Oh my God. I think this may be the best thing I've ever eaten in my life. The meat. The sauce. The melted cheese. The oregano. It all mixes together to make the most delicious meatball sandwich of my life. I know I'm being somewhat overdramatic. I mean, I do eat these suckers about once a week. But I never get tired of them. I think they're my absolute favorite thing to eat. Or at least my favorite thing to eat outside of my house. And the best thing is they come from this little hole-in-the-wall place just by the shop called Santorelli's. Tourists don't know about it either, so it's a great place to go during the summer, when places like Hudson's Hamburgers are so full of people you have to wait a good thirty minutes at least to get a spot. There are hardly ever any lines at Santorelli's. It's just so perfect. Especially when you're prone to getting hangry like I am.

Suzie just left a few minutes ago. Her last lesson finished about an hour ago, and after working on some stuff around the store, she said she had some errands to run. So I'm closing shop today. And I still have two hours before I can shut it all down. But at least she let me go and get a sandwich before she left. Oh man, did I mention how much I love that woman? She's the best. Even though she leaves me by myself on a perfect summer day. But whatever. At least I'm getting paid. And these two hours will give me time to choose a solo piece for my performance in the Know Strings Attached Recital, which is the name of the show Suzie puts on every year starring her students. It's a chance for them to show their parents what they've learned over the year. This year will be my last one, probably ever. Ugh, there's that stupid knot again. Must. Find. A. Distraction.

I plunge my fingers back into my bag, and I frown when I see how chipped my nails look. As soon as I can I'm going to have Claire touch them up. She's the best with nail polish. Like, she does the coolest designs. The types you see on social media videos. Sometimes she posts a nail polish video on my social media page and forces me to watch. I pick my favorite ones and she does them for me. The last design I had her do was of the galaxy. There's even a little rocket ship on my thumb. But it's starting to get all chipped and gross looking. Probably from me biting at my nails. A bad habit I only do when I'm nervous. Which, lately, seems to be all the time. OH MY GOD! WHERE ARE MY FRICKIN' EARBUDS!

There they are! I grip the cords with my fingers and practically rip them out of my bag. Then I shove the plug into the port of my phone and start searching for solo violin pieces. I find some really great ones, but none that speak to me. And they do, you know. Speak to me. Some are louder than others, and some are only loud at certain times. I've been trying to find a good piece for the recital, but it's been difficult with the spark having left me behind. I mean, I still play just as good as I always have. Everyone always says I sound like perfection when I play. And I know they aren't doing that thing people do when they're just saying what you want to hear. They really mean it. But other people aren't the problem. It's me. I hear the difference. I feel the difference. I've always played with soul. Most musicians do. But lately my music, to me, sounds like boring elevator Muzak. I've never felt like this before. I guess that's what happens when your spark just poof, vanishes into thin air.

It's a lonely feeling, when everyone else thinks things are okay and you're the only one who knows how not okay they are. It's been a week since graduation, and a couple months since I found out about my acceptance to Juilliard. Yet I still don't feel it. And I keep hoping that, if I find the right set piece for the recital, it'll all come back to me. But I haven't found anything yet, and I'm starting to get scared. If I don't find something soon, I won't be able to practice it enough for the recital. And I'll look like a complete loser on stage. For my last recital with Know Strings Attached. I cannot let that happen.

I scroll through a list of violin solos, pick one from Bach that looks interesting, and close my eyes, allowing the music to wash over me. I feel so warm when I hear the sound of the violin. It's like I'm dancing in a field of flowers or sitting in front of my living room fireplace on a really cold winter night. It's comfort. It's home. I sigh in content. Even if I don't choose this piece for my solo, it's still spectacular. So Bach. I feel a smile creep up onto my lips, and I feel better. The song is so beautiful, as they always are. I feel the rise and fall of the notes in my gut, like I'm on a rollercoaster ride and I'm going through a corkscrew. It's such a fun feeling. And I imagine the feel of the chin rest against my throat. The feel of the vibrations running down my neck, into my shoulders, down my torso, all the way to the very tips of my toes. It's like it's taking over my soul. The music reaches its peak, and I can feel my breath hitch in anticipation. I. Love. This. Sound.

