Her laugh came out shaky. “You sure you’re not just addicted to forms?” she asked.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “I hate forms. I’m just more scared of living the rest of my life sitting on the sidelines.”
That hit her right in the sternum.
Liz cleared her throat. “I’m not neutral here,” she said. “I want this. I want you here. Mixed-use like this is exactly what we need if we want this block to be more than just storage units and empty lots. So here’s what I propose. We file the special use application this week. I’ll get it on the agenda as soon as the board will let me. Between now and then, we build a coalition.”
Bree blinked. “A coalition?”
“Letters of support from neighboring businesses,” Liz said. “Petition from residents. Testimonials from people who think it’s a good idea to have a memorial wall instead of another warehouse full of old boat parts. We show up to that meeting with more than pretty renderings.”
A name flashed in Bree’s mind. Charlie.
She swallowed. “Could we include Bryn’s husband?” she asked. “He’s not from here, but this would… matter to him.”
Liz’s expression softened. “If he’s willing to write something or Zoom in, yes,” she said. “It would carry weight.”
Bree nodded slowly. The lump in her throat grew, but it wasn’t all panic now. Some of it was something fiercer.
“I’ll call him,” she said. “Today.”
Jason tapped the blueprint. “From my end, I’ll make sure all the plans emphasize safety and noise mitigation,” he said. “We show them this isn’t some fly-by-night rave spot. We’re talking family workshops and engine rebuilds, not all-night EDM.”
“Thank you,” Bree said.
“We’re not walking away, Bree,” Hank whispered. “Not unless every door slams so hard we’re bleeding. And even then, we’ll probably look for a window.”
She looked at him, at this man who’d once threatened to build barricades around her studio because the glass looked flimsy. The terror hadn’t vanished. But it sat alongside something else now. Resolve.
“Okay,” she said. “Then let’s fight for it.”
She called Charlie from the sidewalk around the corner, where the noise of Bay Street thinned, and the gulls seemed louder.
Her thumb hovered over his name for a second. Old muscle memory whispered that she should text first, ease into it. She hit call anyway.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, stranger,” he said. “You missed family night. We're very offended.”
Guilt pricked; she’d bailed on their standing video chat last week, everything in Copper Moon tilting under her feet.
“I owe you wine and cheese,” she said. “How are you all?”
“Good,” he said. “Bobby just got accepted into the doctoral program he wanted. Gracie has a boyfriend. Your favorite brother-in-law has mixed emotions about that.”
Warmth slid under her ribs at the image. “Oh, I'm so proud of Bobby. He's going to be a fantastic doctor,” Bree said. “Sorry about Gracie. But she's bright, beautiful, and full of life. She will always attract boyfriends.”
He laughed. “How’s Copper Moon? Have you decided what you'll do? You sound… I don’t know. Like you’re standing on the edge of something.”
“I am,” she said. “We are.”
She told him about the warehouse again, this time in more detail. The Bryn wall. The shop, the studio, the zoning snag. The way the board could say no with three votes and a shrug.
Charlie listened without interrupting, the way he always had.
“So what you’re telling me,” he said when she finished, “is that you and Hank finally found a way to combine engines and art, and now some retired dudes on a committee are trying to ruin it.”
“Pretty much,” she said.
“That sounds on-brand for the universe,” he said. “What do you need?”
