I do.
She watches me for a moment, arms crossed, then shakes her head and returns to the counter.
I catch her glancing at me twice while I work.
Both times, she's almost smiling.
Rows of foldingchairs squeak under people shifting, waiting. I take a seat near the back, shoulders hunched to fit under the low ceiling. The chair groans under my weight.
Maris sits three rows ahead with Nora. Her hair's in a neat bun today, no flour, no coffee stains. She's wearing a bluesweater that makes her look smaller than usual. Professional. Like she's trying to blend in.
I want to move closer but the room's packed. Standing room only along the walls. Half the town showed up.
The mayor taps the microphone. Feedback screeches and everyone winces.
"Thank you for coming," he says, too loud, then adjusts the volume. "We have an important proposal tonight. Mr. Vance from Harborside Development will present plans for the waterfront district."
A man in a suit stands. Slick hair. Expensive shoes. Smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He sets up a projector and the lights dim.
"Good evening." His voice is smooth. Practiced. "I'm here to discuss an exciting opportunity for your community."
The first slide shows drawings. Sleek buildings. Glass fronts. Boutique hotels where the rowhouses stand now.
My rowhouse.
"The waterfront has incredible potential," Vance continues, clicking to the next slide. "But the current infrastructure is outdated. Crumbling, really. We propose a full renovation. New construction. Modern amenities."
Someone in front raises a hand. "What happens to the people living there now?"
"Excellent question." Vance's smile widens. "We'll offer fair market value for all properties. Well above current rates, I assure you. Residents will have ample time to relocate."
Relocate.
The word sits heavy in my gut.
I glance at Maris. She's leaning forward, fingers gripped tight on the chair in front of her.
"How much time?" another voice calls out.
"Sixty days from contract signing." Vance clicks to a timeline slide. "We believe that's more than reasonable."
Sixty days.
Two months to find somewhere else. Somewhere that'll rent to an orc. Somewhere I can afford that's not back in the gutter districts where handlers prowl looking for fresh meat.
My hands curl into fists on my knees.
"What about businesses?" Maris's voice cuts through the murmur. Clear and steady. "The café. The bookstore. The tailor shop."
Vance turns toward her, still smiling. "Those would be relocated as well. We're happy to discuss options."
"Options meaning you buy us out and we disappear." She stands, and heads turn. "You're not talking about renovation. You're talking about erasing the neighborhood."
"I understand change can be difficult," Vance says, his tone sliding into patronizing. "But progress requires sacrifice. The town will benefit enormously from increased tourism revenue."
"Revenue that goes where?" Maris crosses her arms. "To you. Not to the people who've built their lives here."
"Ms. Smith, I appreciate your passion, but?—"
