"Councilman Whitaker, I designed this space to honor Goodwin Grove's character. The brick pattern matches the original 1905 construction. The interior wood beams are exposed, showcasing the era's craftsmanship, and the color palette was pulled directly from historical photos of the town. I believe respecting a town's character means understanding its past while creating space for its future." I flipped to a research board to show the group my process.
His mouth tightened into a thin line. "It's a bit fancy… We're simple folks here."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping back.Simple folks?The condescension was so thick I could cut it with a knife.
"With all due respect, there's nothing simple about this community. In my research, I discovered a town with a rich history, diverse needs, and a desire for spaces to cater to everyone, from seniors to young families. This design reflects that complexity," I responded, keeping my tone professional.
Another council member, a balding man with a red tie, spoke up. "What about the cost? All that glass can't be cheap."
"I've worked within the budget parameters provided. Using local materials and contractors creates savings while stimulating the local economy."
The questions continued, some genuine, while others were fishing for any reason to reject the outsider's ideas. I answered each one with facts and rationale.
"I still think it looks too modern, like something you'd see in Chicago or New York, not Goodwin Grove," Councilman Whitaker persisted.
I blew out air. "Councilman, with respect, what exactly about the design feels foreign to Goodwin Grove? Is it the accessibility features to allow elderly residents to navigate without stairs? The flexible spaces that can host everything from the annual quilting exhibition to children's play groups? Or perhaps the solar panels, which will cut operational costs by thirty percent over the next decade?"
A tense silence fell over the room. I pushed back harder than I intended, but damn, I was proud of this design. I'd poured myself into making something to serve this community, which had become my own.
Mayor Thompson cleared her throat. "Ms. Daniels makes excellent points. This design preserves what we love about our town while providing us with the modern facilities we desperately need. The old center is falling apart, folks. We need to move forward."
Relief hit me at the mayor's nod of approval.
"I move we approve the preliminary designs with the understanding Ms. Daniels will work with us on some modifications to incorporate certain town elements better."
"Second," another councilor added.
Mayor Thompson looked pleased. "All in favor?"
Five hands went up. Whitaker and his red-tied ally kept their hands down, but it was enough. The motion carried.
"Excellent. Ms. Daniels, we'll send you our notes for the modifications we'd like to see. Nothing major, perhaps moretraditional fixtures in the entryway, additional references to local history in the interior design."
"Of course. I look forward to your feedback," I agreed, already mentally making adjustments.
As the meeting ended and the council members left, I gathered my drawings. I needed this project to succeed, not only professionally but personally. It was my anchor in this new life.
"Don't mind, Harold. He objects to anything that wasn't here when he was born. Your design is exactly what this town needs," Mayor Thompson assured me, hanging back.
I smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mayor. I appreciate your support."
"You earned it. I'm looking forward to seeing this come to life." The mayor playfully grabbed my elbow before exiting the room.
I left the hall accomplished, having cleared another hurdle. I stood my ground, defending my vision. The old me, the one who'd let my ex-fiancé, Shelton, dictate our home design, despite my professional expertise, would have conceded more ground and apologized for my ideas.
Fire had a way of burning away what didn't serve me. Walking through those flames had left me with a clarity I hadn't had before, about who I was, what I wanted, and the fact that I refused to be diminished again. Not by councilmen, ex-fiancés, or anyone.
After the meeting, I needed grease, the kind that clogged arteries and soothed souls. My mama always said a good burger could fix anything short of a broken heart, and while my heart wasn'tbroken, my professional pride had taken a slight hit from Councilman Whitaker and his "simple folks" bullshit.
I found myself entering Grill & Chill, the local burger joint, which quickly became my go-to spot for comfort food since moving to Goodwin Grove — fried onions, sizzling beef, and the scent from a grill that had been seasoning itself for decades.
The place was halfway between lunch and dinner rush. The vinyl booths were worn in a comfortable way. I looked around for an empty booth when I heard, "Yo, Architect!"
Jaxon and Dane waved me over to their booth.
"Hey, imagine meeting you here," I greeted them.
"Join us. Unless you have a hot date waiting," Jaxon joked.
