They say the most important day of your life is the day you're born.

For me, though, it was September 20th, a Saturday, and I was twenty-two years old, not a newborn.

You walk into Munson's Rare - a hybrid record/book store with an added cafe - and open the door for an old lady who immediately hobbles off to get her decaffeinated tea. I swear, she's in here almost every day, and I still don't remember her name. Some people are born unremarkable.

But not you. With your hair styled as if you've walked out of the eighties, that somehow works, with your brown eyes and straight nose. Where did you come from?

You catch my eye from where I'm standing behind the counter and smile before disappearing into the bookshelves. Hopefully, you didn't hear the mug I knocked over trying to get a better look at your ass in those tight jeans. Are you even wearing a shirt? The grey sweater you're wearing looks entirely too soft and tight on your frame.

"Totally out of your league," Gareth whispers as he walks by, hurrying to the cafe before any harm could befall him.

"I could fire you, you know," I called after him, but it didn't even warrant a response.

The only reason I'd hired him was so I didn't have to try and run both counters by myself when Wayne retired. His cheerful disposition was a hit with the locals, so here we were three years later, and he had creative freedom over that part of the store. As long as he didn't mess with the books and records, we were cool.

Maybe he was right, though. Maybe you are out of my league, stood there in the educational section. Are you a student? What are you looking for? You must be around my age, so a university student, which would, of course, make Gareth correct.

I barely graduated high school after three attempts. So what would you want with me? Unless you're studying something commonplace like physiology, yet you don't look the type. Not when you suddenly pull out glasses to read the book titles. You're too self-assured for science and too clean for mechanics. So who are you?

"Excuse me?" A snippy voice interrupts my musing, and a woman stands in front of me holding some indie album called Punisher with a dark blue and red cover. In her other hand is another album, folklore, by Taylor Swift. The grey forest cover is unmistakable. And oh, she's embarrassed about Taylor Swift, so she's hiding it with Phoebe Bridget's. Just own your shit, lady. "Are you going to serve me?"

"Sorry, miss." I scan folklore, covering it with Punisher as if anyone else cares what she listens to. "Would you like a bag?"

"No." And she pulls out a reusable tote bag. Is she a spokeswoman for climate change?

"Okay, that'll be... 20 dollars."

"At least you're cheaper than HMV," she sniffs, putting her card into the machine, and I smile back.

"Would you like a receipt with that?"

As if she won't say "no," then thank God she's gone.

It's a good thing Wayne's not around anymore to remind me to wish her a good day. People will come to the store regardless of the one-star review she's writing on Yelp at that very moment.

You appear from behind one of the bookshelves, basket full and make your way over, hefting it onto the countertop. "I'll give you a five-star review to make up for it. Some people have no patience."

"Probably a bad day."

"It's not your fault, though."

"Goodbye, Edward!" the old woman calls on her way out, clutching her tea in a flask. The world has gone mad in its bid to reuse and recycle.

"Have a good day, ma'am," I replied politely before returning my attention to you. "Sorry about that. She's a regular."

"No problem, Edward."

"Actually, it's Eddie."

"Okay, Eddie..." You lean forward, elbows on the counter, and what cologne are you wearing? I can feel my mouth watering and swallow thickly. "Mind ringing me up?"

"Right." I glance at your basket full of books and smile. "The Lean Startup, huh? Bit out of the way from Kelley's."

You look pleased I made the connection, and your cupid bow lips pull into a smile. The moles on your cheek look like dimples, and I want to kiss them. Would you let me?

"Books are expensive closer to the uni. Even if it's only a couple of dollars, I'll take it. My professor recommended this place, and she was right. It is cosy."

"My uncle owns the place," I explain as I scan your books. Did you prepare at all for your course? It looks like you're buying the whole syllabus, and it's almost the end of September. "In his words, a shop should feel like a home. If people don't feel welcome, they won't come back. Hence the cafe."

"It's cute." You nod to the cafe, and I glance over in time to see Gareth wiping down a table. Are you calling Gareth cute? I slam the next book on the pile hard, and your attention switches back to me. Your smile is a little too knowing. "Maybe I'll come back and study here. It seems quiet."

I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying please. Instead, I shrug and pick up the last book. "You're welcome to. Oh, is that Metallica?" sure enough, at the bottom of your basket is the CD for Master of Puppets.

You blush, embarrassed to be asked about it. "Yeah. Would you believe me if I said their music helps me study?"

"If you believe Judas Priest helps me sleep."

Your laughter is like sunshine. I want to record it and listen to it forever.

"You got a student card for the discount?" I want to know your name, but I can't just ask. I don't want you to think I'm some creep who flirts with the customers. Even though all I want to do is grab you by that soft sweater and pull you across the counter to kiss you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then you're digging in your pocket for a wallet and pulling out the card. "I'm glad you remembered because I sure didn't."

I take the card and look down at it in a show of identifying you. "Steve Harrington? You look better in person." Your name rings a bell, but I can't quite place it. No matter. A quick search will tell me more once you're gone.

"Doesn't everyone?"

You lean closer to read my name tag, and your sweater dips. You're not wearing a shirt, and I can see your chest hair. "Eddie… Munson. I bet you look better than your student ID too."

"Don't have one."

"So you haven't been to college?"

I shake my head and hold out your card. Is this the moment you realise how out of my league you are? But you only take it back and smile, pushing it into your pocket as you continue leaning half over the counter. You look up at me through your eyelashes, and you're so close I can see the freckles in your eyes.

"I like that. You're not a follower."

"More like my grades weren't that good." I punch in the total and clear my throat. "That's 80 dollars."

"Definitely cheaper than the university." You tap your card on the machine with a smile. "And I would like a bag." You take your books and CD, stepping back from the counter. Your eyes linger on mine momentarily, and you bite your bottom lip, glancing around. "Aren't you going to wish me a good day?"

"Have a good day, Steve." And for a rare occasion, I mean it.

Your smile widens, and you give a slight nod, hair bobbing with the action. "Bye, Eddie."

As the door closes behind you, I exhale and relax. Gareth's laughter breaks me from the moment, and I realise the shop is quiet. It's just us. "Have a good day, Steve," he cooed, blowing over a kiss. "Did you get his number?"

"No. You don't hit on the customers, Gareth."

"So you weren't staring at his ass?"

"Get back to work."

Gareth laughed but didn't push. He turned back to the tables as I grabbed your basket to return by the door.

It was a slow day after that. Your sudden and brief intrusion into our store was like an eclipse. Now you're gone, and life returns to normal. Almost. There's a light in the shop and a warmth you left behind. It wanes in the afternoon with the after-work rush, and by the time the last customer leaves, the store feels cold.

"Time to wind down," Gareth sighs, flipping chairs over. "You remember I'm off for the next four days?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go enjoy your holiday with Will."

He waggled his eyebrows, spinning around with the mop like he was in a sitcom and cooed, "Summer love, having a blast."

"Hey, Sandy, the mop wants to kiss the floor, not you."

"Bite me." But Gareth got to work, humming along to the radio.

With the store cleaned and shut down for the night, Gareth was the first to leave and waved from the door, flipping the sign to Closed. "See you next week, Eds."

"Yeah." I waved back, took a deep breath and counted to ten as the door swung shut.

The screen of the store computer was bright, and I flinch, eyes adjusting in the darkness. There are two new reviews on Yelp. You did promise to leave one.

Sure enough, under the one-star gripe from the woman, there's an anonymous five-star review with six simple words; 'Great customer service, will be back.'

So maybe I didn't imagine it. You clearly felt something too. The words are a promise, your promise that you will come back to me.

And when you do, I'll be ready.