Colby’s mouth twitched. “Just thinking,” he said. “Got a text from my captain this afternoon. There’s talk of openings at the station up here. They know I’ve been looking at Copper Moon. Asked if I wanted an introduction.”
“Do you?” Hank asked.
Colby stared at the string lights for a long moment. “I love my crew,” he said. “Walking away from that feels like leaving family. But I’m getting tired of sleeping in a city that never shuts up. Tired of watching the same apartment go up in smoke because the landlord ignored all the warnings.” He tipped his head toward the warehouse. “This feels like the right kind of work. And if I can run a few calls here while we build this place up, be useful in both directions, it’s hard to argue with that.”
“You’d make a hell of an asset for this town,” Hank said. “Firehouse and shop both.”
Colby’s smile turned wry. “You just want someone to yell at you about your electrical choices.”
“I want someone who knows how many extinguishers we actually need,” Hank said. “And who’ll tell me if the sprinkler layout sucks.”
“Already started that list,” Colby said. “Sent it to Jason. He pretended to be offended.”
Hank laughed. “Of course he did.”
He sobered, nudging Colby’s shoulder. “Seriously,” he said. “Whatever you decide about the department, you’ve got a place here. You know that, right? After all, you're one-quarter partner. You can be a silent partner, or you can be the man you are, doing the work you do.”
Colby’s jaw flexed, eyes going a little bright before he blinked it away. “Same goes for you,” he said. “If you ever decide to stop throwing yourself around racetracks at illegal speeds, we’ll find you a hobby that doesn’t involve broken bones.”
“Like woodworking?” Hank asked. “Knitting?”
“Probably not knitting,” Colby said. “Those needles are dangerous.”
They fell into easy silence for a minute, watching Bree talk with Diaz at the far end of the space. Bree’s hands moved as she spoke, sketching imaginary lines in the air.
“This is good,” Colby said quietly. “You two. This place. It’s… right.”
“Yeah,” Hank said. “It is.”
The night stretched in a warm, looping way. People drifted out slowly. Tom from the marina had an early morning maintenance window. Lila had to prep the café for the breakfast rush. Jason left with promises to be back at dawn to start framing.
Liz hugged them both tightly. “Take fifteen minutes tomorrow to enjoy this before you dive back into forms,” she said. “That’s an order.”
Diaz left last, pausing in the bay door.
“You know how to reach me,” she said. “Not just for work. This many big changes at once can knock people sideways. If you need a sounding board who isn’t personally invested in your paint choices, my office is open.”
“Thanks,” Bree said. “We might take you up on that.”
When the last car pulled away, and the warehouse settled into a gentler quiet, Hank turned off all but one string of lights. It painted a soft halo over the center of the room.
Bree stood in it, barefoot now, her shoes kicked into a corner, curls escaping her clip.
“Everyone’s gone,” he said.
“I noticed,” she said, smiling.
He walked to her, stopping close enough that their toes nearly touched.
“How’s your panic level?” he asked softly.
“Strangely low,” she said. “High on the ‘holy crap, we just signed our lives to this town’ scale. But the panic’s… quiet.”
He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve got it all scheduled for next week.”
She laughed, leaning into his touch. “You realize this is the part where a normal person would say we should get some sleep,” she said. “Big day tomorrow. Contractors and realtors and mortgage people.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not normal,” he said.
