“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.”
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.