The song ends, and I open my eyes just in time to see a boy with dark hair biff it on his skateboard right outside the shop front door. I grimace as his skin makes contact with the concrete. He skids a foot or so, and then comes to a stop. I see him wincing, and then watch him slowly get back to his feet. A breath I didn't even know I'd been holding releases. He shakes his head, as if shaking off the incident, and then lifts up his shirt to check the damage. He's bleeding. Not bad, but there's definitely blood. He touches the wounds on his chest, and I see his face cringe. His eyes scan around quickly, and then they meet mine. He smiles in that pained way, and I'm not sure if it's due to his fresh wounds or his embarrassment. He bends down, picks up his skateboard, and adjusts a strip of leather that resembles a guitar strap on his shoulder. Then he begins to make his way to the shop.

The door opens as he steps inside, and I'm overcome with a strange feeling. He's... well, hot. His hair is dark, and it's just long enough so that his fringe falls into his eyes. It's straight like mine, and it's sticky with sweat. His eyes are blue, and his eyelashes are so long. Much longer than a boy's eyelashes should be allowed. He's tall. At least six inches taller than me, if not taller. He's wearing a tight, black Metallica t-shirt, and skinny jeans with a pair of white converse sneakers. I see the waistband of his shorts just above the beltline. But he's not dressed in a stupid way. His pants aren't hanging around his knees or anything. But it's much sexier this way. Like a little peek of whatever it is he's keeping in those pants. I feel my face flush, and then I feel myself grow hot as his eyes scan me up and down.

He breaks out into a sheepish grin as he leans his skateboard against the counter. His smile is crooked. Oh my God. Be still my heart. He lifts his hand in a friendly wave. "Umm... hey," he says in a fairly deep voice. So rich. "So, umm... did you see that?" I nod my head, but I don't speak. I've somehow lost the ability. "Yeah. Awesome." His cheeks are red, and I don't know if it's from the heat of the day or the ferocity of his humiliation. "So, I'm kind of bleeding. You wouldn't happen to have a first aid kit lying around here, would you?"

It takes almost everything I have in me to respond. "Uhh... I think so." Think, Lauren, think. "I think it's in the cabinet. Somewhere." Oh my God. I sound so absolutely stupid. I must be the only person who could sound this idiotic in front of a super hot guy. And he is super hot.

He smiles and leans his torso against the counter in a way that practically gushes confidence. Sa-woon! "Right. You don't think I could borrow it for a few minutes, do you? I'm kind of bleeding to death over here."

"Yeah, I saw," I say. I did NOT just say that. What is WRONG with me? My face grows hotter, and I stutter an attempt at a recovery. "I mean, I saw you fall. You hit the concrete pretty hard."

He breathes a heavy, embarrassed sigh. "Yeah." We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I bite my lip anxiously. Then he grins again, and my stomach does a somersault. "So... first aid kit?"

I jump into action at his words. "Right." I turn around and start searching in the cabinet behind the counter. I'm vaguely aware of his eyes on me, and I try not to fumble around. After a minute of digging through drawers, I finally spot the first aid kit. I smile in triumph, wrap my fingers around it, and turn around to hand it to him. His shirt is off, and his eyes are cast down at his chest. He's examining his wounds, poking his fingers around the blood sliding down his chest. My heart skips several beats, and for a moment I'm completely frozen, first aid kit held firmly in my hand. He looks up and gives me that crooked smile again. Wow. I didn't even know guys like him actually existed. I hand him the first aid kit, as if I'm on autopilot.

"Thanks," he says, and the tips of his fingers touch mine as he takes the kit away from me. BAM. Electricity. What the hell was that? I look at my fingers, feeling them tingling at the tips where his skin made contact with mine. But I barely have time to register it before he's talking again. "You guys been busy today?" Small talk. Of course. He's trying to be polite. But he's not even looking at me. He's focusing on his chest. I can't blame him. It is pretty fantastic. Not bodybuilder fantastic. Not even close. But it's lean, and muscular in that way that doesn't necessarily mean he works out but shows that he's definitely active.

I laugh, both at his question and the absurdity of my own thoughts. Am I seriously standing here ogling this guy's chest? Get a grip, Lauren. "We're never busy in here. It's always slow like this. Unless the owner is giving lessons."

"Lessons?" he asks, and his eyes move back up to me. Then they scan around the room. "Oh! This is a music shop. So I bet you guys offer music lessons, right?" I smile and nod. "I'm so observant," he says. His eyes twinkle. "So what kind of music do you teach? Ever produced any rockstars?"

I shake my head. "Not that I'm aware of. We focus on classical music mostly. So we've produced a few pianists and bassists. Some of our kids have gone on to play for orchestras. But it's a small town, and we're a small facility."

