"Are you still eating?" I tapped the back of Tim's head as I settled onto the stool next to him.

"Don't judge me." He stuck an elbow in my ribs.

"Now, children," Mary scolded.

"Sorry, Mary," we both murmured in unison.

Tim leaned in close. "So, how did that go?"

I picked another strawberry from his plate and, as I popped it in my mouth, added, "fine."

It hit him with a wince. "Every time Tess says fine, it means I've super fucked up."

"So, you hear it often," I teased.

"Why do you think I have breakfast here every morning?" A crooked smile twisted across his lips.

"So," I said louder as I pulled away from Tim, "what's everyone up to today?"

"I've had a few requests for shortbread," Mary absently said without turning from loading the dishwasher.

"I was going to load the jukebox," Tim added as he pushed a blueberry around his plate.

"Jukebox?" I stole another strawberry while Tim attempted to stab my fingers with his fork.

"Get your own," he grumbled.

"Jukebox?" I prodded again.

"Yeah, Billy heard that some diner downtown was going under, so he bought the jukebox off them. It's in the basement. He threatened to load it himself, but," Tim lifted his eyes to give me a wink. "It would end up fine if he did it."

"Why do I feel like I am the he and fine means less than acceptable?" Billy asked as he slid onto the third stool.

"Jukebox," I murmured, trying to avoid the tug my eyes were feeling to spend the next twenty minutes inspecting every detail of him.

"Tim, I can load it myself," Billy protested.

"Can you? What would be your plan; something ridiculous like alphabetically by artist or worse by year." Tim let out a groan and leaned back so far I was convinced he'd fall off the stool.

"What's wrong with by year?" Billy shrugged.

"You're so pedestrian," Tim shot. "I'm doing it."

"How are you going to organize it?" I asked innocently enough.

"Only time will tell," he cryptically said as he slid off the stool and backed out of the kitchen like Frankenstein's monster.

"What are you up to?" I let my shoulder bump into Billy as he took a bite from one of the few pancakes Tim had spared.

"I gotta give Mom's car an oil change, and then I'm looking at a house up the road this afternoon. You want to come?"

There was an openness to his face that I found myself sinking into, causing me to forget the constructs of a conversation.

"Lil?" Bewilderment clouded Billy's face breaking my trance.

"Yeah, house; I'm in. No to the oil change; it sounds messy. I think I'll stick around here and help Tim."

Billy gave a dejected nod.

"And, there's a rumor that shortbread will be made. I want to make sure I get the first crack before the heathens have at it."

"Did you call me a heathen? I mean, Tim, yes, agreed. But me? I'm hurt." Billy's voice filled with teasing.

"I cannot apologize for the facts. When it comes to shortbread, you're a heathen." I felt drawn closer to him with the levity of the moment.

"Of all the things to tempt my beliefs and you come up with cookies," his voice was low as he leaned a bit closer.

"Did you call your mom's shortbread mere cookies? How dare you?"

"I love a woman that'll defend my mother's honor."

He was so close now that his nose was nearly touching mine. A lump was forming at the base of my throat, and I heavily gulped to push it down. The swallow revealed the impact of his proximity, and a satisfied twitch curled one side of his mouth.

An exaggerated throat clearing from Mary shattered the moment. "Unless you're going to help make the shortbread, you can move along." She shooed us away with a few flicks of her hand.

"You sure you don't want to come to the garage with me?" Billy tugged on my jean shorts' belt loop so I couldn't get too far ahead of him.

"Let me think, greasy garage or comfortable basement? Sorry, even with the Tim variable, the comfortable basement wins," I tried to nonchalantly shrug, but he could see through me.

"Okay," he didn't mask the rejection, but he tugged harder on my belt loop, causing me to spill back against his chest. "I'll miss you," he murmured as his face sunk to my neck. His lips danced gently across my skin as his damp hair tickled the side of my face.

I tightly closed my eyes and mustered all my willpower to pull away. "Basement?"

Billy gazed at me for a moment, frustration flooding his eyes before reaching behind me for a door and pulling it ajar.

"Thanks," I murmured as I made my escape.

As I descended the final few stairs to the basement, familiarity hugged me. The old green 70's furniture from Mary's old house peppered the space between instruments and amps. In the middle of it all sat Tim surrounded by boxes of 45s as though he were a child surrounded by his presents on Christmas morning.

"Hey, Lil," he said with an air of excitement. "I'm glad you're here. What's your favorite song again? I know it's James and Bobby Purify, but I also know it's not Shake Your Tail Feather." He held up his hand with a record around his finger like a ring.

"I'm Your Puppet," I corrected.

"Of course, that's so obvious." He shook his head to himself as he tucked the album from his finger back into a box and pulled a different one to him.

