“What’s going on?” Honey asked, voice firm. “Why are you here?”
The man flipped a page on his clipboard. “We’re hereto take preliminary measurements for easement access and potential clearing. Bulldozer’s scheduled for first of the month.”
“Bulldozer?” Her voice went sharp. “For what?”
He gave her a look. “Ma’am, I’m not here to debate. I’ve got paperwork. I’m just doing my job.”
He handed her a thick packet, stapled at the corner. The words swam before her eyes, but she picked up on one.
Honey blinked. “A hearing? You’re saying the bureau’s trying to take the house?”
“No need to get hysterical, ma’am,” he said. “I’m just doing my job.”
She snapped her gaze up to him. “You think this is hysterical?” Her voice dropped, sharp and cold as glass. “I am with the bureau. I know exactly what this is, and I also know your department shouldn’t be conducting late-night measurements on a private residence without confirmed notice of hearing receipt.”
That made him pause.
“I’m auditing this property,” she added, squaring her shoulders. “And I’ll be logging this visit—and your failure to confirm contact—with the department. Now tell me again: Who approved this site visit?”
The man shifted slightly, clearly reevaluating her.
Behind her, the front door creaked open.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asked.
Honey turned to him, her face tight as she thrust the paperwork into his hands. “The bureau is holding a hearing on August 28th.” Her voice cracked just enough to make her furious. “They’re trying to take the house.”
Footsteps sounded on the porch as Ethan came to stand beside her.
She waited a long moment while he flippedthrough the pages. His eyes moved slowly. She studied his face, hoping for anger, for a spark of that stubborn pride she knew lived somewhere inside him.
But all she got was a tired sigh.
Ethan exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said almost to himself. “Guess that’s that.”
Honey blinked. “That’s that?” She turned toward him, incredulous. “That’s it? You’re not even going to try?”
She grabbed the paper back and flipped through them as if the answer might be hidden in the fine print.
“What about an appeal?” she asked, her voice tight with worry. “A postponement? Hell, at least let me make a phone call?”
“Honey, stop.”
“You have to at least ask.”
“What good would that do now?” Ethan looked at the house like it were already gone. “I know how these people work. It won’t stop them. And I’m not about to beg.”
“But there has to be—” She looked to the clipboard man, who was very purposefully studying his paperwork.
“Let it go, Honey,” Ethan said.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. “It’s your home. You need to do something.”
“I know what I need,” he snapped, still calm, but the edges of his voice were fraying.
“Then do something!” She threw her arms to her sides. “You’re just standing there like you’ve already given up.”
“I don’t need your help.”
