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?”
The question hit her harder than she expected. She leaned against the brick, letting it hold her up.
“Liz, the mayor, thinks letters of support could help,” she said. “From people who can show this is more than just a business plan. She thought maybe… if you were comfortable with it…you might write something. About Bryn. About why this wall and this space would matter.”
Silence hummed for a moment. She almost rushed to backtrack. Tell him it was okay if he couldn’t, that she understood.
“Yeah,” he said, voice a little rougher. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Relief flooded her eyes before it hit her chest. She swiped under her lashes.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
“Bree,” he said. “My wife died far too young. If there’s a chance some good comes out of that, that someone walks into a building ten years from now and sees her name and remembers her for the person she was… I’d crawl across glass to help.”
Her breath hitched. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Besides,” he went on, lighter now, “if those board guys say no after reading my heartfelt prose, they’ll have to live with the crushing weight of my disappointment. And my mother’s. You know how she gets.”
Bree laughed, a wet, hiccupy sound. “Terrifying,” she said.
“Exactly,” he chuckled, “Send me whatever details you want included. I’ll write it tonight. And Bree?”
“Yeah?” she said.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Bryn would be too. Staying, fighting for this…it’s big.”
She pressed her forehead against the cool brick. “I’m scared,” she admitted.
“Of course you are,” he said. “Big things are scary. Do it anyway. You’ve got people in your corner. One of them apparently drives very fast for a living. You’re not alone there, even if it feels like it sometimes.”
The words Diaz had used earlier stirred in her chest; not alone. Useful. Planted.
“I love you,” she said.
