My eyes strayed toward the screen, and the MC members gathered around talking in their riding leathers.
Mostly, I just wondered how long it would take to stop thinking about the way I’d embarrassed myself in front of my very own motorcycle-riding bad boy.
three
JACK
When I unlocked the door to Magnolia at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, I did not expect to see a small child with a clipboard waiting for me.
Honestly, I’d been fully anticipating Bonnie Clark stopping by with an apology pie or thank-you cookies. She seemed like the type. And judging by how mortified she’d been sitting on my couch one week ago, part of me thought she might never be able to make eye contact with me again.
“Good morning, Mr. Ellis,” the child chirped politely.
“Do you need some help?” I asked after doing a quick sweep of the lobby over her shoulder.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time around children, so I wasn’t sure the age of this one. With dark brown hair held back by sparkly clips, she could have been anywhere from six to fourteen.
The little girl smiled brightly. “My name is Jamie Santiago, and I have a business proposal for you.”
I frowned and looked around again for the person responsible for this kid. “Are you lost? Do you need me to find your mother?”
She blinked her dark brown eyes at me, but her smile stayed firmly in place. “I have a phone. If I needed my mother, I’d just text her. Anyway, about my proposal. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
This kid—Jamie—sounded like a politician or an annoying overachiever. “Should you be out on your own? Are you old enough for that?”
Jamie laughed like I was silly, and I noticed she was missing two teeth. “Mr. Ellis, I’m eight and a half.”
Like that explained anything.
“My mom is waiting in the car,” she added, tossing a thumb over her shoulder.
I peered out the glass doors of the lobby entrance, but it was too dim inside the parked cars to make out anyone’s mother. “Let’s just talk out here.” Staying planted in the doorway, I eyed her warily.
“Okay!” She passed me her clipboard. “I’m the team manager and starting midfielder for the Brookline U9 girls’ soccer club. We are in need of sponsorship for the upcoming season.”
I stared, confused. Brookline was the name of an upper-middle-class subdivision between Kirby Falls and Miller Creek. I knew enough about sports to know that U9 meant that the players on the team were under nine years old or close to it, depending on the season’s calendar year. Apparently, the team was made up of eight-year-old neighborhood girls. I still didn’t know why their self-appointed leader was here, talking to me, though.
Jamie’s smile widened. Make that three missing baby teeth.
“That’s where you come in,” she said helpfully. “We all voted, and your logo is the prettiest. We’d like to have it on our jerseys.”
“My logo?”
She pointed to the window beside the front door of my business, where the Magnolia Bar logo had been overlaid in shiny gold foil. The cluster of magnolia blossoms hovered elegantly above the uppercase “MAGNOLIA,” which was underlined in decorative filigree with a smaller “BAR” beneath.
“You want Magnolia to sponsor your soccer team?” I was obviously struggling here.
“Yes,” she replied, and I had the feeling that if she’d had a gold star on her, she would have stuck it to my forehead.
“You want abarto sponsor your soccer team for children?” I sought to clarify. “Isn’t there a rule against that or something?”
“No, Mr. Ellis. Any local Kirby Falls business can sponsor a soccer club. I’m told it’s great advertising and creates goodwill in the community.”
I blinked at the tiny politician.
“The details are all on the form I gave you,” Jamie insisted, tapping the clipboard in my grasp for good measure.
I glanced down at the paper. There had to be twenty-five bullet points and three different places requiring initials and signatures. A Kirby Falls Parks and Recreation header was at the top of the form.
