Genre: Young/New Adult (Contemporary Romance)
Date Published: June 10, 2014
Publisher: Swoon Romance
Small town country girl Elva Presley Hicks is about to attend her five-year class reunion with her best friends, Shay and Margarett.
The discovery of an old fanfic manuscript stirs up memories of her summer job as a plumber’s helper in Houston the summer before senior year. She earned a lot of money that year, but was lonely as heck.
It's not like there weren't any suitors back then. Elva could have chosen between Chase, the obese pig farmer, and Wyatt, the plumber with wandering hands. But Elva yearned for something more, and found it that fateful summer, with electrician, Mitch McCall.
It was magical. Mitch wasn't turned off by Elva's name or fan fiction writing, and Elva didn't lose interest in Mitch after he cut off his nose at work.
Trials and triumphs followed including a friendship implosion, world-wide fanfic humiliation, and goat salvation. It would go down as the most memorable summer of high school.
But as these things sometimes do, the summer romance fizzled and Elva moved on to life after high school. And while she's ready to reminisce, she is unnerved when she runs into Mitch at the reunion. Can they give it another go after so much time has passed, or are they too different now to even try?
That night Elva did what any Loser Girl of the Universe would do. She scrambled up her nerve and asked her papaw if she could work at Don’s Truck Stop.
“Papaw, my friend Shay has a job at Don’s, and they’re looking for another waitress.”
“No dang granddaughter of mine is working at a dang truck stop. It ain’t good for you. It ain’t good for nobody.” Deep creases formed on his weathered forehead. “Do you know men pinch girls’ butts at truck stops?”
If only she could be so lucky to get her oh so ample butt pinched at a truck stop, but there was no arguing with Papaw. Once he set his mind, he never changed it, hell or high water. Elva stamped into the bathroom and plopped down on the classic elongated bathroom and plopped down on the classic elongated Porcher toilet. She picked at the duct tape surrounding the bathtub faucet and then spun the escutcheon on the water inlet.
No slice in the pie of life for her. Fate loomed: giant pants, minimum wage, and no boyfriends.
Yet, deep beneath her layers of vinegary resignation were hovering things. They burned—these smoldering embers —thoughts of junior-sized pants, a living wage, and a smoking hot boyfriend.
“Get out of that dang bathroom!” Papaw beat on the door.
“I will when I’m good and ready.”
A job like Don’s could change her whole life. Papaw was so freaking country. How was she to Papaw was so freaking country. How was she to jumpstart her life without money? Railing at Papaw seemed better than facing the plain truth—she didn’t have the nerve to go against him and do what she wanted anyway. Her yellow-bellied coward self would have sat on the toilet all night if the smell of frying hamburger hadn’t wafted under the bathroom door. Heck. No fit was worth missing supper.
In the kitchen, Papaw fried ground beef and had a box of Hamburger Helper open. He’d put on a record, and Elvis’s “All Shook Up” crackled from ancient speakers. He dumped noodles, the sauce pack, and water into the skillet.
“You want work? I’ve got you work.” He placed his hands on the sides of his barrel belly.
“You should help me this summer. You can hire out with Carus Residential and Industrial as a plumber’s helper.”
Like hell.
“Gal, I just talked to Mr. Bob. He owes me a big favor, so he’ll pay you a contract wage of $17.13 an hour with time and half for overtime. Under the table, mind you, with no cut for Uncle Sam.”
$17.13 an hour? Elva took a slow cleansing breath. There was no way she could turn down that much money. No way.
She—an ultimate Loser Girl—answered, “OK, Papaw.”
Elva was going to be a plumber gal, holy snappin’.
“Papaw, my friend Shay has a job at Don’s, and they’re looking for another waitress.”
“No dang granddaughter of mine is working at a dang truck stop. It ain’t good for you. It ain’t good for nobody.” Deep creases formed on his weathered forehead. “Do you know men pinch girls’ butts at truck stops?”
If only she could be so lucky to get her oh so ample butt pinched at a truck stop, but there was no arguing with Papaw. Once he set his mind, he never changed it, hell or high water. Elva stamped into the bathroom and plopped down on the classic elongated bathroom and plopped down on the classic elongated Porcher toilet. She picked at the duct tape surrounding the bathtub faucet and then spun the escutcheon on the water inlet.
No slice in the pie of life for her. Fate loomed: giant pants, minimum wage, and no boyfriends.
Yet, deep beneath her layers of vinegary resignation were hovering things. They burned—these smoldering embers —thoughts of junior-sized pants, a living wage, and a smoking hot boyfriend.
“Get out of that dang bathroom!” Papaw beat on the door.
“I will when I’m good and ready.”
A job like Don’s could change her whole life. Papaw was so freaking country. How was she to Papaw was so freaking country. How was she to jumpstart her life without money? Railing at Papaw seemed better than facing the plain truth—she didn’t have the nerve to go against him and do what she wanted anyway. Her yellow-bellied coward self would have sat on the toilet all night if the smell of frying hamburger hadn’t wafted under the bathroom door. Heck. No fit was worth missing supper.
In the kitchen, Papaw fried ground beef and had a box of Hamburger Helper open. He’d put on a record, and Elvis’s “All Shook Up” crackled from ancient speakers. He dumped noodles, the sauce pack, and water into the skillet.
“You want work? I’ve got you work.” He placed his hands on the sides of his barrel belly.
“You should help me this summer. You can hire out with Carus Residential and Industrial as a plumber’s helper.”
Like hell.
“Gal, I just talked to Mr. Bob. He owes me a big favor, so he’ll pay you a contract wage of $17.13 an hour with time and half for overtime. Under the table, mind you, with no cut for Uncle Sam.”
$17.13 an hour? Elva took a slow cleansing breath. There was no way she could turn down that much money. No way.
She—an ultimate Loser Girl—answered, “OK, Papaw.”
Elva was going to be a plumber gal, holy snappin’.
Molly is a Texan and a graduate of Texas A&M in Chemistry. She is a long-time member of SCBWI, and is a former Regional Advisor of the Western Washington region, a Blueboard Moderator Emeritus and a recipient of the Martha Weston Grant. She formed her first fan fiction group in junior high school and is still a huge fan gal of all things space, Star Trek, anime and blockbuster movies. She's the mom of four, and currently lives under the wide open skies of College Station, TX with her husband Tim. Her interests include fine art, folk art, and Texas music.
To learn more about Molly Blaisdell and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.
This sounds like a fun read.
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