Whatever the board said. Whatever the sellers countered. Whatever their hornet’s nest decided to do next.
They had started. They weren’t stopping.
“Okay,” she said, voice steady. “Let’s build a life.”
Chapter 24
Hank sat in the second row of the council chamber, the wooden chair creaking every time he shifted his weight. The room felt too small for the way his chest kept expanding and tightening, like it was trying to be two sizes at once.
Copper Moon’s zoning board looked exactly like every other board he’d ever seen: a long table, nameplates, water pitchers, and stacks of papers. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. A faded photograph of the harbor hung crooked on the back wall.
Beside him, Bree’s knee bounced once, twice, then stilled when he laid his hand over it. Her fingers twitched around the folder in her lap, the edges softened from being gripped all morning.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmured.
“Breathing?” she whispered back.
He fought a smile. “Looking like you’re about to bolt.”
Her gaze flicked up to his, brown eyes sharp and scared and stubborn. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I signed a lot of paperwork based on that assumption.”
She huffed out a quiet laugh, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.
Across the aisle, Liz Harper stood near the end of the board table, conferring with the clerk. She wore her usual mayoral armor: crisp blazer, sensible heels, the kind of calm that made people think rules were a suggestion she’d already considered and adjusted.
Behind them, the chamber was fuller than he’d expected for a weekday afternoon. Lila from the café sat near the back, hands folded over her purse. The marina manager slouched in a corner, arms crossed. The antique shop couple sat together, the husband already taking notes. Jason lounged against the wall near the door, work boots planted wide, hair still dusty from the job site.
Colby and Brian had squeezed into the row behind Hank and Bree. Brian’s knee bumped his chair rhythmically. Colby’s gaze tracked the exits, the sprinkler heads, the wall sconces, all the quiet habits Hank had come to recognize from someone who spent his life thinking about worst-case scenarios.
“You know there’s a fire extinguisher every twenty feet in here, right?” Hank murmured without turning.
“Yeah,” Colby said. “I was just judging them.”
“On what scale?” Brian asked under his breath. “One to raging inferno?”
“One to ‘I’m going to have a chat with whoever did this layout,’” Colby said. “Those exit signs are a mess.”
It should not have been comforting. Somehow, it was.
The chair at the center of the board table scraped back. Elaine Drummond, chair of the zoning board, tapped her microphone.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s call this meeting to order. First item, continuation of application ZB-24-16, special-use permit for mixed commercial at 412 Bay Street. Applicants, Hank James, Colby Landon, Brian Knight, and Aubree Spencer.”
Hank felt Bree’s breath hitch.
“That’s us,” she whispered unnecessarily.
Liz stepped forward. “Madam Chair,” she said. “I’ll be speaking in support of this application, along with several community members. The applicants are here to answer questions.”
Elaine nodded, adjusting her glasses. “We’ve received the updated packet from your office,” she said. “Including letters of support, traffic estimates, and revised floor plans. We’ll start with a summary for the record, then move to public comment.”
The municipal part blurred a little; Liz was laying out the basics in clear, steady language. Existing zoning, proposed use. Machine shop in the rear, art studio, and memorial wall upstairs. Projected hours, parking plan, noise mitigation.
Bree’s hand found Hank’s on her knee. He laced their fingers and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, more for himself than for her.
“…and in addition to the economic impact, there’s a cultural and emotional component,” Liz was saying. “Ms. Spencer’s proposal for a memorial wall has already drawn interest from families who’ve lost loved ones. You’ll find one such letter at the front of your packets.”
