Me and the Cute Catastrophe (Sweet, Small Town Romantic Comedy in Good Grief, Idaho Book 1)

by Jessie Gussman

  “You look like the rosebushes might have kicked your butt. Or at least your cheek.” One of her fingers comes up, and a nail that, because of my years with my ex, I recognize as perfectly manicured tapped her cheek.

  As soon as she does it, it is like my brain gets the signal, and my cheek starts burning. I realize something warm and wet is sliding down it.

  “I guess that’s not going to help my manly reputation any,” I joke as one of my hands goes up and I wipe the blood away. “Maybe we can just say I got into a brawl with a biker. Back me up?”

  Her eyes crinkle, and she smiles a smile that shows her teeth. “I’d back you, sure, but Claire is a real stickler for the truth, and if she gets wind of it, she’ll correct any misconceptions.”

  I let my eyes crinkle, but I don’t really believe what she’s saying. As I recall, Tammy is the one who has to have every i dotted and every t crossed.

  Regardless, I can admire a woman who won’t lie. Actually, it’s the only kind of woman I would want. I guess I could add after what I’ve been through, but that just shows how stupid I was to begin with. I should have looked for that from the first and not had to go through the lies in order to want to find one who doesn’t.

  That saying “older and wiser” certainly applies to me.

  “I guess I’d better go help Claire find her dog.”

  All of the Harding girls are slender as I recall, and Tammy still looks youthful with a willowy figure.

  From what I saw of Claire, she seems a little more substantial than she was.

  That is good. At least in my mind. Since I am certainly a little more substantial than I was in high school.

  I certainly don’t have six-pack abs, but I never quite attained those in high school, either.

  I would make a better Santa Claus than I would a romance book cover model.

  I did a lot of eating after my divorce. Seattle has a lot of great restaurants.

  Tammy raises a slender shoulder. I can’t help but think that she could use a little meat on her bones. “You don’t need to help her. That dumb dog gets out and is predictable as sunrise. Although, she’s never knocked anyone off the porch that I know of.” She gives a little smile and brushes at the dirt that is still clinging to the seat of her pants as she and I walk around the stairs and stop at the railing.

  “So she goes somewhere in particular when she gets out?” I ask.

  “First, Mrs. Thompson’s house. Mrs. Thompson always gives her treats. Then she has a string of people she visits after that. She has to be fast though, and she knows it, because someone’s always on her tail trying to catch up to her. Even in Good Grief, it’s not considered a good thing to have your dog running around loose all over town.”

  “Or your pony apparently.” The dog is huge. I recognized it as a Great Dane, and I suppose there were some of those in Seattle, but I didn’t typically hang out with dog people. My ex is allergic, and we had cats. She got those, too, in the divorce. And I didn’t fight her for them any more than I fought her for the boys. Just something in me said that it wasn’t good for kids to see their parents fight, so as much as I didn’t think she deserved everything she got, I kept it civil.

  Maybe it was a mistake, but I didn’t have any examples to follow. My parents stayed married until my mom died in the boating accident.

  “The girls used to ride her like she was a pony. But really, Claire can get her.”

  “Well, if you’re okay, I’ll just mosey on and make sure. I wanted to talk to her anyway.”

  Tammy nods, probably remembering that I was at the door specifically asking to talk to Claire.

  I manage to keep the smile off my face. She was behind the car, hiding for some reason. Knowing what I do about Claire, that she is slightly goofy and always doing the weirdest things, it is hard to tell what in the world she was doing back there.

  The thought that maybe she hadn’t wanted to talk to me did go through my head, but it isn’t a thought I entertained.

  I don’t think she would have anything personal against me. It was just one of those crazy things she does, like dancing in her bedroom, flinging her hair around, and doing crazy bubble experiments in the backyard.

  She always had some kind of science thing going. One summer, she had three birds with broken wings in cages in her yard.

  I assume her parents wouldn’t let them in the house, even though her dad is a vet.

