Just A Small Town Girl: A New Adult Romantic Comedy by Jessica Pine Page A

at me?" he said.
     "I don't know. Are you?"
     He rubbed his hands on a rag. "I dunno. Why would I be mad at you?"
     "Because I'm stupid," I said. "And I make stupid assumptions about people and work myself into tempers over nothing."
     He said nothing. The inside of my head felt like a pressure cooker. "I'm apologizing," I said. "Now it's your turn."
     "For what?" he said.
     I couldn't believe him. "Don't be obtuse, Clayton."
     "I'm not," he said. "Whatever that means."
     "It means you're playing dumb. Which you are. You know exactly what I was pissed about."
     "Okay," he said, folding his arms. "I'm sorry you took offence, but can you honestly look me in the eye and say you're fucking thrilled to find I live in a trailer park?"
     It was about to say that was the worst non-apology I'd ever heard, but I was cut short by the approaching click-clack of Aunt Cassandra's heels. "What the hell is going on?" she said, ducking under the garage door. "Why is the store closed?"
     "I had to go to the bathroom," I said.
     "So ask Clayton to mind the store. What's got into you lately?"
     Clayton's eyebrow slid northwards; oh yeah - his brain went there. I could tell.
     "Nobody's asking you to do anything complicated, Lacie," said Cassandra. "You're lucky to have your family give you a job straight out of school..."
     I thought of the '& Son' hanging above the door and my palm itched. "Yeah - and I'm grateful," I said, but it came out more sarcastically than I meant it to.
     "You?" said Cassandra. "Grateful? That'll be the goddamn day."
     Clayton had the useless look of man caught in the crossfire.
     "I'm sorry," I said, my temper flaring. "What do you want me to do, Cassandra? Prostrate myself every morning? Put on sackcloth and pour ashes over my head because I'm so unworthy?"
     "No," she said. "Just a smile now and again would be good. Or some indication that you mean to do something with your education."
     "And what exactly am I supposed to do?"
     "I don't know," she said. "Write that book. It can't be that difficult, can it?"
     I wanted to scream. It was like she could see through my eyes and she'd seen the mess I'd made on the screen the night before - the moronic, self-indulgent squealings that told me I could never, ever, in a million years hope to write anything that anyone would care to read. Then to my intense surprise Clayton coughed.
     Aunt Cassandra turned to stare at him. She was almost a full foot shorter than him, but I swear he was trembling as he spoke. "It...might be," he said. "If you've never done it before. Do you know how to do it? Because I sure as hell don't."
     "No," said Cassandra, unmoved. "But do you have a four year degree in Literature?"
     He swallowed. "No."
     "There you go then," she said. "Open the store, Lacie."
     This was so much worse than I could have ever imagined. The tears came bubbling to the surface before I could even think of getting a grip on myself. Aunt Cassandra just sighed and said, "Fine. I'll do it," as if I'd started crying just to spite her. I'd run out of reasons to be mad at Clayton and let him hug me.
     "Come on," he said. "She doesn't have a four year degree either, so what the fuck does she know?"
     Everything, I thought. She knew. She knew I was lazy and insecure, which was enough to set me off again. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a mess."
     "You're not a mess."
     "I am."
     "Okay, so you're a little messy right now," he said. "But in general - you're not that bad. I've known worse."
     I shook my head. "You can't. It's impossible."
     "Is too. You should meet my friend Bog. Look up 'mess' in the dictionary - it's right there next to his picture."
     "Bog?" I said, searching for a spare Kleenex. "You have a friend named Bog ?"
     "Yeah," he said. "It's not his real name, obviously. It's just he used to get letters mixed up and say things like 'Bog knows' when he meant 'God knows', and so it kind of stuck. It suits him. He's nuts. Seriously. Thinks he's