"Why do you ask?" I slumped down to the floor next to him and started to absently flick through a box of records. Thoughts of Billy tugged at my focus.

"It'll help me order them," he said, "let me know if you see any other favorites.

"Mmhmm," I continued to flick without seeing the titles.

"You okay? You're a little... twitchy." He set a hand down on top of mine to stop my merciless flipping.

"Sorry, distracted," I murmured.

"Mmhmm, distracted. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

I ignored his taunts and began to flip through the singles more deliberately. "What do you want me to do when I find a favorite?"

"Start a different box," he murmured as he handed me an empty record box. "It holds 25, so be picky." After a moment, he let out a snort. "Look at who I'm saying that to."

"Rude," I shot back.

"And yet you don't deny it." He peeked into my box to see what I'd put in and tucked I'm Your Puppet in too. "The Crickets; you listen to music like you watch movies."

We worked in silence for a few more minutes as I accumulated ten songs. "My head hurts; I thought you were organizing the jukebox," I complained and put my emphasis on the word 'you.'

"How many did you get?" Tim still absently spoke as he continued to move through boxes.

"Ten," I sheepishly said.

"That's better than I thought I'd get out of you," he laughed as he turned his attention to my anemic box. "Can you put the song facing front?" He added as he flicked through the first couple of singles.

"I think I did, but I'll check."

"And the order you would listen to them," he mumbled.

"But that changes," I protested.

"Well, put them in the order you'd listen to them today," he argued.

"Ugh, I should've gone to the garage with Billy."

I flicked through, reordering them, thankful it was only ten. "I'm going to see if Mary needs help."

"Fine," he didn't look up from his focus. "Hey, bring me a Coke?"

"Sure."

Mary was humming to herself when I got to the kitchen. She didn't notice me at first as her back was turned to me. She swayed a bit to the song in her head.

"Hey," I tentatively said, hoping not to startle her.

"Oh, hey," a flush of embarrassment flooded her face from me catching her lost in a song.

"Tim wanted a Coke," I explained as I grabbed one from the refrigerator, grateful to have something to keep my hands busy.

Mary paused and watched as I rolled the bottle between my hands. "How are you, Lil?" 

Something about Mary's presence permeated what I felt was a strong shield. It must be a Collins trait. 

"Sit," she directed. Instinctively I slid onto a stool. "Talk," she directed as she continued to work on the cookies. 

"I thought he would be with Ella and we could be friends," I whined. 

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," I quickly shot. 

"You want Billy to move on; fall in love with someone else? That's not what he told me yesterday," Mary prodded. 

"What did he say?" The anger bubbled in my words. 

"Lil, nothing is secret between that boy and me. Lord knows I've told him I don't need to know all that I do, but he..." Mary's eyes softened. "He doesn't let a lot of people in and I'm afraid with where he's going admittance is only going to get harder," she sighed. 

"I didn't say that I didn't want him to move on. I want him to move on, but it'll take me a while to get used to it. Getting over him is the hardest thing I've ever done," I admitted. 

"Have you?" Mary's eyes had a knowing twinkle. 

"No," I admitted. "But I'm trying. I don't want to lose him."

"Sweetheart, you'll never be able to shake that boy. But, if you really want to only be friends, he'll hear you. He won't like it and I'd expect quite the fight, but he'll get there." 

I sighed as my mind spun on what I wanted. I felt selfish for both not wanting the life Billy was building, but also not wanting him to find someone to share it with. I couldn't let him be lonely. He needed someone to love him as much as he loved. I just couldn't convince myself that I could love as honestly as he did; I was too busy overthinking everything. 

"Did Tim get you to pick your songs?" Mary knowingly smiled.

"Yes, did he make you do that too?"

"Oh, of course. Tim's a thoughtful boy." Mary smiled to herself as she continued to mix.

I realized then that he was ordering the jukebox by the people in Billy's life. I was filled with annoyance at myself for being short with him.

"I should get this back to him," I quickly said as I scurried back to the basement.

"Hey, Tim," I called as I rounded the bottom of the stairs.

He was bent over the jukebox loading albums. My loud entrance startled him, causing him to jerk up quickly and hit his head on the lid of the machine.

"Sorry, I was an ass earlier," I added as I hopped around the piles of albums and instruments.

"It'd be weird if you weren't," he said, but his eyes easily accepted my apology.

"Thank you," I added as I wrapped my arms around him. "You're an excellent friend."

"I know," he awkwardly shrugged at my display.

As I pulled my arms away, his elbow caught the Coke bottle, causing it to spill down the front of my shirt.

"Oh shit, Lil," he caught the bottle, quickly tipping it upright. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I pull the hem of the shirt a bit to avoid the soda from rolling to my shorts. "I gotta change, though."