Page 78 of Small Town Shy Omega
“Morbid,” Blake muttered under his breath.
I shrugged.
“Everyone dies eventually. My friend Bronwyn, who runs the town funeral parlor, seems to be the only one comfortable with this fact.”
“Is she the one with the emerald-green hair, always scurrying around with someone’s ashes under her arm?”
“Soon, she’ll carry Irene’s grandpa’s ashes under her arm. He’s getting up there in age, and he’s bed bound.”
Josh made a sad face, understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“Well, it’s not my grandpa,” I snorted. “Sorry to be so blunt, but… I just make the glass. Death isn’t really my specialty.”
“If I ever need a good cry,” Josh joked out, “I’ll be sure to go to you.”
“Yeah, I’m not great with tears either. I mean I cry a lot, but then I need comforting.”
Dreydon smiled, rubbing my back, then pulling me in for a bear hug.
“You’re an introvert, Layla. You make stunning creations, and you should have a website, your own shop, and a client list a mile long. Tell me, what do you do for entertainment while blowing glass?”
“I blow bowls, mainly.” Of weed.
Josh rolled his eyes. “When you’re not getting your pothead on, what do you do?”
“Hey, I’m a small-town Omega, and this isn’t a Hallmark movie. We smoke in small towns. After what they did to this country, you’re lucky I’m not smoking meth.”
“Who isthey?” Blake queried, shooting me a look. “And what didtheydo?”
“Whoever killed all the factory jobs,” I shrugged.
“Private equity,” Dreydon huffed, shaking his head. “Wrecking American livelihoods. Anyway baby, I’m glad youfound an escape from the struggle. You make wonderful creations, and we want to help you get the word out.”
“Word of mouth is my main marketing strategy,” I shrug, rubbing my head against Dreydon’s chest.
“And why not have a website? Why not open a shop in town, expand the franchise?”
“What franchise?” I furrowed my brow.
“You could put on glass-blowing lessons,” Dreydon said excitedly. “Workshops, summer camps, courses. You’d be able to come out of your shell and really make a name for yourself.”
“And create more competition for myself? I think not,” I drawled.
“A rising tide,” Josh began.
I cut him off. “A rising tide isn’t good if you’re the only boat and you just introduced a million news boats into the harbor. You wanna be the only boat with a rising tide. You always wanna be the only boat in business. Low tide or high tide.”
“We’ve got a little monopolist on our hands,” Dreydon muttered, jabbing Josh.
Josh shrugged. “I’m just saying. You could make a name for yourself. Right now, you’re known as the chick who never leaves her cottage. Reclusive. Antisocial.”
“And?” I said sweetly.
“And, you could change that,” Josh said encouragingly. “You could start fresh, Layla. Create a new identity. A new version ofyou.People wouldn’t even remember that you used to coop yourself up in a run-down cottage with clogged gutters.”
“Hey,” I snapped, “the gutter guards Grandpa had installed were supposed to keep the dirt out.”
“Well, gutter guards are a scam,” Josh joked back. “The detritus still gets under the guards.”
