I sit still, my mind echoing with the resonance of his story.
“Also very true,” he adds, turning to me, his expression serious.“You can’t change the past, Amy.None of us can.But we can always choose the direction we face next.”
His eyes, so green and intense, hold mine.I feel a spark of determination ignite in my chest, a pulse quickening beneath my skin.It’s as if he sees right through me.
“I need you to start a petition,” Matthew says, breaking eye contact to crumple his napkin.
“A petition?”I frown, watching as he sets the two cardboard boxes behind him.
“Yes,” he says simply, turning to face me.“Enlist the help of the old man…”
“Lou?”
“Yes, Lou,” he repeats.“He’s probably very well connected in the community and knows many people who would gladly vouch for your café.”
“You think it’ll work?”I ask, sitting up straighter.
“It’s a strong first step.You read Bancroft’s message.Right now, he thinks this is purely a numbers game.We need to show him there’s more to it than just rent.”
The calm he maintains contrasts with my growing excitement.
“And a bunch of signatures can do that?”I sound skeptical.
“Signatures represent community.”Matthew leans forward slightly, his voice low and conspiratorial.“Each name is a local resident, a customer, maybe even someone influential Lou knows.Enough signatures get attention.Local reporters looking for a story, maybe even pressure from city hall if things escalate.It proves the café’s value isn’t just monetary, and it creates the kind of public headache Bancroft explicitly said he wants to avoid.It makes evicting you messy, and potentially bad for his business.”
I nod slowly, beginning to understand the power of this petition.A fragile but real hope makes my chest feel a little lighter.
“Okay… that actually makes sense.”I pull the ends of his blazer tighter around me, crossing my arms, my mind whirling with the logistics.“But… how do I actually do that?I mean, what does a petition even look like?Do I just get a notebook?”
A small smile touches Matthew’s lips, but there’s no mockery in it, only understanding.“Not quite a notebook,” he says gently.“You’ll want something more formal.A clear statement at the top explaining the situation.Why Maddy’s Place is important, the threat it’s under, and what you’re asking people to support.Then, columns underneath for signatures, printed names, and addresses.”
“Addresses?Isn’t that asking a little too much?”
“Addresses are vital,” Matthew insists.“They show local support.”
A gust of wind rustles the branches above and blows a strand of hair across my face.Matthew reaches out, tucking it behind my ear with effortless grace.“You don’t have to do it alone.Start with Lou.Talk to him tomorrow.He’ll know who to approach first.”
I take my time, letting my eyes roam his features.“You weren’t supposed to show me Bancroft’s message.”
“Let me worry about Bancroft.”
I look down at my hands, fingers twirling my engagement ring.“I wish all of this would just go away.”I let out a heavy sigh.“Close my eyes and wake up to find it was all just a bad dream.”
Matthew touches his index finger to my chin, lifting my face.“Hey.”When my eyes meet his, he points up at the golden statue.“She stands alone.She’s endured all alone.But you’re not alone, Amy.You have the support of the people at your café, its loyal patrons, Lou…”
“Me,” he adds softly.
I look up at the lady in gold, then back to him.I nod.Words fall short, so I press my lips together in silent gratitude.Something powerful swells in my chest for this man, in this moment.
His eyes hold mine, the intensity softening into something warm, almost tender.He doesn’t look away.A slow smile touches his lips, mirroring the one forming on mine.He brushes his knuckles against my cheek.The touch is so gentle I almost shiver.
He drops his hand to his side, fingers flexing into a fist.“We’ll figure this out,” he murmurs.His voice is barely above a whisper.
FIFTEEN
THE UNSPOKEN WEIGHT of Matthew’s promise holds me captive.Caught in his warmth, unable to find my voice, I let the stillness stretch until the rustle of leaves and city sounds fade away.
He gathers himself, clearing his throat to break the spell.“It’s getting late,” he says, his voice soft but regaining some of its usual practicality.“Let’s get you back to your car.”