  I also assume the game commission wasn’t interested in whether or not a sparrow with a broken wing lived or died.

  Yeah. Claire is definitely different.

  “It’s good to see you. Don’t be a stranger,” Tammy says.

  As I turned to walk away, I lift my hand in acknowledgment of her words and follow the path that Claire took when she hurried away.

  I stride quickly, hoping to catch up.

  And before you get the idea that I’m chasing Claire around because I just can’t live without her, it’s not true.

  I admit, and I stand by it, that I did have a huge crush on her in high school.

  I also admit, and I stand by this too, that I got a little lost in her eyes.

  She really does have amazing eyes.

  I can also admit that there’s a certain kind of zinging attraction that I feel when I see her.

  I just found that out though, since this was the first time I’ve seen her in forever. So, I haven’t quite figured out what to do about that.

  But that really isn’t the reason I am chasing her down.

  I was actually at her house because I need to talk to her about the basketball position.

  I’d been told by Mrs. Riley down at the post office that Claire is the basketball coach.

  I laughed at this when I first heard it, and Mrs. Riley laughed along. But when I was done laughing and looked at Mrs. Riley, she shrugged and said it was true.

  I laughed some more, and she laughed with me, but I realize now she was doing it to be polite.

  That’s one nice thing about a small town. People are polite.

  So anyway, I am following Claire, true. But it’s not what you think.

  People in a small town are typically honest, and I’m going to be completely honest here. It’s a little bit because of what you think. But mostly because I need to talk to her about the basketball position.

  Good Grief isn’t that big of a town, and Midget takes up half of the town’s available real estate when she walks outside, so it can’t be that hard to find a pony running around.

  I set out in the direction of Mrs. Thompson’s house.

  She lives on the other side of my dad—and now me, since I am officially moved in.

  I don’t have a job in town. I kept my job in Seattle, and I’m going to work remotely. There might be a few times I have to drive to the office, but it’ll be worth it to be able to be with Dad and take care of him.

  I walk through our yard and notice that the grass needs to be mowed. I noticed it a couple of days ago when I first walked up the walk, but there are a lot of things that need to be repaired.

  Mowing the grass and doing house repairs isn’t exactly my thing.

  In my condo in Seattle, I wasn’t responsible for any repairs.

  Hopefully, my small-town roots will show up sometime. When I was a kid, I mowed plenty of grass.

  Mrs. Thompson’s house is a pretty yellow one. I remember it as a brighter yellow, but I’m not sure whether the fifteen years I’ve been away have faded it, or if my memory just dusted it off and sparkled it up.

  Regardless, there is no pony galloping through her yard and no green-eyed gorgeous woman chasing after it, so I do what any normal person would do and go around to Mrs. Thompson’s back door and knock on it.

  I’ve seen her a couple of times since I moved in, and we talked over the fence, so she knows exactly who I am when she opens the door.

  I see Midget in her kitchen, and I smile a little to myself. Claire obviously did not see the dog and went on to the next house.

&
nbsp; I have visions of gloating as I take the dog back to her house and wait until she gets there, my prideful look and her gratitude figuring prominently in the images in my head.

  “Come on in, neighbor. I was just making cookies when I got a visitor. You make two.”

  I think at first she is talking about the dog, but as I step into her kitchen, I hear a female voice. “Tammy Harding, you and I need to have a serious talk. I’m pretty sure he had no idea about my crush, and you really embarrassed me. And by the way, the next time I’m hunkered down behind my car, maybe it could occur to you that that’s exactly where I want to be? And maybe I was there because I didn’t want to talk to him? Hello? Did you think that I wanted to see our neighbor for the first time in fifteen years, the neighbor I had a huge crush on, the all-state basketball star, Good Grief’s own claim to fame, with my hair looking like I dropped six bottles of really ugly glue in it and set it on fire?”