"So what?" he says. "Sometimes the brightest stars come from the smallest towns. And besides that, Coeur d'Alene isn't that small. I'm sure loads of celebrities have come from here. You probably just don't know it."

I shrug my shoulders. "Maybe." There's a slightly awkward pause between us, and he goes back to fixing up the scrapes on his chest. He reaches into the first aid kit for some ointment, rips the packaging open with his teeth, and squirts some on his chest. He does this so carefully, and I watch so intently. His fingers are long, and his nails have been chewed to nubs. He plunges his fingers back into the first aid kit and begins searching around for something else. They come up a few seconds later holding a box of band-aids. He opens the box, pulls out a few of the square shaped band-aids that are usually pretty useless unless you have a knee or... well, or a chest injury, and tears them open one-by-one before sticking each one on his chest.

I'm so aware of my own body it's ridiculous. I try not to fidget, but his presence is making me so nervous. Jeeze, it's almost like I've never been around a hot guy before. But even I know this is not just some normal hot guy. This guy is an Adonis, and by some stroke of luck he's standing in front of me. With his shirt off, no less! I try not to drool, but it is incredibly difficult. My whole body feels warm, and my fingers are still tingling from where he touched me. I push a strand of hair out of my eyes and tuck it behind my ear. He looks up, and my heart stops. No one has ever had this effect on me before.

His smile makes me want to melt. "I imagine you guys probably don't use this thing very often," he says, gesturing toward the first aid kit now sitting open on the counter.

I grin back at him. "No. We don't. But the lady who owns this store is all about safety and whatever. And people do sometimes get cuts on their fingers when they play the guitar."

His eyes widen in surprise. "Wow, I didn't know instruments could be so dangerous." I laugh, and his smiles widens. "So are you a teacher here, or do you just work behind the counter?"

I wrinkle my nose and watch as his smile falters for just a fraction of a second. What is that about? "No. I don't have enough patience to teach. I'm just the counter girl." He smirks at me, and then he opens his mouth to respond when I cut him off. "I do play, though."

It takes him a few moments to register what I said. His brow furrows in confusion, and then widens in understanding. "Oh, you play an instrument?" I nod. "Which one?"

"The violin," I reply. I have no idea why I feel the need to tell him this. Maybe I want him to know I'm not just a counter girl. That I'm a person. A talented person. Most of the time, anyway. "I've been playing since I was three."

"So you're a student here, too?" he asks me.

"Yup," I say. "Been here since my first day on the violin. And I love it. But playing is much better than just sitting behind this counter."

"I bet," he says, and I hear the humor in his voice. "Especially on a day as beautiful as this, right? You'd probably much rather be outside in the summer sun. Basking away by the lake. Your toes in the water. Wearing a string bikini."

OH MY GOD! IS HE FLIRTING WITH ME? My heart kicks into overdrive. I have no idea how I'm supposed to respond to that. "Umm... I don't have a bikini." I say, and I quickly regret it. Really? That's my response? Wow. Where's the nearest bridge? I need to throw myself off of it. Or crawl into a hole and die. I cannot believe those words just came out of my mouth. I am such an idiot! My face gets hotter, and I tuck another loose strand of hair behind my ear.

He throws his head back and laughs. "Well, whatever. Still, I bet anywhere is better than sitting here. It's gotta get pretty boring, huh?"

I chuckle shakily, trying my best to recover. "You have no idea. I've been checking the clock every few minutes since I got here. It's been a long day."

"Well, hopefully it's almost over." He slides his shirt back on, and I feel a bubble of disappointment building up inside my chest. I was enjoying the view. "What time do you get off?"

"Five," I reply. "I can't wait, too. My friends and I are going to a movie tonight. I'm stoked to get out of here and do something fun. Salvage the day, you know?"

A small frown tugs at his lips, and now I'm confused. But he recovers quickly, just like before. "A movie, huh? Awesome! What are you going to see?"

"That new superhero movie," I say. "My friend Sam is obsessed with them."

"Oh," he says, and I can hear a hint of something that sounds like disappointment in his voice. "Well, I hope you have fun at the movies." He reaches down and picks up his skateboard, then places the strap around his shoulder again. Oh! It's a camera strap! I just now noticed. "I should probably get out of here. Thanks for the first aid." He takes a few steps toward the door, and I'm thinking desperately of something to say to keep him here. But he interrupts my frantic thoughts by smiling and saying, "Catch you later, Counter Girl." Then, without another word, he walks out of the shop, leaving me feeling breathless and even a little bit dizzy.