Page 5 of Four More The Merrier

That sets them off again. A customer in line clears his throat impatiently.

"Sure, sweetie." Sandra pats my hand. "How about you take the rest of the day off? Sleep it off, come back tomorrow?"

"I won't be back tomorrow." I straighten my spine, channeling every ounce of confidence I don't feel. "Or ever. I quit."

"Quinn," Sandra's voice turns serious. "Don't throw away a steady paycheck for another empty promise. How many 'big breaks' have you had since you started here?"

"This one's real."

"If I had a dollar for everytime I'd heard that." Beth snorts. "I'd be modeling for Vogue right now."

Not when she can't keep her hands out of the danishes. My cheeks burn. They can't be right about this. This is different. It has to be.

"Thanks for everything." I grab my purse from under the counter. "Really."

"Your funeral." Sandra shrugs, already turning to the waiting customers. "Don't come crying when this falls through."

I push through the door, the bell's cheerful jingle feeling more like a mockery than ever. Behind me, I hear Beth say, "Ten bucks says she's back next week."

"Not if I can help it, bitches." I say as I walk towards the scrap heap that is my car.

3

QUINN

Ijuggle my phone and keys, nearly dropping both as I burst into my apartment. The call connects on the third ring.

"Abby, you're not going to freaking believe this."

"Let me guess - you finally killed that cockroach family living in your kitchen?"

"No, they're still thriving. Thanks for bringing that up." I yank my suitcase from under my bed, sending dust bunnies scattering. "I got a tour gig. Twelve cities."

"Shut up!" Her squeal makes me pull the phone away from my ear. "Like, a real tour?"

"Three thousand per show." I start throwing clothes onto my bed. "But I have to leave for Montana in two days."

"Montana? In November?" Abby snorts. "Pack your thermal underwear."

"Thanks for that stellar advice." I hold up a faded t-shirt, grimacing at the coffee stains. "Oh god, my wardrobe is a disaster. Everything I own screams 'struggling artist who lives on ramen.'"

"Ever the drama queen. So, I can count you out for Thanksgiving at Grandma's then?"

"Unless Grandma moved to Montana, yeah." I toss another shirt into the growing 'absolutely not' pile. "Seriously, what do you wear on tour with a country band?"

"Wait, you don't know who you're touring with?"

"Tommy was... vague on the details."

"Classic balding manager." She pauses. "Don't stress about clothes. They usually dress the performers on these tours don't they? You know, image consistency and all that?"

"I fucking hope so" The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. "Because right now I'm looking at three pairs of jeans, all with holes in unfortunate places."

"Those aren't holes, they're strategic ventilation."

"Yeah, strategically placed to show my underwear." I flop onto my bed, scattering clothes everywhere. "What if this is a mistake?"

"What if it's not?" Abby's voice softens. "This is what you moved to Nashville for, right? To take chances?"

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