“Hello, sweet peas!” sang Lucy as Amelia and Harriet walked through the door of Small Joys. She was standing behind the counter with a box of scarves in front of her, folding and rolling them into swirly shapes for display. “Rambo! We’ve got company!”
The store had one customer—an older teenage girl sitting cross-legged in the corner reading a coffee-table book about narwhals. She looked nice and comfortable, as if she’d been there awhile. She also looked unlikely to buy anything.
Rambo glanced up from his cat bed in the corner and, seeing Harriet, lazily stretched, then walked over on velvet paws to weave in between her legs.
“Ooooh, you little furball,” Harriet cooed. “You want treats, don’t you? Can I, Lucy?”
Lucy nodded, and Harriet leaned over the counter to fish a cat treat out of the container. Rambo licked it from her palm and then busied himself scratching his back against the corner of a bookcase.
“So how’d the shirts work out?” Lucy fiddled with a scarf knot, then looked up. “Make a lot of money?”
“Not exactly,” said Harriet. She was starting to feel nervous about negotiating with Lucy. Lucy had become a friend. Could you haggle about money with a friend?
“We ran into a bunch of problems,” explained Amelia, tucking her hair behind her ears. “The shirts ran really small, so all the customers wanted one size bigger, which left us with a ton of smalls and not enough larges.”
“Huh,” said Lucy. “I haven’t heard that before. Good feedback.” Unsatisfied with her scarf knot, she unrolled it and started from scratch.
Amelia elbowed Harriet and whispered, “Go ahead. Ask her.”
“Actually, we wanted to see if we could place another order,” said Harriet. “There’s a big Battle of the Bands coming up. We want to try a do-over at that show.”
“Oh yes,” said Lucy. “I heard about that. People are excited. Winner’s going on that singing and dancing show with that heartless judge.”
“Connor Mackelvoe,” said Harriet. “We love him!”
“Different strokes for different folks,” said Lucy, shrugging. “So you want to place another order?”
“Yes,” said Harriet at the exact same time that Amelia said, “Maybe.”
“We’d like to place an order,” Amelia explained. “But we need a lower price on the T-shirts. Twenty dollars each is just too high for us to make enough of a profit.”
Lucy put down the scarf she was rolling and looked up at Amelia with surprise.
“Huh,” she said, nodding slowly. “I’m not sure I can do any better, sweet pea. Like I told Harriet, if it’s a rush order, my vendor charges an extra fee. And I’ve been open only a few weeks; I haven’t worked with many vendors. I’m just getting started.”
Harriet leaned over to scratch behind Rambo’s ears. “We know, Lucy,” she said. “And we’re sorry to bother you.”
“But maybe there’s another vendor you could try,” pressed Amelia. “And since you’re a new customer, maybe they’ll give you a promotional price for your first order and waive the rush fee.”
Lucy smiled. Her eyes were twinkling. “Harriet,” she said. “You’ve got yourself a clever business partner over here.”
Harriet lifted Rambo in her arms. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I pay her the big bucks.”
Lucy laughed and set her reading glasses on her nose. She pulled out the mammoth black binder, which she’d stowed under the register, and placed it on the counter with a thud. She thumbed through it, making a sucking sound with her teeth as she considered. “Ohhhhkay,” she murmured as she read. “Okay, this could work.”
She peered over the tops of her glasses at Amelia. “How much do you want to pay per T-shirt?”
Amelia was ready. “Twelve dollars per shirt. At the most.”
“Okay,” said Lucy. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best.”
“And,” Amelia continued, “we really can’t pay the full amount up front. Could we put down a deposit? And pay the rest when the T-shirts arrive? That’ll give us enough time to get together the money from preorders.”
“You girls have really thought this through,” said Lucy with admiration.
“We learned it the hard way,” Harriet said.
“So all that’s left is timing,” said Lucy. “When do you need them by?”
“Umm, next Saturday?” Harriet ventured.
Amelia gave her an encouraging look.
“Next Saturday!” Harriet said more confidently.
“That’s five business days again.” Lucy grimaced. “Gonna be tight.”
She turned on her cell phone and started typing in a phone number.
“You girls browse for a bit. Spoil Rambo. I’ll make some calls and see what I can do for you.”
Amelia walked over to the earring display, near where the high schooler was still reading.
“Hey,” said the girl, letting the book rest on her lap, “you two are selling Radical Skinks T-shirts at the Battle of the Bands?”
“Uhh, yeah,” replied Amelia. “That’s the plan.”
“Same T-shirts as last time?” asked the girl.
“No,” replied Amelia. “A brand-new design this time.”
“Good,” said the girl. “Those last ones looked like—”
“We know, we know,” said Harriet.
“Why don’t you make the shirts blue?” asked the girl. “I mean, blue is the Skinks’ official color. Because of the skink tongues and everything.”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” Harriet let forth a groan, then hit herself in her forehead.
“Is she all right?” the girl asked Amelia.
“Oh yeah, she does this,” said Amelia.
“Blue! Of course!” exclaimed Harriet. “It’s like Radical Skinks trivia 101. How could we forget?”
The girl gave a little shrug and resumed reading. “That’s what I’m saying.”