Page 49 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

KAYLA

W hen I enter the auditorium, I have to squint.

It’s darker here than in the sunny lobby, and it’s set up like some kind of congressional hearing, with a table on the stage, where the mayor and town council are sitting, and two long tables on the floor, at the front of an audience of maybe eighty or a hundred.

My eyes frantically search for a friend I know is here already, somewhere among the neatly arranged rows.

“Scottie!”

I wave and run to the end of her row, glad I wore Chuck Taylors today instead of heels. She gets up from the metal folding chair and navigates past the people in her row with tight smiles and pardon-me’s.

“What’s up, K? You ready to knock some sense into these fools?”

The woman at the end of the row gasps.

“With words,” Scottie adds with a dismissive wave.

“It’s not about that. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything.”

When I tell her what it is, she smiles, already pulling out her phone.

“I’m on it.”

I walk up to the front of the room, where there’s a long table with a place card and microphone for me. The opposite table has Serena, Tucker, and Dakota, as if they’re injured parties in a criminal trial. But it also has Gordon Voss.

Looks like I know where he stands.

At his table in the front of the room, the mayor leans toward the microphone.

“Miss Carville, thank you for being here today. We’re here to discuss your ownership of the Mudflaps.”

“No, we’re not,” I say, almost breathlessly. I stand at my table. “I own the Mudflaps. The one hundred and twelve signatures collected by someone who left my husband at the altar years ago and can’t stand the fact that he moved on like she did doesn’t change the fact. Sorry, Serena.”

Serena jumps up, slamming her hands on the table. “That’s one hundred and twelve voters.”

“In a town of forty thousand. That’s fewer than the number of bobbleheads we gave away at our last home game.”

“A lot fewer,” Scottie adds. “We gave out two thousand. And there were just under seven thousand in attendance, well within the league average.”

“Bribery, if you ask me,” Serena mutters, but she does it into the microphone, so she’s clearly trying to be heard.

“No, that’s called marketing,” a woman on the town council says. Trudy, her name plaque reads. Truthful Trudy wears teal and tells it like it is . “Please continue, Miss Carville.”

“With all due respect, I’m not here to defend my ownership of a team I already own.

I’ve met every legal requirement for ownership and the team is making money.

Mr. Voss, I understand where your concerns originated, but if you still think there’s an actual problem here, all you have to do is compare our ticket sales to last year’s.

Or you could view our merchandise sales—we’re growing with college kids throughout the region.

Or maybe you should simply try coming to a game and asking the people in attendance. ”

“We have asked people in attendance,” Mr. Voss says, scratching his cheek like he has a rash. “We sent Mr. Sinclair.”

“You mean you sent my ex. I was sitting near him during that game. He didn’t talk to a single person in the stands. He specifically sought out people with an axe to grind.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” he argues. “We have reports. People think you threaten the family atmosphere.”

“No, we don’t,” someone says from the audience.

I whip around as a woman stands, and I strain to make out her features in the dim lights.

It’s … Paul’s mom!

“I never took my kids to Mudflaps games until this year, because it felt like a dirty frat house. Miss Carville had focus groups, and she implemented almost every suggestion, including the splash pad and the sensory room. Families can buy season tickets for the same cost as a pass to a bounce house. While every stadium in the country is selling hot dogs and donuts the size of your head, the Mudflaps have fruit cups and chicken nuggets for kids meals.”

“And frozen yogurt!” Paul says, and a few people laugh.

“This is dumb,” Serena says. “It’s one woman. Does anyone else here agree?”

“If they don’t,” Paul’s mom says, “It’s because you told all hundred and twelve of your friends to get here early to make sure no one who supports Miss Carville could get a seat.”

The mayor seems shocked by this. “You did what?”

Serena shakes her head, but her face is flushed. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“It is,” a man’s voice says from all the way in the back. He stands up, and then five, ten, twenty men stand with him.

It’s Fletch. And the Mudflaps.

My team.

“We got here early,” Fletch says, “and we were told the seats were reserved. We sat down anyway.”

“You have to be here! She pays your checks!” Serena says, but she’s losing steam. Her voice gets smaller with every lie, every protest.

“Believe me, I’d rather be working on my tan,” Lucas says. “But my owner’s being libeled.”

“Slandered,” Logan says. Their voices carry that way that arguing brothers’ voices always do. “Libel is print.”

“Come on, man,” Lucas says. “I had a good line. Couldn’t you let me have it?”

Fletch shakes his head and shushes them. “Point is, we’re here because we wouldn’t want to work for anyone else.”

“I’m here,” another woman says, standing, “because she paid the little league fees for every family that couldn’t afford to pay for their kids this year.

” The woman’s voice is shaking, like she’s holding back tears, and now, so am I.

“I know we weren’t supposed to find out, but Clementine Partridge couldn’t keep a secret if the Good Lord Himself told it to her. ”

“I could, too!” Clementine says from further down the row. “It’d be hard, though.”

“I had my reservations,” another voice says. Goodness gracious, it’s the pastor.

“But Miss Kayla is the last to leave after every potluck. She puts up tables and chairs and throws away dirty napkins with a smile. She’s a credit to our community.”

The mayor waves his hands. “I’ve heard enough. Why do I get the feeling that this complaint was fabricated to harm Miss Carville’s reputation?” He glares at the table. “Tucker, next time your wife brings you some harebrained scheme, keep it to yourself.”

“No!” Serena cries, and she looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “Y’all know what these big outsiders have done to this town. My family’s livelihood was taken. We can’t let that happen again!”

A wave of compassion hits me. “Serena, I don’t know what it was like for you to see your family’s business get taken away.

I don’t know what it was like for any of you to see outsiders come in and try to change everything that makes Mullet Ridge so special.

But that’s not what I’m doing here. I didn’t come to Mullet Ridge to change it. I came because I needed it.”

I look at the townspeople in attendance, people who care so much about this place and its people that they would sacrifice time and energy to show up, whether for or against me.

“I needed a place where success isn’t measured by who you know but by how you treat people.

I needed a place where fitting in can’t be bought, but it can be earned.

I needed a place where people remember each other—and what you brought to that church potluck last year. ”

This gets me a wave of laughter, laughter that feels like a flame burning low and steady in my chest.

“I brought a Heritage Port Pie to a covered dish that cost more than some people’s rent.

You were right to side-eye me. I didn’t get it then.

But I’ve listened. I’ve watched. I’ve seen how the more I show up, the more you let me in.

And I’m not going to stop until y’all forget where I came from.

” I smile, love for this quirky, hard town swelling in me like a balloon …

mingled with heartburn. “This town has changed me. I need Mullet Ridge, and I’m not going anywhere. ”

Mayor Kent clears his throat. “Nicely said, Miss Carville. Mr. Voss, if Minor League Baseball wants to take some kind of action, that’s between you and Miss Carville. As for us, we’re happy to have her in Mullet Ridge for as long as she can put up with us.”

Mr. Voss exhales loudly, his nostrils flaring. He straightens his papers like he’s preparing to put them away. “I see no need for the league to get involved here. Miss Carville, the team is yours.”

I grin so hard, my cheeks hurt.

Mayor Kent nods. “Then this meeting is adjourned.”

I jump up. “Wait!” I say, waving my hands. “Before you leave, I need to ask your help with something.” I lock eyes with Scottie, who gives me a nod. My pulse jackhammers in my throat. “I know that some of you showed up because of my husband. I appreciate that more than I can say.”

I take a deep breath.

“But I have an even bigger favor to ask …”