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

by Jessie Gussman

  I don’t want to be seen coming out of the girls’ locker room, but I run after her anyway, because she’s already disappeared.

  Thankfully, we’re around the back of the school, in the corner that no one typically goes to, since that’s where the school’s small, self-contained septic system is.

  There is a tiny, square brick building just off to the side of the school that houses the septic control panel, and some maintenance items. I was in it once, just out of curiosity, back when I was a kid.

  Back then, there was a chair and a desk and an old computer monitor sitting on the counter, along with a few buttons and knobs on one wall. That was pretty much it.

  I wasn’t in there to be a troublemaker. So even though the lock for this building is on the outside of the door for some odd reason, probably having something to do with safety and the septic system, although I have no idea what, I never go in again. That day, I just ducked back out and went on my way. Curiosity satisfied.

  But now, for some reason, the door to the septic control building is open a crack, and as I walk out of the locker rooms, Claire is standing in the middle of the group of girls, and they’re searching all around, when one of the girls shouts, “There!”

  She points to the septic control room. “I just saw Jello squeeze through that crack.”

  I noticed Leah, Claire’s sister, is standing off to the side. I know Claire had said that she was getting Leah to watch Jello, so it doesn’t surprise me to see her. What does kinda surprise me is that Leah doesn’t seem too worried.

  That strikes me as odd, but I don’t stand around thinking about it. I hurry to the group of girls.

  Claire has already left them, and has her hand on the septic control door, pushing it open.

  “You’d better go help her,” Evie says, looking at me with sincere concern in her eyes. “You know how she is about mice.” Her tone drops a little at that, like she is confiding in me, and trusting me to keep her mother safe.

  I admit, that makes me feel pretty good. That not only is she sending me after her mother, but she trusts me.

  I didn’t know if I’ll ever be able to convince Claire to take a chance on me, or if she’ll always see me as someone younger who happens to be a good ballplayer, but it is worth sticking around Good Grief for.

  I really like that her daughter seems to look at me with something like, if not admiration, respect. And trust.

  I’m not going to take that lightly.

  “You’re right. I’ll go with her.” I start after Claire, and she barely glances at me, as I come up behind her. She steps into the building.

  It’s dark in here. Back in high school I had never looked for lights or a light switch.

  It has electricity, so I assume there are lights somewhere.

  There is nothing on the wall right beside the door as I walk in though, so I step in further, digging in my pocket for my phone, so I can shine the light around on the walls.

  “They said Jello came in but I don’t see her.” Claire’s bending over, looking underneath the counter. There’s no mistaking the concern in her voice.

  I have my mouth open to answer when the door slams closed. I take a step back and have my hand on the knob when the lock clicks.

  I know this should probably make me angry, but as soon as I hear the lock click, I put my head down and laughed softly to myself.

  The girls are celebrating.

  And, after losing thirty-eight games straight, I can’t blame them.

  I want to celebrate too.

  “Can’t you open it?” Claire asks, and I don’t miss the thread of panic in her voice.

  “I think Jello is fine,” I say.

  “What?” Claire asks, unable to see the connection between the door shutting and Jello’s safety.

  I explain. “I’m pretty sure the girls were just using that as an excuse to get both of us out here, so they could lock us in together. I think this is a celebration for winning the basketball game. If you text your sister Leah, I think you’ll find out Jello is safe.”

  In the darkness, I can’t see Claire’s face but I can tell she’s not moving, probably just standing there staring at me, processing my words.

  It doesn’t take long, and she whips her phone out of her pocket, the screen lights up and her thumbs fly over it.

  She’s barely sent the text, when I hear a buzz, and a new message comes in.

  Her phone clicks off and her hand drops.

  “You’re right. Jello’s fine. The girls thought this would be a fun and harmless way to celebrate. Leah said not to worry. She’ll come back in an hour and let us out. Sorry.”

  “Hey. You don’t have to apologize to me. This actually works out well.”

  “How do you mean?” she asks, a little suspicion in her tone.

  This is my chance. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still pumping through my body or maybe I just can’t let this opportunity go, because I don’t even think twice. “I’ve been trying to figure out how I can get you alone. I never thought of this, exactly, but it’s a great idea. I couldn’t have paid to have this happen any better.”

  “You’re scaring me,” she says, although there’s humor in her tone. “Why would you want me alone in the dark by myself locked in a room I can’t get out of? Tell me that you didn’t do anything in Seattle that would have put you in prison?”

  I think she’s kidding about the prison thing. I think. I almost play along, walking toward her and grabbing her shoulders and growling, but I’m not entirely sure she’s joking, and if she’s not, then she didn’t understand what I just said.

  “I wanted to get you alone, so I can kiss you. That’s it. Pretty sure that won’t send me to jail, although I almost feel like it might be worth it.”

  Her breath sucks in, and I allow myself to smile because she can’t see me. I love that I’ve surprised her. I hope it’s a good surprise.

