"And you sold it. See? You're already figuring it out." He crumples his sandwich wrapper. "Blair's counting on exchange workers being easy to other. To turn into abstractions. Budget line items instead of actual people contributing actual value. You counter that by being undeniably real."
"I'm not good at politics."
"You don't need to be. You just need to keep doing what you're doing. Show up. Help. Make that ridiculous coffee thatapparently has people lining up outside Ellis Books and Brews every morning now."
I blink. "What?"
"Oh, you haven't seen?" Darius pulls out his phone. Shows me a photo someone posted to the neighborhood group. A line of people outside Lacy's shop. The caption readsNew spiced coffee is AMAZING. Get here early or they run out.
"Lacy didn't mention that."
"Because she's busy keeping up with demand." Darius pockets his phone. "Point is, you're making a difference. A measurable, tangible difference that Blair can't erase with policy language. So keep doing it. And maybe prepare for the fact that this might get uglier before it gets better."
He stands. Collects the trash. Pauses at the door.
"Stone?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not just saying this as your liaison. You're good at this. At building bridges. At making people see past their assumptions." His expression softens slightly. "Don't let Blair's noise make you question that."
He leaves.
I sit at the kitchen table for a long time after. The half-eaten sandwich cooling in front of me. Darius's warning settles into my bones.
Mrs. Kowalski returns. Pours herself coffee. Doesn't ask questions. Just sits across from me in companionable silence until I'm ready to move.
The shop is already openwhen I arrive.
Lacy's behind the counter. Hair down today. Loose around her shoulders in a way that makes my brain short-circuitslightly. She's making four drinks at once with the kind of focused intensity that suggests she's been doing this since dawn.
"Morning," she calls without looking up. "We're out of cardamom pods. Can you prep more? There's people asking specifically for the Winter Market blend now."
I shed my coat. Roll up my sleeves. "Darius showed me the post."
"Which post?"
"The line outside the shop."
She glances up and peers at me. A small smile tugs at her mouth. "Oh. That post."
"You didn't mention we were getting crowds."
"Didn't want you getting a big head about it." But she's teasing. The warmth in her voice undercuts the words. "The blend is good, Stone. Really good. People are responding."
I move to the prep station. Start crushing cardamom pods with methodical care. The scent fills the small space. Warm. Familiar.
"Councilwoman Blair is making noise about the exchange program," I say quietly.
Lacy's hands still for just a second. Then resume their efficient dance across the espresso machine.
"What kind of noise?"
"The kind that questions funding. Resources. Whether we're worth the investment."
She finishes the current drink. Passes it to the waiting customer with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Then turns to me fully.
"That's garbage."
