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Lunchtime in town was always loud, too loud, even. The sidewalks swelled with bodies and noise, heels clicking against the pavement, some ladies aggressively fanning themselves, car horns snapping sharp in the air, shop doors chiming open and shut like they were all keeping time with one another.
Jimmy moved through it all like a ghost with weight, gloved hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jackets, shoulders tense beneath the Florida sun. This part of town doesn’t like him, then again he failed to remember a part of town that did. Too many eyes, too many whispers, but he came anyway because you were here, and that made some stares worth swallowing.
He slowed when he reached the boutique you worked at, the one with the big glass windows and mannequins dressed better than most people he knew. Through the front, with the pastel green and white painted walls in stripes, he saw you moving between racks with practiced ease, posture straight, expression customer-friendly.
His chest tightened at the sight, at how easily you slipped past another customer without so much as glancing towards the door, like you hadn’t noticed him standing there at all.
Then again, you’ve been pretending his existence was just an afterthought over the past few days.
Jimmy hovered at the front of the boutique for a moment longer than he should have. He cleared his throat for confidence and pushed inside, the bell announcing him with a cheer he didn’t feel in his heart. The air smelled like perfume and newly pressed fabric, clean and sharp, nothing like the motor oil and dust he was used to. He spotted you again near the counter and felt a small, stupid relief, up until he caught your eye and watched it slide right past him, deliberate as a turned shoulder.
“Hey.” he said anyway, voice low, hopeful, and awkward.
You don’t answer him, moving a stack of skirts to a shelf in the back of the counter.
Something settled heavy in his gut then, the kind of feeling that didn’t come from the town stares or the name they’d given him, or the pre-performance anxiety when he thinks if he can even face anyone. This one was worse. This one felt like losing ground he hadn’t realized was slipping.
And Jimmy Darling, who had never been good at letting go of anything he cared about, took a deep breath and followed you deeper into the shop, into what looked like a break room just out of customer’s reach. He was already bracing himself to fight for something he wasn’t ready to lose.
At first, Jimmy told himself that it was nothing, bargaining with himself that it was a mistake. You were working, that was all. He lingered near a display of scarves, pretending to study the fabric while watching you move, as if he had any business in a woman’s boutique.
You passed him once, close enough that the hem of your skirt brushed his leg. He opened his mouth to say your name, to say anything, but you were already gone, voice turning soft and polite for a customer who wasn’t him.
He tried again, drifted toward the counter this time, leaned his elbow against the wood like he belonged there. You were arranging receipts, jaw set, eyes fixed on the paper as if it might offer escape.
“Hey,” he said again, a little louder. You didn’t look up.
The sound of the register drawer snapping shut felt louder than it should’ve, final in a way that made his stomach twist.
Minutes stretched thin and ugly, Jimmy followed you from rack to rack, from folded blouses to glass cases of jewelry, each pass a quiet refusal. Every time you turned away, something dug into his ribs. Anger flared, then died just as fast, leaving behind something worse, doubt. It was the kind that whispered that maybe, just maybe he’d imagined how good things had been before this, maybe he’d misread every look, every laugh, every kiss in the dark after a date where he’d held your hand firmly.
You brushed past him again, close enough that he smelled your perfume, the same one that lingered on his jacket last night.
“Hey.” he said, sharper now, hurt bleeding through despite his effort. Still nothing.
Something in him cracked, not loud, not dramatic, just a quiet break that left him hollowed out. Five minutes, maybe more, of being erased in plain sight. Of wanting to grab your sleeve, your hand, anything, and being terrified you’d pull away if he did. Panic settled in his gut, cold and heavy. If you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t speak to him, what else were you refusing? Him? Whatever this thing was that he’d been stupid enough to think was steady?
When you finally turned on him, eyes sharp, voice cutting through the air with, “What the hell do you want?” it almost felt like relief.
At least anger meant he still existed to you. Jimmy stepped forward without thinking, caught your hands in his, concern blazing in his eyes, anger giving way to pleading eyes.
