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ravine waiting for him, listening to his voice echoing off of the walls around me. And then he appeared, and he ravaged me in ways I’d never been ravaged before. His hands were everywhere on me, caressing and memorizing every part of my skin.
    I woke groggily at the sound of my alarm. I was extremely turned on.
    It was an hour before I could convince myself to get out of bed. That feeling of Parker touching me in a place that I hadn’t touched in months except when absolutely necessary warmed me, washed over me, comforted me.
    It was something I’d needed, especially after the nightmare I’d woken up to first.
    I slid my fingers into my panties and felt the moisture from a place that had been aridly dry for a year. I pushed one finger inside my pussy and pulled my fingers out, spreading the wetness up and over my clit. I felt the old, familiar sensation of quaking in my thighs as I stroked my clit softly, adding pressure to push myself into a climax that my body hadn’t felt in far too long. 
    As I stood under the hot spray of the shower a little later, I couldn’t help but think that it had been Parker who had pushed me into sexually pleasuring myself that morning. I hadn’t even thought about sex, much less had an interest in it, in a very long time. And if he’d been able to dredge up those feelings, I couldn’t imagine what else he could do. I couldn’t begin to imagine what actually being with him would be like.
    When I walked into Vintage that morning, the store had been transformed. Apparently Virginia and Tim had stayed well past midnight straightening everything. Even the café had a bright sparkle to it. It looked like it should have been called “Modern” instead of “Vintage.”
    “This is for you,” Tim said, handing me Parker’s hat. “He came back looking for you.”
    Tim’s eyes screamed of jealousy. I didn’t know how to handle his emotions on top of my erratic and excessive feelings.
    As much as I didn’t want to feel anything, a tingle ran up my spine when my fingertips held his hat in my hands. “Thanks,” I said, tossing the hat on the counter in a display of indifference that I certainly didn’t feel.
    “There’s a note inside. I didn’t look at it, but he asked me to make sure you got it.”
    More unwelcome tingles raced around my body.
    I turned the hat over and pulled out a scrap of paper. I recognized it as the back of the receipt tape from the Vintage register. The writing was a messy scrawl.
     
    Jimi-
    You said you’d be here. I’m disappointed. Call me. 312-555-3157
    -Parker
     
    I folded the paper and stuck it in my jeans pocket. I knew I wouldn’t use the number. I couldn’t.
    But that didn’t stop me from wanting to.

eight
     
    Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes bled into hours. Hours bled into days.
    It’s funny how six minutes can feel like the longest six minutes of your life, but six weeks can pass in the blink of an eye.
    Day to day, the hours felt long. I felt the suffering, the want, the desire. I wrote in my journal. Often. I tried to recreate the feelings I’d felt that night I’d met him.
    I looked up his tour schedule. I thought mailing his hat to his next location.
    Part of me didn’t want him to come into the store when he got back, but I knew he would regardless of whether or not I had his hat. It was inevitable.
    I stared at the note he left me a million times. I thought about calling. I thought about sending a text. But I knew I never would.
    If something happened between us, it would be because of his persistence. It wouldn’t be because of me.
    I tried to forget about him, but it was useless. 
    And then I looked at the calendar and realized six weeks had passed since I had first met Parker.
    I thought I’d forget him as one day faded into two and two faded into three, but I hadn’t.
    I didn’t turn on his music. I erased all signs of him and the Flashing Light signing from the store.
    The only thing I had left of him was his hat and a