As I walked the long way back to The Woodshed, Main Street thinned out behind me. The town looked different with Morning Wood’s sign up, like it had finally filled a missing gap. My gym sat a few blocks over, the paint still fresh against the older brick, the lot out back waiting for lines and nets and a whole lot of work.
It would be easy to keep moving. To ride the applause from the grand opening into a new idea and then another one. To pretend that motion counted as momentum. That was the old itch. Start fast. Burn hot. Move on. It had worked for me for a long time, but I didn’t want that anymore.
I wanted to pour concrete and watch it cure. I wanted to submit a packet with every box checked and hear Rowan say “approved” without telling me I was missing something. I wanted to stand in a town meeting and point to seniors and kids using something I had built and know I could leave the lights on every night without second-guessing why I started.
Honestly, what I really wanted was for Rowan to look at me and The Woodshed the way she’d looked at Sabrina today.
Back at the gym, I unlocked the door and stood for a second in the quiet. Then I pulled up my to-do list on my phone and added a couple of items: find a time for Harvey and print the ADA path detail with the adjusted dogleg for signature. Below that, I added, post public notice where the sun hits it. Nellie’s voice lived in that line. So did Rowan’s.
On my way to the back lot, I stopped at the front desk and looked at the chalkboard where I’d sketched the court layout. The stars I’d drawn around the edges were gone. Rowan had been right. They distracted from the lines. I picked up the eraser and cleaned the corners until the numbers stood on their own.
Then I went out back and walked the stakes again, measuring with my eyes the distance between what I wanted and what I could prove. I could do it. I would do it. If Rowan showed up with papers in her hand, she’d find a man who stayed.
CHAPTER 4
ROWAN
The Woodshed was supposed to be quiet after hours. That was the appeal of stopping by now. If I waited until morning, it would be busy with everyone trying to fit in a workout before their day got started. But if I took the packet over tonight, I could cross it off my list and Dane would have a better chance of getting on next week’s agenda. Clean paperwork meant a clean conscience, and I preferred both. Gillian had teased me when I left about stopping by to see Dane on a Friday night, but it didn’t mean anything.
I locked my car and let myself in through the front door. The lobby lights glowed, but the main floor was empty. Free weights stacked in neat rows. Yoga mats were rolled up tight and stowed away against the wall. I set the folder on the counter and pulled out the problem page.
Liability coverage, section three. The policy listed The Woodshed as insured, but not the expansion use. If the courts were added, the plan needed a certificate showing recreational coverage specific to them and proof of additional insured status for the town during public programs. It wouldn’t be difficult to fix, but Dane had missed it.
Before I had a chance to go looking for him, I heard music. It was low and steady, not the usual tempo for a high impact workout. The sound tugged me down the hall, past the studios, to the last door on the right that stood halfway open.
Inside, Dane held Harvey by the shoulder, guiding him through some dance steps. The cane Harvey had leaned on since his hip surgery rested against the mirror, forgotten for the moment. Dane counted under his breath. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” His voice was calm and sure, the kind a person trusted without thinking about it.
Harvey missed a beat and frowned. “I feel like a lumbering ox.”
“You look steady,” Dane said. “Just take smaller steps.” He shifted his hand a fraction. “Try again.”
I should have backed away. This was none my business. Still, I stayed where I was.
Harvey spotted me first. His face warmed with color that had nothing to do with exertion. “Good evening, Ms. March. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry for sneaking up on you,” I said, stepping inside only far enough to be polite. “I brought paperwork for Mr. Thorne. I can leave it at the desk.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Dane said. There was a flicker in his eyes, not embarrassment exactly, more like him trying to figure out how much I’d seen. He eased Harvey toward a chair and handed him a water bottle. “What did I miss?”
I held up the page. “Your policy needs to name the courts as an approved use and list the town as additional insured for public programs. Section three was left blank.”
“Right.” He accepted the sheet and studied it with a seriousness that always surprised me when it surfaced. “I can get that. Do you want it by email or hard copy?”
“Both,” I said, then wished I hadn’t sounded so abrupt. “Email for review. Hard copy for the packet.”
“Done.” He set the page on the sound system, his eyes still on mine. “Since you’re here, can I ask a favor?” He offered his hand, palm up. “Harvey needs a partner.”
“No.” My answer came out before I’d even fully registered the question. “I don’t think I’m the right person for that.”
Harvey chuckled. “Go on, Ms. March. A real partner would help.”
“Oh, I’m not a real partner.” An edge of panic laced through my words. “And I’m working.”
“Two minutes,” Dane said. “For the Founders’ Festival.”
The name caught me. The Founders’ Festival meant food booths on Main, kids running around with caramel apples, lumberjack games at the park, and a dance under the string lights on Saturday night. Couples would turn slow circles while the band played something nostalgic.
We were two weeks out, which meant if Harvey wanted to move comfortably under those lights, he needed to practice now, not the week of the event.