“Uhm–- woah. Hey, come on,” he said, words tumbling out, breath uneven. “I thought we were goin’ smooth.” Jimmy takes both your hands in his, concern deep within his gaze, but you don’t even want to see the puppy-eyed look he gives you.
He barely had time to finish before you yanked your hands free. The contact burned on his skin even after you pulled away, like the absence of it hurt worse than the grip itself.
“I thought that too.” you bit back harshly. “Guess we were both wrong.”
Jimmy’s stomach dropped. He took a half-step closer before thinking better to just stay where he was.
“Did I–” his voice faltered before swallowing to try again. “Did I do something wrong?” Jimmy had to ask, stepping in closer like he’s not apologizing right next to a rack of clothes.
You laughed, short and humorless, and finally looked at him then. There was anger there, yes, but underneath it was something tighter, something that was hurt. “You really don’t know?”
“I swear to God,” he said quickly, panic bleeding into his tone now. “If I did somethin’ wrong, just– just tell me.”
You leaned in, just enough that he could hear you clearly over the hum of the shop. “I saw you,” you said. “Last night. After you dropped me off.”
His heart stuttered. “Saw me doin’ what?”
“Being nice,” you snapped. “Smiling, laughing, walking her halfway down the block like she mattered.” Your jaw clenched. “Like I didn’t exist the second I shut my front door.”
The pieces slammed together in his head all at once, too fast. A girl from town, one of the regulars near the motorshop. She’d asked him a question, that was all. He’d answered, he always answered.
That was the problem, wasn’t it?
“I wasn’t flirtin’, sweetheart.” he said immediately, almost desperate. “I didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything I wouldn’t say to anyone else.”
“But you could’ve,” you shot back, “That’s the point.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You don’t even notice when you do it, Jimmy. You’re just… like that! Nice. Charismatic. Everybody likes you.”
The word everybody landed wrong. He shook his head hard. “That ain’t true–”
“It is,” you insisted. “And I can’t–” You exhaled sharply, like admitting it hurt. “I can’t do this if every girl smiles at you makes my stomach drop. I don’t wanna that person. Bitter. Watching every move you make like it drives me crazy.”
Jimmy backed off, resembling a dog kicked by the curb. “So what? ….you’re just callin’ it off?” his voice cracked despite himself. “That’s it?”
“We’re not meant for each other, Jimmy.” you said, and there it was, the line you’d clearly been rehearsing.
“I’m too jealous for something like you. I’d just be angry and hurt at you all the time. You too. You’d hurt if I’m always angry.”
At that moment, something fierce rose up in his chest then, pushing past the fear. He stepped closer again, heedless of the racks, the customers, the fact that this was the worst possible place for this conversation.
“I don’t care,” he said, heat in his voice now. “If you’re mad at me, be mad. Just don’t shut me out like that.”
He tilted his head, eyes searching your face with an intensity that made your breath hitch whether you wanted it to or not.
This is exactly why you’d been ignoring him, knowing a single look from him could have your legs feeling like jelly.
“Jealousy ain’t you bein’ cruel.” he said, voice turning dangerously gentle. “It’s just you wantin’ something you’re not saying out loud.”
You stared at him, chest rising too fast, the anger wavering as the truth of his words sank in. The shop noises faded to a dull blur around you, leaving just the two of you standing there, hearts beating loud, everything fragile and unfinished.
And Jimmy, hands shaking just slightly at his sides, waited, feeling terrified and stubborn and entirely unwilling to walk away first.
You rolled your eyes, sharp and deliberate, like his words hadn’t reached you at all. Without answering, you turned on your heel and walked toward the back of the shop. Jimmy watched you go, disbelief flashing hot through his chest.
“Hey-” he started, then louder, the edge creeping into his voice.”Don’t do that. Don’t just walk away.”
You didn’t slow, pushing through the narrow hallway and into the supply room, already reaching for the light switch. Jimmy followed without thinking, irritation tangling with panic, his footsteps too fast, too close in his boots.
