Chapter Text
Riley Davis was 12 years old (okay, 11 ¾, but almost) when she met Jack Dalton. This dude in a nice jacket with a really cool car (and a kind of goofy hair cut) was picking daisies from the flower beds in the front yard. Riley was just getting home and caught him red handed.
“Are you really going to give my mom flowers from her own garden?”
He jumped and spluttered for a few moments, then “You’re not going to rat me out, are ya, kid?”
“I tell you what: I won’t tell Mom where you got the flowers and you owe me pizza and ice cream,” Riley smirked.
“Deal,” the man reached out to shake on it. “I’m Jack. You must be Riley.”