Pull (Seaside #2)(4)

“Seaside Taffy,” I began, my voice cracked. It hadn’t cracked since I was twelve. Again, I wanted to die. “Loads of fun, in your tummy! Yum, yum, yum…” I swear I could feel Bob snickering from twenty feet away; it never got old. “Ice cream, taffy, treats galore! Don’t forget to stop at our store!” I gave a dramatic bow.

I expected applause, or at least some sort of acknowledgement that I had, in fact, just given the best performance of my life.

What did I get? One solitary clap. One person. I cringed, thinking of the pity clap. It’s the type of applause every performer dreads hearing. Swearing, I turned around. It was a girl. She looked about as old as a first grader.

“Want some taffy?”

I held out a piece of taffy, and the mom suddenly looked horrified, like I was planning on putting a taffy trail all the way to my car in order to abduct her child.

They hurried away, and I was stuck again with a crowd of people trying to get around me while I shook my bucket. “Seaside Taffy!” I yelled louder this time and threw my hands out in the air.

Might as well commit, since this was my hell for the next few months.

“Seaside Taffy!” I flailed my arms again and a piece of taffy went flying out of my hand, right into the back of someone’s head.

Great, add assault to my record.

When the person turned around, I was a little shocked, because to be honest, I thought I had hit some punk kid.

Not. The. Case.

“Seriously?” The girl stomped toward me, all five feet of her, and glared. She was wearing a hat that said The Best Taffy in the World and an oversized sweater, leggings, and boots.

“It slipped,” I offered lamely.

She reached for my bucket. I jerked back. “Nobody touches the bucket.”

Wow. I was so ashamed of myself that I wanted to jump into the bucket and hide. Was I really getting possessive over my bucket? Like some homeless man with his cart?

The girl reached for the bucket again.

I snapped. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” she repeated, her eyebrows shooting to the top of her forehead. Damn, she had pretty eyes.

I nodded. Since the accident I hadn’t written one damn song, so at the moment words weren’t really my thing, and I was shamelessly checking her out.

“My problem…” She laughed bitterly. “…Is that the minute your punk rocker self got into this town, our business suffered, and you don’t even take it seriously!” She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “And now you’re working my corner!”

“Whoa!” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry. Your corner? What? Is this Pretty Woman or something?”

“Did you just call me a prostitute?”

Yes. Yes, I did. “Nope. More like a call girl. Prostitutes don’t dress like blind middle schoolers.”

“Agh!” She swatted my bucket, making all the candy clatter to the ground. Amused, I crossed my arms and watched the fire blaze through her eyes. Really it was a pity she dressed so horribly, and that she was wearing that awful hat. Though I guess my visor wasn’t any better, but still… I made it look good.

“Just watch it.”

Brawl alert. I almost expected people to start coming out of the alleys with toothpicks in their mouths and newspapers in their hands to watch the entertainment.

How the hell did I get stuck in a Broadway musical?

Since I was committing to the whole Seaside Taffy act, might as well commit to this one too. “Noted, Shop Girl. Noted. Now run along.” See? I could be territorial.

Her eyes widened, and for a second I was shocked again at how pretty she was. With a grunt and a cute little curse, she stomped off across the street to the competing taffy store.

I waved in her direction and started the jingle all over again.

This time really committing by way of throwing in a few AD2

dance moves that I knew could likely land me in prison if I moved too hastily in the wrong direction.

Three hours later I was seriously rethinking this whole job business. It started to rain shortly after my dancing began. No doubt people thought it was because of my inability to keep my hips from moving with the stupid candy bucket. Great, so I was doing a taffy rain dance.

With a sigh, I readjusted the visor and tried to protect the taffy bucket. If my only job was to sell taffy and get people into the store, then I didn’t want to be the one loser who got the taffy wet and single-handedly took down the longest running taffy store in the history of Seaside, Oregon.

Thankfully, Bob must have sensed my plight, or maybe he was tired of me texting him every two seconds asking him for an umbrella. I knew it was pathetic, and okay maybe a little bit ridiculous, but I was beyond drenched. He motioned for me, and I began to walk toward him, but he pointed at my chest.

My teeth chattered as I looked down at my shirt. I was successfully showing everyone with two eyes my nipple ring through my tight, wet t-shirt.

If the mom from earlier was to come by now, she’d be horrified. And I’d be put in prison. Not because I had a nipple ring, but because this hell-hole of a town was so backward that she’d probably assume I was some sort of drug addict.

Which was only sort of true.

Anyway, anything would be better than the pouring rain — or Seaside for that matter.

Ah, prison. Such a pipe dream. At least it’s warm there.