“Look, I’m tryin’ here.” he said, words tumbling over each other now. “I came all the way down here because I don’t wanna lose you, and you’re just—what, gonna hide from me now?”
The door shut behind you with a firm click.
Jimmy barely had time to register before you spun around and grabbed the front of his jacket, shoving him back against the door hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. His anger vanished in an instance, replaced by shock and then nothing but you.
Your mouth crashed into his. It wasn’t gentle nor careful, it was all the frustration and jealousy and want you’d been swallowing down since last night, poured straight into him.
Jimmy froze for half a second, stunned, and then his hands came up instinctively, gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. He kissed you back just as fiercely, heat flaring, head spinning, every thought short-circuiting.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads nearly touching, both of you panting.
“This,” you said, voice breathless and shaking, fingers still twisted in his jacket. “This is what I want that I’m not saying out loud.”
Jimmy swallowed hard, eyes dark, stunned into a soft, disbelieving smile that bordered on wrecked. “Jesus,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re gonna kill me.”
His thumb brushed over your jaw, reverent now, like the fight had burned away everything but the truth. “You could’ve just said you wanted me.” he murmured.
You didn’t answer. You kissed him again instead, slower, deeper all the unspoken finally laid bare between you as the world stayed locked safely on the other side of the door.
Then you kiss him harder, an edge present. Jimmy barely had time to register the shift before you moved, mouth trailing from his lips to his jaw, then lower. His breath hitched, confusion flashing across his face.
“Woah—” he murmured, but the world dissolved when you pressed your mouth to his neck.
It wasn’t slow or sweet. Jimmy’s back stayed pinned to the door, hands hovering uselessly at your waist like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or give you space. His pulse thudded wildly under your lips, every nerve lighting up at once. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, a quiet, helpless sound slipping out of him.
You pulled back just long enough to look at your work, then leaned in again, leaving another mark just beneath the collar of his shirt, somewhere it couldn’t be hidden easily. Jimmy’s head tipped back without permission, eyes squeezing shut as he swallowed hard.
He tastes like skin and sweat and everything you desire, sticking to your teeth as you bite him harder.
When you finally stepped back, his chest was rising fast, cheeks flushed, expression somewhere between stunned and undone.
“That way,” you said, voice still tight with anger, not softness, fingers briefly tugging at his collar so he couldn’t miss what you’d done. “...people can look at you and know someone’s already got dibs.”
Jimmy blinked, panting and breathless. He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh that sounded more like a surrender than amusement. “You’re markin’ territory now?” he asked quietly, awe threaded through the words.
His gloved hand lifted, hovering near your waist but stopping short, giving you the voice. His eyes stayed locked on yours, steady and serious beneath the haze. “You don’t gotta do that,” he said. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
But he didn’t try to hide the marks either, “Still,” he added, voice low and fond. “...guess I don’t mind folks knowin’.”
A voice cut through the thin wall from the front of the shop. “Excuse me? Is there a cashier back there?”
You froze for half a second, then sighed through your nose. The real world rushing back in all at once. You stepped away from Jimmy, already smoothing your clothes, already rebuilding the distance like it hadn’t just been shattered.
“My shift still ends at six.” you tell him, slapping his back once as you nudged him toward the rear exit. The back door creaked open, sunlight spilling in, dust and heat rushing to meet him. “Go.”
Jimmy stumbled out onto the dirt, boots crunching as the door swung shut behind him. He turned back just in time tot see you already halfway down the hall, posture straight, expression composed like nothing happened.
“But—hey!” he called, voice lifting with panic as he caught up enough for you to hear. “Are you still mad at me?!”
You don’t answer him, you didn’t even look back. By the time he reached the door again, you were already at the counter, smile polite, voice sweet and practiced as you greeted the waiting customer like you hadn’t just pressed him into a door and left your mark on his skin.
Jimmy stood there for a second longer than he should’ve, heart still racing, neck warm beneath his collar. Mad or not, one thing was painfully clear: you weren’t done with him.
And that thought alone was enough to keep him coming back.