“How’d it go?” he asked.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “They didn’t have a heart attack, so that’s a win. They’re worried, but they’re listening. My dad wants pictures. My mom wants to meet you.”
He smiled. “I like them already.”
“He also wants to make sure you’re not a flighty jerk.”
“Reasonable concern.”
“He didn’t use those exact words, but it was implied.”
Hank crossed the room and tipped her chin up with one finger. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Scared. Relieved. Some weird combination of both.”
“That’s usually where the good changes start,” he said. “You were brave. I’m proud of you.”
The word proud slid under her ribs and settled there. “Don’t you dare make me cry. I have a meeting with the mayor, and I don’t want to go in with puffy eyes.”
He brushed his thumb under one eye anyway. “I like your eyes,” he said. “Puffy or not.”
She rolled hers. “You’re impossible.”
“Accurate.” He paused. “We’ve got about forty minutes before we need to head out. You want breakfast, or you want me to distract your brain for a while?”
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.”