  I figure I’ll know here in just a couple of seconds.

  I don’t hear her step forward, but suddenly her body is touching mine, and I know...it was a good surprise.

  Her hands go around my neck, and she presses against me.

  I know I asked for this, but I wonder if I’m ready.

  My hands, without me thinking about it, come up and touch her shoulders, run down her ribs and rest in the indent of her waist.

  I don’t mean to say I’m not ready, maybe I’m just not sure if our relationship is ready. I don’t even know if she likes me.

  Maybe she’s excited by the idea of making out in the septic control room.

  While I doubt that, I think I’ve admitted that I’m not exactly the best in knowing how women think.

  I know guys who joked about making out here, back in high school.

  “Claire?” I ask.

  I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Maybe permission, but my head is already lowering, and one of my hands travel back up her back and I bury my fingers in her hair.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispers softly.

  I smile. I don’t know why she’s doing this, but it’s exactly what I want, what I’ve wanted for a while, and I feel I’d be a little crazy and a lot stupid if I don’t take advantage of the opportunity.

  So I do. Wanting it to be more than just a long-held dream, wanting it to mean something.

  Maybe that’s why I put so much into it. I don’t know.

  I haven’t been able to tell her how I feel, not using my mouth and words, so, I do it with my mouth, without words.

  I tell her that I’m falling for her with a gentle touch and a slight brush of my lips against hers.

  I press a little more firmly and maybe she understands I’m saying I hope she feels the same.

  Her lips open under mine. My fingers curl in her hair.

  I accept her invitation, hoping she knows I’m telling her I want to be more. I want what’s between us to be everything. That I’m not kissing her just because the opportunity is here, but I’m kissing her because I want to
share everything I have with her. I want the same from her. I can’t and won’t accept anything less between us.

  My heart is trying to climb into her chest, and she’s pressed so tightly against me, I think it might be successful.

  I’ve never kissed a woman like this before, and, I have to admit, I’ve never felt like this before, either. Dizzy, lightheaded, and never wanting to stop.

  I suspect Claire might be having the same trouble.

  Man I hope so.

  My knees are weak, and I’ve never done this before either - I lose my balance.

  We end up moving together, and somehow, our mouths stay joined while our bodies stumble to the side. My shoulder hits what I think is the control panel, and I don’t know if I press some buttons or move some switches or what, but a sudden rumbling breaks the silence of the air, and it also finally breaks us apart.

  I barely notice the rumbling, and honestly, my lips are searching for hers again, when she says, “What’s that?”

  “I don’t care,” I say. It’s the honest truth. Finding her lips as the last sound leaves my mouth, I think maybe she smiles, but she’s kissing me back, and I don’t care.

  Her hands demand I move closer, and her body is pressed against mine, but she lifts her lips a little, and says, sounding out of breath, “Do you think something’s going to explode?”

  My lips are already moving toward hers again, and I say the only three words I seem to be capable of. “I don’t care.”

  I have the woman I want. I’m holding her in my arms. Her lips are soft and so sweet under mine, and I truly don’t care at all what the rest of the world is doing.

  Chapter 20

  Claire

  SO, I NEVER MADE THE front page of the paper before.

  Thankfully our hometown paper went out of business years ago, pushed out by the internet, and I’m not on the front page now.

  I have to wonder though, if the paper were still in business, if I would be.

  My mom’s always been quite a character, but I think it would have embarrassed my dad if my mug shot had landed on the front page.

  Okay, I don’t exactly have a mug shot. But the school district isn’t exactly happy to find Trey and I in the septic control room.

  They probably wouldn’t have found us if we hadn’t bumped the control panel and drained what they called the “undigested water” out into the football field.

  Apparently, whatever we bumped, set off an alarm someplace we couldn’t hear. There is some kind of safety mechanism inserted in the system, for perhaps if someone had fallen in to the uncovered agitator tank, or something, I don’t know.

  Anyway, it is a pretty big thing, with state officials, federal officials, DEP, DER, and several other local, state and federal agencies involved.

  In the end, a lot of people are upset, but it doesn’t really harm anything, and Trey holds my hand throughout, which shouldn’t make a difference.

  But it does.

  He also manages to whisper in my ear that if I hadn’t been such a good kisser, none of this catastrophe would have happened.

  Which of course, I respond to in the most mature manner I can and stick my tongue out at him.

  I’m not sure why seeing that made him bend his head and kiss me again, but it does.

  Not that I mind.

  When he kisses the corner of my lips and calls me his cute catastrophe, I have to say... I have nothing but fond feelings for the septic control room.

  Trey says he has nothing but fond feelings for his cute catastrophe.

  I’ve no idea how anyone could consider me cute. I’m over forty, after all.

  It seems to be obvious to everyone, because I hear it all the time, that the man adores me, so, I feel like I have no choice but to believe him.

