heygerald

"Did you know that he was going to post that?"

Parker arched her brow at Melissa. "Do you think I would have left you to cover the shift alone if I knew that this was going to happen? I don't even follow his Instagram. Although, guess I have to after this, don't I?"

Melissa rolled her eyes, head lolling to the side as she stretched out her arms, back, and neck. "Only you would get an exclusive shout-out from the Tom Ryder and you aren't even following his Insta. Totally unfair, by the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my sudden luck raining on your plans somehow?"

"It's not luck."

Parker slumped on her elbows, a pen stuck sideways in her mouth as she tried to work through her to-do list for closing down the shop. It was hard to concentrate with Melissa's jabbering, though, and it was even harder to find the energy to sweep the shop when she'd much rather just collapse onto her bed. "What else would it be?"

Melissa blinked at her with a tart expression. "Um, hello? You're dating Tom Ryder. That might have something to do with it."

So surprised by the comment, Parker scratched a line across her notepad, and subsequently decided that her to-do list could wait till later. "We're not—I'm not dating Tom."

"Sure," the girl snorted. "He just hangs around your shop all the time, invites you over for parties, gets dinner with you, and—oh yeah—posts you on his Instagram."

"He didn't post me—"

"But, whatever," she continued, already moving on to the next topic. Parker watched as she bent forward and, with a grimace, tried to rub some feeling into her ankles. "I lost feeling in my toes, like, three hours ago. Is that bad? I mean, I'm not gonna have to get an amputation or anything, will I? Because I'm not missing out on Stacy Jordan's sweet sixteen because of you. Her parents rented out this huge dance hall, and they even hired a DJ."

Parker sighed.

Melissa's train of thought was something that she would never be able to keep up with, and today in particular she did not have the stamina to even try. Sourly, she said, "I told you that those shoes weren't very supportive—"

A book is lobbed in her direction, and Parker ducked behind the register before it can make contact.

The loud fwap of it hitting the ground echoes between the two.

"That better not have been a new edition."

"Oh, fuck off," Melissa said.

Parker returned from her hiding spot—back aching when she sits up, neck hurting when she props herself atop an elbow, eyes burning as she squints at the largest stack of receipts she's ever had before—and clucked her tongue. "You know I think I like this new you. You should curse more often."

"Pf. You just want to get rid of the swear jar."

"Well," she hedged, eyes darting to said jar, "it would save me some money. Unless you feel like paying up anytime soon. That's, what, three f-words? I'm not going to turn my nose up at fifteen bucks anytime soon."

Melissa gave an unbothered snort. "You wish."

"So, it's just a punishment for me, then?"

"You won't even need that thing after this week," she pressed on, sinking deeper into the worn out plush of the reading chair as her gaze slowly drifted across the bookstore. The shelves are the emptiest they've ever been, and the decorations they worked meticulously hard to find are in disarray from the constant throng of customers today. It's not a problem they've had before, having to reset the store after closing, but Parker supposes that's a good problem to have. "My feet hurt because of how busy we were, not because of my shoes—which, by the way, I had to wait in line for two hours to get—they will be supportive if I want them to be. Does this mean you'll finally hire Emily?"

"Emily?"

"My best friend. I've introduced you, like, ten times."

Parker conjured up a blurry image of a blonde girl, identical to Melissa in every way except for their different colored hair and eyes, with matching braces to boot. She thought she was nice, but, honestly, she can't really recall. Whatever. "Why would I hire Emily?"

Melissa scowled. "Well, that's rude. Just because she's my best friend doesn't mean that we're going to goof off or anything. She's just as hard of a worker as I am. You'd practically be getting two employees for the price of one if you hired her. Plus, it would drive Maddy H crazy if Emily got to work at Tom Ryder's bookstore and she didn't."

"It's not—" Parker started, before shaking the thought away. Bigger things to focus on, she reminded herself. "I thought we talked about this. I can give you a raise, but I can't afford to hire someone else."

"Uh, correction, you couldn't afford to hire someone else."

Parker puts the stack of receipts away, mind slowly but surely drifting to the next task as she attempts to lock the register down. She would definitely have to stop at the bank tomorrow to deposit their cash from the day—not a problem she had ever had before—and she mentally adds that to the list of musts. "Did I win the lottery without knowing it or something?"

Her question hangs flat in the air, and in response, Melissa curls a disbelieving look in her direction. "You're kidding, right? Did you see how busy we were today?"