  I realize as I see Claire’s head bent underneath the faucet and the water running over it that maybe there is something a little bit weird going on with her hair, but honestly, if you ever see Claire, you’ll know exactly what I mean about those green eyes. They just suck you in, and I couldn’t have told you that there was anything weird about her hair.

  I know sometimes guys are accused of being a little slow in the thought processing department, and come on, when it comes to girls and their fashions, I am woefully behind the times.

  I am still staring at the sink, trying to process what she was saying, when her head lifts up with her hair dripping. Her hands wring the hair out and twist it to the side, and her face tilts. I’m pretty sure she thought she was going to see her sister.

  Instead, she sees me.

  Chapter 4

  Trey

  HER EYES GET WIDE, but not as wide as her mouth before it snaps shut along with her eyes and her head goes back in the sink. I think her forehead is resting on the bottom, and I believe she is groaning.

  It sounds like she might have had some bad lettuce in her salad for lunch or something.

  “Sweetie, your sister isn’t here. It’s just Trey.”

  I think Mrs. Thompson is trying to be helpful, and I appreciate that, but I’m pretty sure Claire doesn’t. Not if the groaning, which gets louder and more painful sounding, is any indication.

  Midget is pretty concerned about her mistress, sniffing around and whining. She bats me with her tail as she goes by, and it feels a little bit like a baseball bat in the kneecap. I think it is an accident, although it does hurt.

  She ignores me and shoves her big black nose in Claire’s armpit.

  And yeah, Claire is pretty tall, but she is bent over the sink and Midget easily reaches her armpit.

  The groaning doesn’t stop, but it might have gotten a little bit quieter as Claire’s arm comes out and goes around the splash of white fur on Midget’s neck.

  Most of the Great Danes I’ve seen are brown. But Midget is black with a big white collar and bib and four white paws. She is actually really pretty. Although, her tail really packs a punch.

  I thought Claire’s groaning was embarrassment, but since it hasn’t stopped, I shift my eyes over to look at Mrs. Thompson to see if she is concerned.

  She doesn’t seem to be, since she is arranging cookies on a plate and acting like there aren’t any sounds at all coming from the sink.

  “So is there something wrong with your hair that you need some help with?” I ask, and my voice sounds tentative even though I don’t mean for it to. I want to be confident and strong, especially since I do kind of, on some level, like Claire.

  There’s that attraction that I mentioned that I haven’t processed yet. It isn’t that I want to keep my options open, but it’s more I’m thinking I want her to like me. I don’t know why. I am not sure I ever want to do that again. My ex came up with so many reasons why I didn’t suit her after we were married. It isn’t that I don’t trust women, exactly, it’s just...just I’m not sure whether I want to do that again or not.

  The groaning stops. So I must have said the right thing.

  But then a sigh echoes in the sink, and if I’m not mistaken, her head is moving up and down. I think she is kind of smacking her forehead off the bottom of it.

  Not hard enough to hurt but enough that I think maybe I didn’t say the right thing after all.

  Good to know that I haven’t had a personality change since I moved into Good Grief.

  I never said the right thing to my ex either. Not that I am looking at Claire like a potential love interest or anything.

  Not exactly.

  “Do you want a cookie?” Mrs. Thompson says, smiling at me. For the first time since I walked into her house, I realize that we surprised her to the point where she didn’t get a chance to put her teeth in.

  Not that I care either way. It is simply I’ve never seen her without her teeth. That wasn’t something I saw too much in the circles I ran in when I was in Seattle, either.

  I forgot here in Good Grief, neighbors are almost like family.

  That’s it. You don’t put your teeth in whenever family comes to visit, I guess.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a cookie off the plate.

  Even when I was growing up, Mrs. Thompson’s kids had already moved out of the house. I’ve eaten plenty of her cookies over the years. They don’t have baked goods like this in Seattle.

  I know that for a fact and almost take two. But even though neighbors are just like family, my mom wouldn’t let me take two cookies.

