chapter one // run-ins.

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Olivia's pov

I'm exhausted and want nothing more than to just go home and collapse on my couch. But of course, that's just too much to ask for. Instead James, my boss, tells me that I'm in charge of locking up shop, which will take another 25 minutes.

The minute he speeds of in his car, I'm muttering every swear-word I've ever learned to myself.

I look around the record store and sigh. The place was a mess as well. Knowing James would kill me if I left the place like this, I start to shuffle across the store, heading over to the completely chaotic pile of records a customer obviously had a good time throwing around.

I organize them, alphabetically, blowing my straight-across bangs out of my eyes in the process. It really is time for a haircut. I make myself a mental note.

As I'm in the process of putting on my sweater, I hear the front door open and the little bell above the door rings out.

"We're closed, sorry!" I call out from the back room of the store. I zip up my sweater as I peek my head around the door, seeing who in the world is coming to a local record store at 10 at night.

My stomach flutters when I recognize the familiar dirty blonde head of hair. He wears one of those damned knit-caps I hate so much. And that charming smile of his, of course.

Tate Solti; my ex-boyfriend.

"Hey, Olivia," He smiles, taking a step towards me.

"Tate," I nod, politely, despite my strong urge to take that coffee in his hands and dump it on his head. I fold my arms across my arms and wait for him to speak first.

I don't see him for weeks and he just shows up out of the blue. What can he possibly want? What kind of situation has he gotten himself into now?

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now," He starts, holding his hand up, signaling me to wait. I just snort and roll my eyes. That's an understatement. "But I really need someone to talk to and you're the only person I could think of," He explains, a sad expression settling on his face.

I can't lie and say I haven't fantasized of this moment. The moment where he comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees and I can just kick him when he's down. But I wasn't expecting to feel bad for him. After all he's done, here I am, wanting to comfort his sorrowful attitude.

"Tate..." I start, getting ready to let him down as easily as possible, throwing away all the nasty insults I had ready for him the next time he showed his face.

"Just let me have a moment," He begs, taking another step towards me, making the space between us more non-existent.

My brain is telling me to take a step backwards and reinforce the distance between us. It's screaming at me that I won't be able to resist his 'Tate-like-ways' in a few moments. But my heart is telling me to cradle his head in my lap and let him speak what's on his mind.

You win this time, heart.

I nod, letting him say what he feels the need to say.

"It's been 2 weeks; 14 days; 336 hours; 20,160 seconds, since I've seen you and I've missed you every moment of it. I know I've messed up, and I know that you deserve better than me, but I was hoping you could give me- give us another chance. I haven't stopped thinking about you, or your beautiful smile, or your amazing voice, or your sense of humor. Honestly that's all I've been thinking of." He tells me, getting it all off his chest.

He exterminates the distance in between us altogether, coming up to me and placing one of his hands on my cheeks. He still towers over me in a very irritating way. He still smells of spearmint gum and expensive cologne.

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