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I feel weak just thinking about being the one who’d won the heart of Robson Hartley. But what will the consequences be?
“You here for something?” I ask. He looks too guilty to be here just for me.
He runs his thumb across his lower lip. “As a matter of fact, yes. Can I have a hundred Captain Robsons, please?”
Come again?
“A hundred?”
“I took Captain Robson to the party and put him next to the champagne fountain. Everyone wanted him. The quality is phenomenal, and the bear’s expression reminds me of…”
“Maybe I modeled him on you… like a premonition.”
Rob laughs. “I actually saw Matty in it.”
That’s so sweet. Maybe he’s right.
“I’d love to send bears to the people who attended last night. How many can you make in a week?”
“Ten. Max. I still have some backlog jobs.”
He thinks hard. “I need to start sending them in a few days. For at least four of them, including the prince, I’d like to give them myself before they go back to their countries.”
“I’m not a factory, Rob!”
While he looked guilty earlier, this time he dons an intense forgive-me-but-please-help-me expression.
I give in. “Well, I’ll make four, so at least you can hand the bears personally to that Prince so-and-so and your three other VIPs.”
“You’ll do that?”
Do I have a choice? But of course, I’ll will do anything for him. “For the other ninety-six—you know what, I’ll pass on the pattern to someone in Solvang. There’s a workshop there, run by disadvantaged youth. They’re very talented craftspeople. I’ll buy the materials and train them myself. I can assure you, they’ll give you a hundred by the end of next week.”
Rob gives me a soft gaze. “That will make the bears even more special. Can you change the initials, though?”
“You don’t like Captain Robson?”
“Come on, I’m not that vain.” He stretches a corner of his lips.
“Okay. What would you like, then?”
“What about P?”
“P?”
“For the Pentela.” He observes my frown. “What’s wrong with P?”
“One letter will look lonely. And besides, P sounds like the bear is on probation.”
“I think you’re just trying to shut down my idea,” he grumbles. Then he thinks a minute. “Hey, you said to name Hartley Sub-2 Blue Scout. How about that?”
I thought it was a good name, but—“Well… the initials would be B.S.”
We lean into each other as laughter shakes our shoulders.
“Well, let’s leave that name for the sub, then. What do you suggest?”
“HM, for Hartley Marine. Simple. And it could be ‘His Majesty,’ something that might appeal to those European royals?”