"Right, listen," Parker started, but by how intense Melissa's eyeroll was, it was obvious that the teenager would not, in fact, be listening. "One good day of sales doesn't override an entire quarter of awful sales. This was just—just a fluke. I can't just hire Emily on a whim because we had one nice day. Ever heard of a rainy day fund?"

Melissa, hand in the air as she inspects the damage to her manicure, scoffed. "Yeah, but it's not just one good day."

"Are you secretly working at a different bookstore in your free time or something?"

"Oh my god," Melissa moaned, before dropping her boots to the ground with a heavy thud. "Right, you listen."

"Oh, here we go—"

"Park, I know you're big on self decrepitation and whatever—something I'm guessing you learned from your total has been of a brother—"

"Wow. You know, you two have got to figure out whatever this beef is about," Parker interrupted, only to be promptly ignored as Melissa stood.

"But this isn't just going to die down," she said, the stack of bangles on her wrists jangling as she made air quotes to emphasize her point. "Tom Ryder gave you a personal shout-out on his Instagram. That, like, never happens. The only things he posts are selfies, and paid promotions. In February, he posted a three second video about his Erewhon smoothie, and they're still selling out on the daily."

Parker frowned. "Smoothie?"

"So not the point," Melissa grumbled with another jingle of her bracelets. "The point is that this—" she gestured around them, to the bookshelves and the roof and the chair beneath her with one long sweeping motion, "just hit the jackpot. Kay? This is going to go viral, and when it does, you're going to have crowds like today every day."

That doesn't sound right. Parker knows that Tom is famous, that he has millions of followers on all of his social media, and that there are fangirls out there of his even more obsessed with what he does than the one scowling across the room from her. But just because he posted her store doesn't mean that she's going to have throngs of fans outside, day after day.

That sort of thing just... didn't happen.

Not to people like her.

Right?

"Okay, well, I mean," she started, struggling to put her thoughts into words after all of her braincells effectively went on vacation for the weekend. The cash register snapped shut with a metallic clang, and she dangled the key between her hands mindlessly. "Even if we go viral, we'll be popular for a bit, but not for, like, ever. A month, maybe."

Melissa blinked at her in that sort of way that means she's judging her, and when she hefts herself to a stand, Parker can feel the lecture about to come. "Look, I know you're a millennial and you aren't really active online, so I'll break it down for you."

"How gracious," she snarked, rolling her eyes.

"It's going to be like this—like it was today—for weeks. Until something new or something better comes along, but even then you're going to have Influencers coming in for pictures, wanting to stake a claim on this place just like Tom did. Okay? Which means more pictures, more shout-outs, and more people seeing this place on their FYPs."

"FY—?"

"So, yeah, maybe this place isn't going to stay viral forever, but that just means it's all the more important to capitalize on the attention while you can. If people are flocking here just to get stuck in long lines because there's only one employee during the day, then they're going to lose interest faster."

"I know how business work," Parker interjected, offended on her own behalf, but Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other about her feelings.

"So you know that you need to dress to impress."

Parker narrowed her eyes at the girl shrewdly. She was staring to get that familiar feeling in her gut that Melissa was winding up for some big scheme, and previous experience had proven that when Melissa really wanted something, Parker was helpless but to give in. "Is this just some big production so I'll hire a bunch of your little cheerleading friends?"

The face she made was lethal. "First off, Emily doesn't cheer, she does dance, and that sort of tone is both condescending and so not cool. Secondly, it's an excuse to hire someone else so I don't get stuck like I did today when my boss decides to go gallivanting around town without her phone!"

"I wasn't gallivanting," she defended. "It was, just, an unfortunate—"

"Parker," Melissa said, leaning on her elbows until they were inches apart. "Hire some more people, or you're going to have to work every shift of this store forever because I don't ever want to experience that rush alone again."

Ugh.

The girl had a serious point—about everything, it seemed—but Parker was in no mood to think about any of that. "I already said I'd give you a raise."

"Well, that is a given," she chirped, gathering her purse and jacket from behind the counter. Parker might have been more put off by her attitude if she didn't think the girl deserved a hearty raise. Afterall, she was a little mastermind in her own right, as terrifying as that could be. "But I'd also like to have extra help, and it's no one's business if that extra help is a couple of my friends from school. I take this job seriously, you know. I wouldn't recommend her if she wouldn't be a good employee."

"You're a menace, you know that, right?"

Melissa smiled, and for the first time all day, it seemed more conniving than tired. "I'll send you her resume."

"No, no, no, that's not what I just—"

"And, anyways, she's just as big of a fan of you and Tom as I am. I mean, obviously, she's never met him, but I tell her everything. She totally ships you two. Probably not as much as I do, obviously," she trailed on, finally getting around to swipe the mascara off her cheeks as she bent even closer into Parker's space, "but she's invested. I think it's totally time you post him on your story."

