“We have a verified movie star coming, you know. Eric Slade. We must put our best foot forward.” She eyed the scooter with disdain.
“It’ll be looking so fresh, Miss Lucille, we’ll even have you bidding on it,” Clint joked.
“I doubt that. A woman of my means doesn’t ride in anything with less than four wheels.”
Maria swallowed a smile, then almost choked on a bubble of laughter when she saw Clint doing the same. She preferred doors, a roof and four solid wheels on the ground herself, but wasn’t a snob about it.
“It was against my judgment,” Miss Lucille continued, “to agree to holding the gala in such a small mansion. I fear nobody is taking this fundraiser seriously.”
Sonja looked down, making it obvious she’d taken a bit of a browbeating from this woman over having her B&B as the hosting site.
“I assure you this scooter will raise quite a bit of money for the animal shelter,” Clint said firmly, his mirth gone now. “I’ve come all the way from Texas to work on it. As has my artist friend here.” He clapped an arm around Maria, pulling her close. “Together we’ll make this magnificent. I’ll get it running impeccably and she’ll make it shine, so unique it will be irresistible to those with deep pockets.”
Maria’s stomach flipped. “What?”
Clint nudged her. “Right, Maria?”
“No, I’m not…”
“Not going to share our big secret? You’re so good about these things, but I have a feeling we can trust Miss Lucille. Please put her at ease and reassure her about our fabulous plan.”
Maria’s gaze darted to the woman’s. Her eyes had narrowed, but she was listening.
“Retro is in,” Maria blurted. “A robin’s egg blue will make this scooter quite popular, especially in a beach town.”
Clint grinned. “Perfect color! See? A few coats of robin’s egg blue will have this thing winning the cutest-scooter-on-the-coast award.”
Miss Lucille sniffed again. “That’s hardly unique.”
“Well, we can’t tell you the entire plan…” Clint said.
Miss Lucille gave Sonja a hard look. “Don’t let them disappoint me. This event reflects on our entire town. And if you want your B&B to be nominated for the Indigo Bay Best Business of the Year award, you’d better make sure everything goes perfectly.”
“Hey, now…” Clint said, but his friend placed a hand on his arm, holding him back as Miss Lucille marched off.
“It sure will, Miss Lucille!” Jeff called after her, then added under his breath, “Don’t worry about her. Her little society isn’t even involved with the gala other than to offer a spa gift certificate as an auction item.”
“Are you okay?” Maria asked Sonja, noting her bleak expression.
It lifted immediately. “Sorry, I was just imagining her gaining fifty pounds overnight.” She patted her own curvy figure with a sly smile. “She’s so vain she’d never step outside again and all our problems would be solved.”
“She’d still have access to her telephone,” Jeff muttered wryly. “Well, sorry to say, my lunch break is over.” He turned to Clint. “Why don’t you run it around this afternoon, tinker a bit more. See what else this baby might need before we paint it. If it’s ready, we can start prepping it, otherwise we’ll keep turning wrenches.”
“Sounds good.” Clint picked up a helmet sitting in the grass.
Well, so much for being a priority in Clint’s world, Maria mused. Lunch had obviously been forgotten.
“I’m sure it’ll raise a lot for the shelter,” Sonja declared as she and Jeff headed toward a truck sporting a Seaside Cycles logo on the door. She kissed him goodbye and he drove back to work.
“Especially after our Texan artist dolls it up,” Clint said, winking at Maria.
“I’m glad I’ll be gone by the time the gala rolls around,” she stated. “Then you’ll have to deal with the fallout for it not being painted with a unique design.” She patted his arm.
“Right, the boys’ team has their state championship game on Friday. You’re heading straight from here to Dallas?”
Maria nodded. “When do you head back?”
“Tuesday.”
“Next week?” she asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” She’d assumed he would stay longer than two days.
“It’s a tough time of year to ditch my responsibilities at the shop.”
She looked at the scooter. It still obviously needed a lot of work, which meant she might not see as much of Clint as she’d feared. Now that the option was off the table, she felt disappointed.
“I know. Gearing up for Christmas is a lot of work.” She still had some shopping to do and she hadn’t even started her baking.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “You need this time.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
“It’s true.”
She focused on their earlier topic, not quite ready to discuss her need for away time. “So we’re both reneging on your promise to make this scooter cute?”
“Not at all. You’re an artist, right?” He started up the engine, then listened to it for a second.
“No.”
He gave her a steady look and she frowned. She used to paint landscapes as a private hobby, but that was before having the boys. Which made it a lifetime ago. She likely didn’t recall how to mix colors, and she’d definitely never painted a vehicle.
“I don’t paint any longer.”
“Ha! I knew it. You are an artist. I could sense it.”
Maria rolled her eyes.
Clint pulled a screwdriver out of the toolbox in the grass and adjusted something on the machine, then revved it up a few more times before turning it off. Satisfied, he put the screwdriver back in the box. “Seriously, Maria. Will you help with the scooter?”
She shook her head.
“We can’t leave Sonja and Jeff to the wolves. Well, wolf.”
“You made the promise.”
“Fine. So just help with the painting. You and I can put a few coats on this puppy.” He tapped the machine’s handlebars. “We don’t have to paint any art on it. Just get it blue.”
“I thought this was his project.” She gestured toward the departing truck.
“I saw how busy he is with last-minute Christmas orders. Jeff says he’ll do it, but I’m the one who convinced him. He’ll either get to it around March when things slow down again, or else lose out on a paying job by working on it now.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“I know.” Clint gave her a look that was best classified as puppy-dog eyes. “But I can’t do it alone.”
Great. She had no plans other than to help Kit with the odd fundraiser task, and now guilt would wrack her if she didn’t step in and help Clint, too.
“I know nothing about painting a scooter.”
“Just choose the right blue. I might get it wrong and then it won’t win cutest scooter. Please?”
“Fine. I’ll pick the color.” That was easy and would take about five minutes, and might appease her sense of guilt. “But remember—not my project and not my responsibility.”