Page 25 of Fake it For Good
I looked over and smiled. “Exactly.”
“Why toys?” she asked.
“I can’t say there was any one thing that pointed in the direction of toys,” I said. “I just remember walking the aisles in search of a gift for a friend’s toddler. There were some of the basics, but mostly it was all flash and cheap plastic. I wanted something that would last. Remember the old Tonkas?”
“I do,” she said. “One of the places I visit has some very old Tonkas. Probably thirty years old and they still provide just as much fun.”
I loved that we could talk about toys. Kelly never wanted to talk about them. She thought it was silly and juvenile. Noelle knew toys. We didn’t have to talk about anything else. We could talk toys and that would be enough to convince people we were together.
We walked around the factory floor. I walked her to the finishing station. “Hand-painted,” she said with a smile and nodded to one of our artists.
“Like I said, we try to make it as authentic as possible,” I said.
“And why you charge so much,” she said.
“Yes. Quality costs. You’ll never see our toys recalled because of lead-based paint or some other material that might make a kid sick.”
“That’s always a good thing,” she said, laughing.
“I think so.”
We made our way to the stockroom. Some toys were tossed in a bin, which immediately drew Noelle’s attention. “What are these?” she asked.
“That’s the discard bin,” I said. “Toys that don’t pass inspection for one reason or another.”
“You just throw them away?”
“Depends on the damage,” I said.
“I bet there are kids who would love to play with these, regardless of a few flaws,” she said.
“I can’t sell defective toys,” I told her.
“Who said anything about selling them?” she said. “You could give them away. There are homeless shelters, domestic violence shelters, orphanages. Plenty of kids would welcome them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“I’m sure you will,” she muttered.
“I’m serious,” I told her and looked directly into those stunning green eyes. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. There would need to be some safety checks, but we might be able to donate the toys that don’t pass the quality side of things.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I just see waste and it’s hard for me to ignore it.”
I pulled out the ring I’d picked up at a jewelry store. “Here,” I said and essentially thrust it at her.
“What’s this?”
“If you’re going to be my fiancée, you’ll need a ring,” I said.
She took the ring and looked at it. “Do I dare ask if this is real?”
“It’s real,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll try and keep that in mind,” she said and stuck it in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Aren’t you going to try it on?” I asked.
“Oh, I guess I should,” she said, laughing. She reached into her pocket and carefully slid it onto her finger. She wiggled her finger and held it up to me. “I think it fits.”