"My what?"

"I mean, he already posted you. Or, you know, your store," she corrected herself, waving a hand around flippantly as if those were the same thing. And, maybe, in the mind of a teenage fangirl, they were. "Relationships are never official until it's on the page."

"We're not—"

"Have you thought about a ship name, yet?" she barreled on, completely ignoring the fact that every extra word she said was only compounded the migraine growing between Parker's temples. "Because I think Ryvers is so, totally cute, but Emily likes Parom better. Although, that sounds a little—"

"Okay, alright, that's it," Parker stood from her stool, and in the matter of seconds had shooed the teenager outside with as much decorum as she could muster. It was ruined, of course, by the bright red blush sprawling across her face like wild fire. "Goodnight, Melissa. Thank you for your help today, I will see you next week."

"But—"

"Goodbye!"

She shut the door with the jingle of the overhead bell and promptly slumped against it. A few beats passed before Melissa's boots clomped off in the direction of the bus stop, and when it fell silent outside, she glanced around. The store at night, with the main lights switched off and the crackled radio drifting from the corner, felt eerily empty after the busy day they had. And while the trash absolutely needed to be taken out, and the shelves needed to be catalogued for what she would have to put in her upcoming order, for the first time ever, Parker decided that there were some things that could wait until tomorrow.

After all, she had a boy to talk to.

---

"Are we dating?"

Tom, dressed down in some Nike sweats and a simple black tee with sleep marks red on the side of his face, blinked at Parker like she was on drugs. And, honestly, she supposed that was a fair assumption to make. After all, it was nearing midnight by the time she pulled into his driveway, unannounced, her hair mussed like a bird's nest from driving the entire way into the Hills with the windows down, and the anxious energy from the day's chaos had yet to make itself useful other than by adding a shakiness to her hands.

And while she had spent the entire drive over contemplating all the things that she wanted to ask him, the first thing that had come out of her mouth when he opened the door was that.

"What?"

Parker winced, anxiously wringing her hands together, before she pressed inside. She supposed having a mansion in the Hills meant that even the closest neighbors were too far away to hear anything, but the idea that there might be someone witnessing what likely could be considered a mental breakdown was not a comforting thought.

"I didn't mean..." she started, shaking her head, before she stooped to untie her shoes. That proved to be an impossible task with how shaky her hands, were, however, and in the end she just kicked them off with a grunt. "That wasn't what I—well, Melissa seems convinced that we are."

Parker could feel his eyes burrowing into her back, and Parker pointedly avoided eye contact as her cheeks flamed a hot red.

"Melissa," he echoed dully.

Cool, she thought to herself. Just be cool.

But the Seavers siblings were not known for their ability to play it cool, and while he drifted after her, Parker miserably tried to think of a way to explain her squirrel-brained thoughts without sounding like a lunatic.

"Well, you know, you posted me on Instagram."

"I didn't post you on my Instagram," he corrected.

And—shit. Wasn't that exactly what she had argued?

Parker was happy that her back was to him as her face flushed an even more indelicate red. It didn't help that there were lamps on all throughout the living room, orange and yellow hues of lighting casting shadows across her already warm face.

"I know, I know, and I told her exactly that, but she has it in her head that posting, well, my shop is the same thing as posting me and then she wouldn't shut up about it today. And now she wants me to hire her friend who is also convinced that we're, you know, dating, and I told her that she's—that that's not—you know..."

The knit of his brows made it painstakingly obvious that Tom didn't know, and honestly how would he? She didn't even know what she was trying to say.

"I... think I need a drink," she muttered, scurrying to the fridge where she withdrew two ice cold bottles of beer. IPAs were not her favorite by a long shot, but there were far more important things to handle, and without hesitating, Parker popped one open. A long swallow followed before she awkwardly slid the second bottle towards Tom. "Maybe I should start again."

His brows disappeared into his hairline, but the moment she met his eye Parker just knew that he was relishing in this particular conversation.

She planted her elbows on the counter, and caught her head in her hands with a whine. "I really wish that you had given me a heads-up about the post."

Whatever was smug withered and died. "A heads-up?"

"Just so I could have been more prepared, you know," she hedged, fingers nervously plucking at the wet label on her beer bottle. "Between the crowds today and my system freezing and Melissa pestering at me about our—you know—whatever, I feel like I've been running around like a headless chicken. It's been a lot to handle."

