bar. Its deep meaningful lyrics contrast with the light carefree beat. Millions of tiny glistening dust particles slowly dance upwards in the sunlight that pours through the large front windows. Outside, people walk up and down the street. Some curious eyes often drift into the bar.

The wine-glass shaped clock on the wood-paneled wall says 3:00 p.m.

Oh surprise, Ty and Lee are running late. I sigh. At least, they managed not to burn down the building in my absence. I should count my blessings.

They finally used the nice pine smelling cleaner instead of the cheap foul smelling one. The wooden tables are clean and the chairs are tucked in.

I go back to wiping off the counters, swiping the wet rag over the fake marble until my arm hurts. And, then, a little bit more. It's already clean, but I need to keep myself busy or I'll go crazy.

Someone opens the front door. Conner's scent caresses me like a soft breeze. My heart convinces itself that it's in the middle of a race. I missed this stupid human so much.

I didn't think he'd come so soon. How did he even know I was back?

The door closes behind him with a soft thump. And with that, the fog of misery seems to dissipate a little.

"We aren't open yet. Come back at 3:30 PM." I duck my head. My hair falls over my shoulder and creates a dark curtain between me and him.

I make my way behind the bar.

"C'mon. Are you kicking out your most loyal customer?" He tries to play it cool, but his heartbeats are as loud as the thumps of his footsteps on the wood laminate floor. He sighs deeply as if some huge weight was lifted from his chest. "You're here."

I throw the rag into the underbar's sink and wash my hands before casually looking up.

As soon as I catch a glimpse of him, my stomach does a little backflip. A shiver tingles down my spine making the ends of my hairs rise.

His blue eyes move around my face, taking me in. I stare back at him.

His olive cheeks are flushed from the cold. His jet-black hair, which might have been slicked back at some point today, is messier than usual.

Blessed be the early Spring's chilly winds for giving me this sight of magnificence.

The long sleeves of his elegant white shirt are rolled up to the elbows. The fabric clings to his biceps. His pants match the dark blue suit jacket he's carrying over his arm.

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