  He says he wants to marry me this summer and will take the girls and go camping for our honeymoon.

  For a guy from Seattle, he’s certainly gotten back to his small-town, Idaho roots.

  I’m small-town, and I love it here. But I’m not sure I’m a camping kind of girl.

  Still, if that’s what I have to do in order to marry him, I’m in.

  Epilogue

  Tammy

  I am pretty happy to do my part in getting Claire and Trey together. In case you haven’t figured it out, I had Jello the whole time they were looking for her.

  I won’t admit this to just anyone, but I am also the one who suggested locking them in the septic control room.

  I work at the school every day, and just being honest here, I do have kind of a secret fantasy about getting locked in with some honorable man, who adores me, and spending a pleasant afternoon with him there.

  So, Trey is an honorable man, and he definitely adores Claire, and although it isn’t exactly afternoon, I figure I can give her my fantasy.

  Since it seems like I’ll never be living it.

  My ex said I was too straightlaced and serious.

  I don’t understand why that came as a shock to him. We dated for two years before we got married.

  I didn’t have a personality change in that time.

  But, it’s what he claimed, and I didn’t argue with him.

  I did fight him when he hired a big city lawyer and fought for custody of our two boys.

  I lost.

  I had not been prepared for any of it, and, maybe I became even more serious and straightlaced, kind of as protection.

  If that’s the way I was, I’m not going to risk having anyone else even look at me without knowing exactly what I am.

  That way, there can be absolutely no miscommunication. No changing his mind after we have two children together and deciding I’m not what you want, and never was.

  Maybe if I could be cute like Claire, but no, I’m straight, and serious, extremely tall and completely uninteresting.

  Not cute.

  Which is fine, I don’t mind being alone.

  That’s not true. I miss my boys, but I don’t have the ex’s money, and I’ll never win against him.

  I honestly don’t care about the ex anymore, but I miss my boys.

  I have two cats, but I really enjoyed watching Jello.

  Maybe I’ll get a dog.

  Funny how one perfectly sane and rational idea causes me to do something I never in my life thought I would do.

  THANKS SO MUCH FOR reading! If you would like to read the next book in the series, Me and the Tidy Tornado, you can get it HERE.

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  Read on for a fun story that I pulled from my February 2020 newsletter:

  I've talked to some of you about the darkness of winter days and what we do to keep it at bay - sparkle lights, different colored lights, window lights and, my favorite, scented candles.

  My eleven-year-old daughter loves to light the candles (and blow them out). I'm not real strict on fire safety. I've given my kids boxes of matches and sent them out to the driveway to play with them. My rules always were, one, don't play with matches in the house and two, don't set the woods on fire.

  But if they wanted to get some sticks or leaves or whatever, put them in the middle of our big, stone-covered driveway and try to light them on fire, have at it.

  I know, I'm a little unconventional. (Although, really, why not?)

  Anyway, my daughter has been doing the whole match thing for years. But, suddenly, this year, she seems to be unable to light a match - just striking and striking at the side of the box and never getting it to light.

  She's been doing this for about a month, where it takes her five minutes to light a match. Obviously, her t
echnique needs some work. So, Tuesday evening, she's not feeling very well, and she's in my room with me after supper as I settle in on the floor to write some before bed.

  She asks to light my candle which is on the stand right beside me and I say okay.

  Well, she comes over, standing beside me and starts with her box scraping, and I just want her to light the candle already because I want to start writing and I can't really think while she's struggling with something that I feel should be simple - a one and done, but she's struck the side of the box at least forty-seven times. I'm gritting my teeth. I don't want her to think she's in trouble - she's not, it's just I want the candle lit already.

  Finally, I hold my hand out for the box and the match. She hands it over, and I dig deep for patience. She can do this.

  So I say, "Look at this, Honey." And I hold the match up. "This is how you hold it. See where my fingers are? Use your first finger to push on the match." And I go on (and on) about technique and how to hold the match and the box and how you don't need to use the whole strip, just a bit of it, and how you need a steady hand and just the right amount of pressure.

  I think I was being nice, but I really was irritated, because, come on, lighting a match is just not that hard, and I'm thinking in my head that I'm making a bigger production out of this than I need to because, seriously, who can screw this up, right?

  I hand it back to her and she STILL doesn't get it lit - scraping and scraping on the box, and I really want to say just forget about the candle. But I bite my tongue because of the whole, gotta be nice to her because of the whole she's like Jesus and all that (rubber and road, right there, lol).

  Finally, she hands the box and match to me and says, "That match is a dud; it won't light."

  So, no, this is simple, and I'm going to show her how easy it is.

  I take THAT match - it is NOT a dud, I assure her - and the box, hold it the way I showed her, and strike the match. Nothing.

  My daughter laughs.

  I don't.

  I strike again.

  Nothing.

  More snickers from her.

  Teeth grinding from me.

  Third time's charm, right? I strike again.