He was silent for a long moment, and by the time that she dared to glance at him he had managed to shake off any remaining sleepiness. Now, he scowled at her long and hard. "Right, well, next time I'll make sure to get your approval ahead of time. Should I have changed the picture too? Written a longer post about how much I fucking adore your shitty little store?"

Parker reared back. "Hey, it's not shitty."

"Right," he scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You know, most people would at least hold off on their complaints until after they've said thank you. Common deceny, and all that."

Parker deflated against the counter as Tom looped around the other side of the couch to sit down. There were pillows sprawled across it, a blanket pooling on the ground, and a Tom shaped indent in one of the cushions from where he had been sleeping before she showed up. When he flicked the tv off mute, Parker became increasingly aware of how poorly this conversation was going.

She took a deep breath and a long dreg of her beer before carefully seating herself on the table smack dab in his line of view. When he refused to give in, however, she took the remote out of his hand and flicked the tv off with a huff.

"Tom—"

But he wasn't having any of it, and he rolled his eyes at her so intensely that it must have hurt. "Oh, fuck. Look, if you're going to make this into some big lecture or whatever you can save us both the time and effort. I already spent the day dealing with this bullshit from Gail. I don't need it from you too."

As almost every mention of his producer did, that caught her off guard. "Gail?"

"Yeah, imagine that," he scoffed. "I try to do something nice, for once, and the first thing she does is yell at me because of it. And now you're here doing the same thing, and I don't even know what I expected, but it sure as shit isn't—"

"Why would she yell at you?" she interrupted.

He finished half of his beer in a swallow. "Why do you think?"

She wasn't sure. That was half the reason she asked the question, but when he tensed—as if preparing for that exact sort of answer—Parker's mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened.

Why would Gail be upset?

Sure, she was his producer, and likely was miffed about missing out on her fee, but it wasn't like a percentage of twenty grand would have had any real impact on her salary. After all, Tom hadn't minced his words earlier when talking about how much of his yearly income went to the movie mogul. And Parker had seen her house; the woman wasn't going to be pinching pennies any time soon unless she was robbed at gunpoint. And even then she would probably benefit from her high profile connections.

Which meant if it wasn't the money that she cared about, it must have been...

Realization was a painful thing, and Parker rounded towards Tom with wide eyes. "She's upset because you did this without asking her?"

Another swallow of his beer. "I told you that I don't do stuff without asking her."

"But you did this time."

"Because she would have fucking said no," he ground out, distaste over even having to admit it obvious from his tone. "Which is fucking—I mean, it's my fucking life. I can do what I want. Should be able to, anyway. I'm the one making her money, but I do this one thing and she's all pissed off about it. You know how small that makes me feel? That she would even expect me to get permission from her?"

"Tom," she said, only to have him steamroll on.

"It's bullshit. Total bullshit."

"Tom," she tried again when he didn't seem to hear her.

But whatever floodgate he had opened wasn't closing anytime soon, and Parker felt her chest constrict. "Everything I do is because she tells me to do it. I don't even chose who I sponsor. But I do one post without her permission and get shit for it. And apparently, not just from her. Because you're here too, pissed that I didn't tell you ahead of time, and it's like no matter what I do it's—"

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that she had to do something, Parker lurched forward to sling her arms around his neck. He went stiff beneath her touch, freezing as she attempted to pull him to her, before his hands slowly bracketed around her waist.

"What are you—?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered. Then, when that wasn't enough—because how could that ever be enough—she tightened her hold on him hoping that it might convey what she didn't know how to say. Parker shook her head into the crook of his neck, swallowing. "Fuck, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't come over here to yell at you. I swear I didn't. I'm not even mad, I don't know why I said that thing about the heads-up, I just... I just was so overwhelmed today that I didn't know what to say or how to bring it up or thank you that I just—I just word vomited. Okay? I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he said, arms tightening around her. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, and he had to know that. "But it's not, Tom. You just—you just changed my life, you know? What you did... I've never had that many people in my store before, and they were lined up, and the line didn't dissipate all day! I think I sold, like, half my inventory because of you, and if that continues even for a month then I'll be able to actually finance my store and I won't have to close and... I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

She leaned back to find Tom frowning at her. "It was just a post."

"To you, and to Gail," she said, finally being able to express what she had been stewing on all day. "But to me... it's everything. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back."

"Pay me back?"

"I mean, I could give you some of the profit, but it probably won't be much. Especially since I still have loans to pay off, and I need to get insurance, and fix the AC, and maybe even hire some new staff, but I'm sure I could give you percentage. Like, a little over time, and it definitely won't be much, but—"

She didn't realize she was rambling until Tom shook her. "I don't want you to pay me back, Park."

