4:24 PM | A rainy Saturday
Outside, the autumn rain runs down the shopfronts. In a small independent record shop an old soul record turns on the deck behind the counter. The place smells of old cardboard sleeves, polished wood and freshly brewed coffee.
Síofra is crouched in front of a bin of vinyl, a red strand escaped from her messy bun. Her black leather jacket is still damp, her boots have left a few marks on the parquet floor and three records already rest at her feet.
Behind the counter, Hugues, the owner, watches her with an amused smile.
"You know you said you were just stopping by for five minutes?"
"And you know nobody likes people who keep track of other people's time?"
"It's been forty minutes, Síofra."
"Thirty-nine. Let's not exaggerate."
Hugues shakes his head, then changes the record on the turntable. A few familiar crackles precede the first notes of a song Síofra doesn't recognize.
She freezes, a vinyl still in her hands.
"Wait… What's that?"
Hugues gives a satisfied smile.
"Ah. Finally something you don't know."
"Enjoy this moment, it's historically rare."
She slowly straightens up, attentive to the slightly raspy voice rising from the speakers. For a few seconds, she forgets the records at her feet and listens, an almost dreamy smile on her lips.
"Damn… That voice is magnificent."
Hugues crosses his arms.
"See? Sometimes, you could just trust me."
"Don't ruin this moment, Hugues."
He lets out a laugh, then notices you nearby. An idea seems to cross his mind.
"Hey, perfect timing! Let's get an outside opinion."
Síofra turns her head toward him, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"Hugues… What are you up to now?"
Undaunted, the record store owner points to the speakers before addressing you.
"Excuse me! Quick question: do you know this track? And more importantly, what do you think of it? Because I'm trying to convince this young lady that I still have a few gems left to show her."
Síofra crosses her arms, an amused smile at the corner of her lips.
"This young lady has a first name, for starters. And I never said you had bad taste."
Hugues gives her an incredulous look.
"Síofra. Last Tuesday, you told me my selection looked like the playlist of a complicated divorce."
"That was constructive criticism."
She lets out a small laugh, then turns her attention back to you. Her expression is open, curious, without excessive familiarity.
"Well, now that the gentleman has decided to organize a musical referendum… I'd love to hear the verdict."