Someone, probably Lila, had sent over two huge boxes of mixed takeout: sandwiches, salads, and a tray of brownies. A cooler in the corner held beer, sparkling water, and the cheap champagne Brian had insisted on.
They’d dragged in a handful of mismatched chairs from the office area and turned a sheet of plywood on sawhorses into a table. The bay door was rolled up partway, the harbor breeze sweeping in, carrying the distant slap of water against hulls.
Hank stood near the doorway for a moment, taking it all in.
Bree laughed at something Lila said, her head tipped back, paint smudge still on her wrist from earlier. The soft light threaded through her hair, pulling out amber notes. Brian perched on an overturned crate, chopsticks in hand, re-enacting a dramatic moment from the board hearing with too much flair.
“…and then Hank was like, ‘I’m too old for keg parties,’ and Elaine actually smiled,” Brian said. “I thought the fluorescent lights were going to flicker.”
“They did,” Colby said, leaning against a pillar with a beer. “You didn’t see it because you were texting half the firehouse about the drama.”
“I was inviting them to our inevitable grand opening,” Brian protested. “Marketing never sleeps.”
“You texted them a photo of the board,” Colby said.
“It was a good angle,” Brian said.
Diaz joined them straight from shift, still in her duty boots, badge visible at her belt. She carried a foil-covered tray that smelled like empanadas.
“Don’t get used to this,” she said, handing it to Bree. “I don’t cater for all my informants, just the ones who sign up for lifetime service.”
Bree grinned. “We prefer ‘partners,’” she said.
Diaz’s eyes softened. “You earned that today,” she said. “All of you.”
“How bad’s the hornets’ nest?” Hank asked, keeping his voice low as he took a beer from the cooler.
Diaz rolled one shoulder. “Buzzing,” she said. “We’ve got enough to keep the state interested. Our friend from the test day has been encouraged to find employment far from my jurisdiction. It’s not over, but the net’s tightening. You don’t need to carry it around with you.”
“We’re not,” he said. “We’ve got sheetrock and beams to carry instead.”
“Good,” she said. “Be the boring business owners who call me when something’s wrong. That’s the dream.”
Lila popped the champagne with more enthusiasm than skill; foam sprayed, everyone laughed, and Hank found himself with a paper cup of cheap bubbles in hand.
Liz raised hers. “To Copper Moon’s newest permanent residents,” she said. “May your inspections be smooth, your parking lots orderly, and your engines well-tuned.”
“Hear, hear,” Jason said.
They drank. The champagne was terrible. It tasted perfect.
Conversation bloomed in pockets. Jason and Colby argued cheerfully about the best way to reinforce the mezzanine for both art and office load. Brian and Lila debated flavors for future “Bryn Wall” themed cupcakes. Diaz listened, smiling in that small, fierce way that meant she’d tuck these details away as proof that the town she fought for was worth it.
Hank drifted through the clusters, topping off drinks, grabbing slices of pizza, and fielding questions about house repairs from Jason, who demanded photos of the barn.
He kept finding his gaze returning to Bree.
She moved among their friends with a kind of surprised ease, like she hadn’t realized she knew this many people who’d show up for her on a weeknight. Every time she laughed, that tight knot in his chest loosened a little more.
At some point, music appeared, tinny from someone’s phone speaker. Not loud enough to violate any conditions, but enough to set a rhythm under the conversation.
Colby dropped down onto the crate beside Hank. “You look like a guy who just realized his entire life pivoted in twelve hours,” he said.
“That obvious?” Hank asked.
Colby took a sip of beer. “I’ve seen that look before,” he said. “Usually after a big call. Everything’s the same, but you’re not.”
“You good?” Hank asked, turning the question back on him. “You’ve been kind of quiet.”
