“Thrilled to meet you,” Ian says.
“Thrilled,” I echo faintly.
“So!” Carol clasps her hands together excitedly. This woman is a walking exclamation point; even her bright pink earringsscreamLook at me!“As you may remember from the local business meeting?—”
I hold up a finger. “I’m so sorry, but could you share a bit more context?”
Behind me, Charlie makes a choking sound.
“Of course.” Carol doesn’t miss a beat. “At last month’s Old Town Alexandria Business gathering, the City Outreach group—that’s us—talked about the community initiative we’d been trialing, where we pair up some of our brick and mortar stores with larger businesses, aiming to bring exposure to help boost foot traffic in the shopping district. We’re rolling it out to a few handpicked businesses, like yours.” She pauses, quite obviously, for effect. “I’m thrilled to say we’re here to talk to you because we’ve selected your store for collaborating!”
“Collaborating?” She makes it sound like I’ve got a choice in the matter, and I’m beginning to think I don’t.
“Yes, collaborating,” Carol continues, exchanging a quick look with Ian. I’m starting to feel like I may be the one person here who has no clue what’s happening. “With the arrival of the Dominion, tourism is booming, and we want to build on that momentum. So, we’re here today,” Carol continues, her voice rising with excitement, “because we’ve chosen Leaf & Letter to partner with the Alexandria Dominion!”
The words hit me like someone’s tossed a bucket of cold water over my head. Cold. Horrific. Shocking.
Hockey. Something to do with hockey players, perhaps…partnering with my shop? Make it make sense.
“Oh,” I manage. “That Dominion.”
“Yes!” Carol barrels forward. “We are going to have the players complete outreach hours in local businesses. Visibility for them, visibility for you. Total win-win!”
Assuming one wants to be visible. “Uh-huh.”
“And the player assigned to your shop needs a bit of structure.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Minor PR situation. But your store seems perfect to help him get back on track.”
“What kind of PR situation?” I ask.
Carol’s smile wobbles. “Well, I wouldn’t saysituationexactly?—”
“I speak sports,” Charlie cuts in, stepping closer. “Where Juliette does not.”
“Rude,” I choke out.
“Accurate,” Charlie retorts.
“But rude,” I manage as Carol watches. Charlie nods and holds up his hands in defeat.
“Fine. It was rude, but,” Charlie says, turning his attention back to Carol, “is this about Sawyer Stockton?”
Carol exhales, that enthusiastic grin of hers wavering. “Yes.”
Charlie nods once as he drags his clear blue eyes away from Carol, then looks at me. “He’s a gremlin.”
I blink. “What?”
“He’s not a gremlin,” Carol says quickly.
“Hundred percent would bet my dachshund on it.” If looks could kill, then Carol would be filleted by Charlie. He pulls out his phone. “This explains it better.”
The video opens to a press conference—the Birdcage Arena, packed and buzzing. Players are seated at a long table, all broad shoulders and confident smiles.
One of them catches my eye immediately. Dark hair, easy grin, sitting sideways in his chair like he wandered into the wrong room and decided to enjoy himself anyway. His finger absently strokes the rim of a potted plant in front of him. I love it. It’s a gorgeous string of pearls with its lush greenery spilling over the edge. I. Die.
“That’s him,” Charlie says. “Watch.”
A reporter asks about the team’s playoff push.
