“Yeah,” he said. “We are.”
He lifted the folder slightly, like a toast, then leaned down and kissed her right there on the civic center steps. It was not the desperate, I might never get to do this again kind of kiss. It was steady and sure, the kind that tasted like commitment and morning coffee.
Across the street, someone honked and whooped. A kid’s voice shouted, “That’s the Cup guy!”
Bree smiled against Hank’s mouth.
“Fame is exhausting,” she murmured.
“It has perks,” he said.
They broke apart reluctantly.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go show Brian and Colby the numbers so they can tell me all the reasons my timeline is too aggressive.”
“And I’ll tell you all the reasons it’s not aggressive enough,” she said.
He chuckled. “I look forward to the arguments.”
They walked down the steps side by side, their footsteps finding an easy rhythm as they headed toward the future they had just nudged a little closer into focus.
Chapter 16
Hank walked Bree down the steps of the civic center, their hands still linked, the folder with the city’s proposal tucked under his arm. The harbor glittered like someone had scattered broken glass across the water. A gull screamed overhead, offended about something only gulls understood.
Bree’s smile kept flickering in and out, like she was testing whether it fit.
“We really just told a mayor we were serious,” she said.
“Yep.”
“And I told my parents we're together.”
He squeezed her hand. “Also true.”
Her cheeks went a little pink, but she did not pull away. “Where are Brian and Colby?”
“Dockside,” he said. “Brian texted while we were in there. He found pastries the size of his face and decided it was a sign.”
She laughed; the sound loosened something tight in his chest. “Okay. Let’s go tell them we’re about to become small business owners, and we're possibly insane.”
They crossed the street, stepping around confetti and the occasional flattened paper cup with the Cup logo on it. Someone in a souvenir T-shirt gave Hank a double take, then nudged his friend and pointed. Hank lifted a hand in a casual half-wave and kept moving.
“You’re getting recognized,” Bree murmured.
“It’s the hair,” he said. “Stands out.”
“It was the pass on the last lap, and you know it.”
He did know it. His muscles still remembered the lean of the bike, the split second when the gap had opened, and he’d taken it. The adrenaline from that would probably still be working its way out of his system when they were signing mortgage papers.
Dockside smelled like coffee, bacon, and the ocean. The bell over the door chimed as they stepped in. The same mechanic crowd from earlier weekends mixed with tourists wearing brand-new Copper Moon Cup caps.
Brian already occupied a corner booth, a plate of pastries in front of him, and a coffee mug in his hand. Colby sat opposite, his tablet propped against the sugar caddy; he looked up as soon as Hank slid into the booth.
“Well?” Brian asked. “Did the mayor offer you the keys to the city or just the cool abandoned building?”
“Preliminary sale proposal,” Hank said, dropping the folder on the table between them. “Price is better than we hoped. City handles major structural, roof, masonry, and new windows. We cover interior build-out, electrical, plumbing, and finishes.”