  Mrs. Thompson sets the plate of cookies down on the counter. “Now stop, Claire. You don’t look nearly as bad as what you think you do. Wrap that towel around your hair and have yourself a cookie.”

  Mrs. Thompson talks while she takes the towel that is draped around Claire’s shoulders and starts patting down her wet hair.

  Claire doesn’t move for a moment, almost as though she is thinking about whether or not she is actually going to pull her head out of the sink and stand up, or whether she is just gonna stand there all night.

  I try not to smile as she obviously decides to stand up and face the music.

  I like that decision.

  If I had realized that there was something going on with her hair, would I have followed her?

  I know the answer to that question is yes, even if that makes me a bad person. I really do want to get the basketball thing settled.

  From what I understand, the team didn’t win a single game all year last year nor the year before. If we are going to have any chance at all of whipping Good Grief’s girls’ basketball team into shape this year, I want to get started on it.

  Running drills, shooting drills, endurance runs, sprints, passing techniques, and I absolutely want to spend several practices working solely on footwork.

  We need to get started.

  I’m not entirely sure I am going to be here next year, but I am entirely sure that the town of Good Grief will expect me to be able to make a champion team out of one that was oh and fifteen last year.

  I can do it too, but like I said, I want to get started on it.

  So, since I am here and she is here, and from what I understand, she is only teaching the girls’ basketball team because she has to, not because she wants to, now is as good a time as any.

  Midget steps back when Mrs. Thompson steps in, and now she is back over by me. She can’t get her nose in my armpit, but she does stop right in front of me and look up, laying her head on my chest.

  I’m not exactly a dog person. I already mentioned my cats, and if I hadn’t seen that Midget is pretty much harmless, I think, as big as she was, this would be a little scary.

  The look in her eye could be intimidation. But I’m pretty sure it is almost...idol worship.

  It makes my chest want to swell up like it might if a room full of people were clapping for me. It also makes me feel warm and almost proud.

  That is so weird. But if Midget is doing it to get attention, it works. My hands,
without me even thinking about it, both come around and start scratching her behind her ears and stroking down her long head and neck, which is much softer than I expected. Almost silky.

  Her eyes close, and I know I’ve been taken.

  Intimidation, admiration, total idol worship... Yeah, the dog isn’t above doing what she has to do in order to get what she wants. She is obviously in dog heaven with me scratching her.

  Still, that keeps her from smacking my knee again with her tail, and since I haven’t recovered from the last time, I guess I’m good for it.

  “You look just fine, dear. Plus, Trey’s a lot older than he used to be, and I’m pretty sure he’s figured out that what a woman looks like on the inside is far more important than what she looks like on the outside.”

  “I don’t think men ever figure that out,” Claire mutters. “It doesn’t matter how old they are. Especially not sportsmen.” Claire’s voice doesn’t exactly sound bitter, but she does sound pretty sure of herself.

  “Trey was always different than those other boys. He didn’t chase after the pretty ones.”

  “He did too. He dated Kori for a year or better.”

  “Ladies.” I clear my throat. Although I do continue to scratch Midget. “Ladies. I’m right here.”

  Mrs. Thompson looks over at me, and she does actually look surprised. I guess she is kind of old, but I can’t believe she just offered me a cookie then completely forgot about my presence in her kitchen.

  As for Claire... Those amazing eyes go to mine, and I know she hasn’t forgotten for one second that I am there. Not any more than I’ve forgotten about her.

  Have I talked about her green eyes yet?

  They’re magnetic. Or maybe it’s Claire that’s magnetic, and her eyes are like hooks. I don’t know. Whatever they are, I can’t pull my eyes away, and I can’t think of anything to say either.

  “Oh my goodness, Trey. You’re still here, and it looks like you’re done with your cookie. Have another one.” Mrs. Thompson nods her head at the plate of cookies still on the counter. Both of her hands are still on Claire’s head doing something with the towel.