“That’s not funny,” she said.
“Little bit,” he replied.
Inside, Jason stood near the center of the open floor, a roll of blueprints in one hand, and a tape measure hooked to his belt. Mayor Liz Harper leaned against a scaffolding plank, tablet in hand, reading glasses perched on her nose.
“There they are,” Liz said. “Our new neighborhood investors.”
Bree tried to read her tone. It sounded mostly warm, with a hint of mayoral briskness.
“Hey,” Jason said. “You two ready for the fun part? Numbers and forms.”
“More ready than you know,” Hank said.
They gathered near the makeshift table Jason had fashioned from two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood. Jason spread the blueprints out. The lines and measurements looked like a language Bree was only beginning to understand.
“So here’s where we’re at,” Jason said. “Structurally, she’s sound. We need to reinforce a couple of beams if we’re going to hang the lift you want, Hank, and if you’re serious about that mezzanine for Bree’s office, we’re talking some steel work. Electrical’s going to need a full upgrade if you want both the shop and the studio pulling power without tripping every breaker on Bay.”
“We knew that,” Bree said, her mind leaping ahead to the Bryn wall, to the way light would fall across it after they opened the second set of windows.
“Right,” Jason said. “So the issue isn’t the renovation itself. It’s what we’re allowed to do under current zoning.”
Liz tapped the tablet. “This block is zoned light industrial with restricted commercial overlay,” she said. “Which is a fancy way of saying you can fix things here, you can ship things, you can sell wholesale. But retail and public assembly uses are limited. Your machine shop? Perfect fit. Your art studio with classes and gallery openings?” She winced. “Not so much.”
Bree’s stomach swooped. “Wait,” she said. “We talked about community events at the council meeting. Nobody said anything about… limits.”
“At that point, you were hypothetical,” Liz said. “It’s easier for a lot of people to nod along when something’s hypothetical. When the forms hit their desks, they start reading the fine print.”
“So what does that mean?” Hank asked. “In plain English.”
“It means,” Liz said, “if you do nothing, you can operate the shop as planned, and Bree can have a private studio. She can sell online, ship from here, and do commissioned work by appointment. But you won’t be able to host regular public events or have walk-in gallery hours without a special use permit.”
Bree’s chest tightened. “The whole point was to have a space people could come into,” she said. “Workshops. First Fridays. Kids’ art days. Bryn’s wall isn’t just for us.”
“I know,” Liz said gently. “I remember.”
“So we apply for the permit,” Hank said. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Liz said, “is that special use permits for mixed commercial on this block have been… contentious. We tried it five years ago with a microbrewery. The neighboring property owners fought it hard. Noise, parking, drunk tourists. The board denied it on a three-two vote. Two of those three are still on the board.”
Silence dropped like a weight.
Bree looked around the empty space, seeing it for a second the way a stranger might: old brick, oil stains, echoing roofline. A warehouse, nothing more. Her throat burned.
“So they can just say no,” she said. “And that’s it?”
“They can,” Liz said. “But it’s my job to make sure they don’t do it quietly.”
Jason glanced at Bree, then Hank. “Financially, losing that public-facing piece changes the equation,” he mumbled. “Your projections assume workshop income and gallery sales. If the board drags this out or denies it, you’re looking at a longer road to break even.”
There it was. The snag. Not a dramatic collapse, but a tightening of margins, a slow bleed.
For a moment, Bree felt an old reflex twitch. Walk away before it hurts more. Pack up, go back to what you know. Safe jobs, safe spaces, safe grief.
She looked at Hank instead.
He studied the blueprints, jaw set, thumb rubbing idly over the edge of the table. When he lifted his gaze to hers, she saw her own fear reflected there, but also something steadier underneath.
“We knew it wouldn’t be simple,” he said. “Simple’s not our brand.”
