"I sense a 'but' coming."
I grab the developer's brochure from my pocket. Unfold it. "This is what's coming. Marcus Webb. Crestview Development. He's been buying up farmland around Pine Hollow. Hank, Miller, Jensen. Maybe more."
Rogan takes the brochure. Scans it. His jaw tightens.
"How does my catering money factor into this?"
"Because money flowing into the local economy makes the town look viable. Which makes it more attractive for development. Which accelerates the buyouts."
He looks at me. "You're saying I shouldn't have taken the job."
"I'm saying we need to be careful about what signals we're sending."
"The signal I was sending is that the bistro isn't going under." His voice hardens. "That I can pay my suppliers and keep people employed. That's not a bad thing, Ivy."
"It's not about good or bad. It's about timing."
"No." He tosses the brochure on the desk. "It's about you wanting to control every variable. You see one developer sniffing around and suddenly everything I do is suspect."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" He crosses his arms. "You've been waiting for me to screw up since day one. Watching for the moment I choose profit over principles. Well, guess what? Sometimes you need profit to have principles. Sometimes you take the job that pays because the alternative is bankruptcy."
My chest tightens. "I'm not saying you made the wrong choice."
"You're absolutely saying that."
"I'm saying we need to think strategically. Every decision we make right now matters. If the bistro succeeds too fast, it proves Webb's point. That economic growth is the answer. That development brings prosperity."
"And if it fails?" His voice drops. "If I can't make payroll and have to close? What does that prove? That we should all just give up and let him pave over everything?"
"Of course not."
"Then what do you want from me, Ivy?"
The question hangs between us.
I want him to slow down. To see the bigger picture. To understand that sometimes the right choice isn't the profitable one.
But I also know what I'm asking. And I know it's not fair.
"I want us to be on the same side," I say quietly.
"We are on the same side. We're just fighting different battles." He rubs the scar on his jaw. A tell. "You're trying to preserve the past. I'm trying to survive the present. Those things don't always line up."
"They have to. Or we've already lost."
He doesn't answer. Just looks at me with something that might be frustration or disappointment or both.
Maya pokes her head in. "Rogan, we've got a grease fire."
"On it." He pushes off the filing cabinet. Pauses at the door. "For what it's worth, I'm not your enemy here. Even if it feels like it."
Then he's gone. Back to the chaos of the kitchen.
I sit alone in the tiny office. The brochure stares up at me from the desk. Pine Hollow Commons. Where comfort meets community.
I fold it carefully. Tuck it back in my pocket.
