Page 37 of Lovetown, USA

Lane

I tilt my phone up against a rack of sequined gowns and step back, angling the camera toward the mirror. “What about this one?” I ask, smoothing the dark green satin over my hips.

On the screen, Nadia squints. “Nope. Too funeral-y.”

“Not a word, but okay.”

She sips her iced coffee, staring critically like she’s sitting front row at fashion week. “Show me the next one.”

I duck back into the dressing room and squeeze myself into a deep red number. It hugs my curves, but the way the extra fabric drapes makes me feel like I’m drowning. But I step out anyway.

“This one?”

Nadia scrunches her nose. “Nah. Looks like you’re dressed up like the devil emoji.”

I burst out laughing, startling the saleswoman folding scarves nearby. “Alright, one more and then I’m just gonna pick one.”

The third dress is baby blue with a low neckline and a slit that makes me feel both dangerous and elegant. I turn slowly in front of the mirror, my pulse kicking up as I turn myself on.

Nadia leans closer to her screen, breaking into a wide grin. “That’s the one. Get it.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Great minds. Trey’s gon’ attack you when he sees you in it.”

I bite my lip as warmth rushes to my cheeks. “Yeah. Speaking of Trey…” I pause, gathering a breath. “We’re exclusive.”

Her eyes go wide. “Shut. Up.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes! Finally!” she says, clapping her hands. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

I grab my phone and walk Nadia into the dressing room with me.

“Why?”

She makes a face. “Girl. I’ve seen the change. You’re happy. Well, happi er . And that’s what I wanted for you, so I’m happy, too.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” I sit on the bench, surrounded by my roster of rejects. “So you think this is good?”

“I do. Just…don’t overthink it,” she says. “Let yourself have this. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m trying. It’s hard. I’m scared to be vulnerable with a man again. You know?”

“I do. But what’s the worst that can happen? You’ve already been through the worst. You’re battle-tested.”

I nod, almost feeling like I want to cry. So I change the subject. “What’s up with Ashton?”

Nadia’s face falls. “Girl, not a damn thing. He’s a brokey.”

“Um, he’s an artist. You had to have seen that coming, right?”

She shakes her head. “We went out the other night. Do you know this negro had the nerve to lie, talmbout, ‘Oh shit, I left my wallet at home.’”

“You paid?”

“I paid for mine. Left his ass sitting right there at that fucking table.”

“Dump him.”

“I know, I know.”

She waits patiently while I change back into my clothes. I make sure to hang every dress exactly the way I found it so as not to get a bad name in this town. I’ve already pissed off enough people.

“Oh! Did I tell you they have it out for me here?” I say.

“Who?”

“No idea.” I recount the story of my wayward Ubers, heckling passerby, and the librarian who apparently hates me.

Nadia is not amused.

“Do I need to take a trip down to the panhandle and act a fool?”

I laugh so hard I nearly drop the phone. “Please don’t. I can handle myself.”

“Uh huh. What did Trey say?”

I smile at that. “He rented a car for me.”

“See. That’s a man. That’s a provider .”

“Shut up.”

But it’s a claim I can’t refute, especially when I get to the register with my dress and pull out the cash Trey gave me to shop with.

It feels easy, though, letting him take care of things. Letting him take care of me . It almost feels like…the way things should be.

But that’s dangerous, so I brush that out of my mind.

“Nadia, somebody’s calling. I’ll call you later.”

The someone is the clerk at the recorder’s office telling me the files I requested are ready for pickup.

I hurry to the rental car, hang my dress in the back, and hightail it across town.

When I get there, the clerk greets me with a tight smile.

“I think you just called me?” I say. “Lane Washington. I requested some files.”

Her smile disappears. “Yes. I’m so sorry about that. It was an error. I don’t have the authority to release those files.”

My stomach drops. “But you said they were ready.”

“Yes. I didn’t realize the records are restricted.” She busies herself shifting papers around on her desk. “I’m really sorry.”

“That’s public information. I have a right to—“

“As I said,” she interrupts firmly. “There’s nothing I can do.”

My blood is boiling at this point, but I know there’s no point in arguing. I head back to the car to brainstorm another angle.

I’m sitting there staring at the doors, thinking about my options when the clerk emerges, leaving for the day, by the looks of things. Without thinking too much, I grab a few folded bills from my wallet and step out.

“Excuse me,” I say, catching up to her. She glances around nervously as I press the cash into her palm. “Please.”

Her hesitation only lasts a moment before she exhales, pulls a thin folder from her bag, and hands it over.

I nod my thanks and rush back to my rental, hands trembling as I open the file. My eyes skim the pages, and the words leap out at me, bringing everything into focus, rearranging everything I though I knew.

What I see makes my stomach twist.

This is worse than I imagined.