"But—"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head at her. One of his hands twisted into the cotton of her sweater, and for the first time that night, as he ducked his head to avoid her gaze Parker realized that maybe he was just as anxious about this entire thing as she was. "I owe you, okay. Not the other way around."

Parker couldn't think of anything more ridiculous than that, and her brows furrowed a divot into her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

He released a chuckle of disbelief, the sound low and raspy in his throat. "I know I'm an asshole. What you said when we first met, that day on the set, it pissed me off so much because... you were right, and no one else had ever bothered to tell me. I'm an asshole to staff and to the crew and to your fucking brother, but do you seriously think I'm blind to all the things that you've done for me?"

Floundering for words—and thoughts—all she could do was blink at him.

Tom glanced away, fingers wrapping themselves into her shirt, skating a burning line over her skin. "You—you're..." he started, before drifting off. Clearly, she wasn't the only person struggling to put their thoughts into words tonight, but Parker was too dumbfounded by the fact that Tom Ryder was admitting to be an asshole above all else, that she couldn't find the energy to interrupt him. "No one has ever... held me accountable before."

Even more bewildered then before, she stared at him. "And that's... a good thing? Because I thought that drove you crazy? I mean—"

"God, of course it drives me crazy," he cut her off with another chuckle. "But you do it because—because you see something in me that no one else does, you know? You see... me. Not the rich, famous me that everyone else sees and takes advantage of, but the asshole on the inside that no one else likes. Do you know how many people have found me in the bathroom like you did? Do you know how none of them have ever cared before?"

Parker's hands skated around his neck, desperate for something to hold onto, to feel, as she gently flattened them out on his chest. "You don't owe me anything for that," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't have to do this just to make up for that. I like being in your life, being your friend, your... I think more people care about you than you think, Tom."

He swallowed, and her eyes tracked the movement of his throat. "And you're the only person in my life that would say shit like that and mean it."

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know," he said, hands drifting further up her back, a connection that she didn't dare break as they settled into the groove of her spine. "And that's why I did it. So I don't want anything from you, alright? I just... want to give you this. Fuck Gail, fuck my social media manager, fuck all of them. Just this once I want to do something for someone else. Well, no, even that's a lie. Not for someone else, but for you."

Parker bit her lip, feeling her heart thump against her chest, and she was certain that he must have felt it too as she leaned against him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "You're—just... you're not like other girls, you know that?"

Despite the tension growing between them, the softness of the moment and the tender way he was holding her, Parker couldn't keep back a startled laugh. And when she did laugh, Tom's hands paused in their movements, brows knitting a second time as he watched her with something wary struck across his features.

"Sorry, sorry," she said almost immediately, biting her lip, only for another giggle to escape. He looked truly put off then, and she carefully skated her hands back around his neck. "I just... sorry, I'm not laughing at you. That just so sounded like a line."

The wariness vanished, replaced by irritable fondness, and his hands pressed her closer. "Yeah, well," he said, that oh-so familiar smugness of his curling his mouth upwards. "What if it was?"

"Oh?"

He shrugged, pressing on. "Lots of girls would kill to hear that kind of line from Tom Ryder, you know? You should consider yourself lucky."

"I thought I wasn't like other girls."

"You're not. No other girl has ever driven me fucking crazy like you do."

"Flattering," she snarked. But the skate of his hands was starting to ignite a nervous fluttering in her stomach, and as her nails dug into his shirt, Parker could barely maintain a sense of decorum as she smirked at him. "Well? Go on then."

"With?"

"You've given me a line. I'm interested in seeing what other sorts of moves the famous Tom Ryder has to woo the ladies. You want to show me your wine cellar? Art collection? Is there a disco ball that comes down from your ceiling if I clap?"

His entire torso shook as he laughed. "See what I mean? You're drive me fucking crazy."

"Ah, maybe, but that wasn't a no—"

Parker swore that a single kiss from Tom Ryder had the ability to set her entire body alight. Sometimes, she wondered if he felt it too; the way the pads of his thumbs would trail a burning line along her skin or how her hands got shaky as she trailed them up into his hair. His hands certainly didn't shake; not when they pulled her sweater over her head or drifted along the length of her legs, fingers dipping into the ticklish spot behind her knees, tugging her impossibly closer before moving up, up, up...

This time, there was no party to return to, no busybodies to avoid or assistants needing Tom's attention in between fittings on set, and most importantly no phone to chirp at them or brother to distract.

There was just her and him, Parker and Tom.