There’s a ripple of laughter.
Benjamin blinks.
Finn whispers, “Oh, she came armed.”
Zane doesn’t look at me, but his shoulder relaxes a fraction.
I press on. “If the concern is safety, then review safety protocols. If the concern is licensing, review licensing. But vague references to ‘history’ feel more like… gossip.”
Benjamin’s smile tightens.
Mayor Hartwell nods slowly. “Noted.”
Ryder is staring at me like I just stepped into traffic.
But there’s more in his expression too.
Pride.
Which I will absolutely not unpack right now.
The meeting dissolves into chair scraping and murmurs.
Outside, the evening air feels cooler than it should.
Finn exhales. “Well. That was fun.”
“That was not fun,” I say.
“That was moderately fun.”
Zane opens the passenger door of Ryder’s truck without comment.
Ryder remains a second.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
He studies me. “They’re trying to box us.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “They’re bad at it.”
His mouth almost curves, which, honestly, could be a civic victory.
We pile into the truck in that slightly too quiet way people do after something public and humiliating but technically “civil.” Ryder drives. Zane rides shotgun. Finn and I are in the back, because apparently I’m now escorted at all times.
Main Street slides by outside the window, string lights beaming, storefronts closing, the town looking deceptively peaceful.
“I give it twenty minutes before Dottie captions that ‘Concerned Citizens Demand Accountability,’” Finn says.
“Thirty,” I counter. “She’ll need time to pick a dramatic filter.”
Zane glances at the rearview mirror. “Ignore it.”
“Can’t,” Finn replies lightly. “It’s going to grow legs.”
Ryder’s hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. “We’ll handle it.”
