Her gaze dropped briefly to the strip of skin between his towel and his hip.
“Why not both?” she said.
His laugh was low and pleased. “Yes, ma’am.”
An hour later, showered, dressed, and only slightly late, they walked hand in hand toward the civic building where the mayor’s office lived. Hank carried a folder with notes he’d scribbled on hotel stationery; Bree carried her sketchbook because she felt naked without it.
The morning sun had burned through most of the haze, leaving Copper Moon sharp and bright. Workers swept up confetti and paper cups from the previous night’s celebrations. The Cup banner hung a little crooked now; someone would fix it later.
“Okay,” Bree said as they climbed the steps. “Game plan.”
“Listen more than we talk,” Hank said. “Ask about terms, timeline, and what improvements the city will cover for code compliance. We keep options open. We sign nothing without reading every page twice.”
“Look at you,” she said. “Responsible adult.”
“Don’t spread it around,” he said. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Inside, the building smelled of old paper and lemon cleaner. The receptionist greeted them by name and pointed them toward a conference room.
Mayor Rochelle Meyers stood at the window when they walked in, looking out over the harbor. She was small and wiry, with silver-streaked hair pulled into a low knot and a blazer that had seen a few campaign cycles. Beside her stood a broad-shouldered man in his forties with a rolled-up set of blueprints under one arm and a pencil tucked behind his ear.
“Hank, Bree,” the mayor said, turning with a smile. “Thank you for coming. And congratulations again on the win. Copper Moon’s very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mayor Meyers,” Hank said, shaking her hand. “You remember Bree.”
“Of course.” The mayor shook Bree’s hand warmly.
“So.” The mayor gestured to the man beside her. “This is Jason Keene. He’s one of our preferred contractors on city projects. He oversaw the renovation of The Breakwater and the boardwalk restrooms. He has opinions about wiring and roofing.”
Jason nodded. “I like buildings that don’t fall down when it rains.”
“High bar,” Hank said. “Appreciated.”
They all took seats around the table. A slim folder lay in front of Hank and Bree; the mayor tapped it with one finger.
“This is a preliminary sale proposal,” she said. “It’s not binding. Think of it as a starting point. The city owns the Bay Street warehouse outright. It’s been a storage headache for years. We’d like to turn that into a revenue stream and a revitalized block. Having a Cup champion’s performance shop and a local artist’s studio in that space fits nicely with what we’re trying to do.”
Hank flipped open the folder. The first page outlined the purchase price, far lower than he’d expected, especially for a building that size.
“That number real?” he asked.
“Yes,” the mayor said. “It’s an introductory rate; in exchange, you commit to specific improvements that bring the building up to code and create street-facing activity. After two years, the taxes step up to a level closer to the market average, with caps on annual increases. We’re not looking to gouge you. We’re looking to keep you.”
“What improvements would be on us?” Bree asked.
“Interior build-out,” Jason said. “Electrical upgrades. Plumbing for whatever bathroom and utility setup you need. Cosmetic stuff like paint. The city will handle structural work, roof repairs, and exterior masonry. We’ve already budgeted for window replacements as part of a safety initiative in that district.”
Hank tracked the numbers in his head; what he had, what he could reasonably expect from next season, what he could not count on from sponsors.
“It’s doable,” he said slowly. “If nothing catastrophic happens.”
“Catastrophic like nitrous kits blowing up our reputation,” the mayor said dryly.
Bree stiffened. “About that…”
The mayor lifted a hand. “You did us a favor,” she said. “You and your crew. I don’t like the press using the words ‘cheating scandal’ and ‘Copper Moon’ in the same sentence, but I’ll take one ugly news cycle over a fatality. Sergeant Diaz concurs.”
“Speaking of Diaz,” Jason said, “she mentioned you might be interested in security measures. Cameras, reinforced doors. That kind of thing.”
