Page 75 of Tessa and Nash

But this morning? This morning, I’ve got a folder under my arm, Faith at my side, and the mayor of Buckhorn looking at my proposal eagerly. She might actually approve it instead of using it as kindling.

I’ll take it.

The Town Hall building always feels as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for somebody to make a mistake so it can write it down in triplicate.

Faith breezes in, scanning her surroundings.

Not in a rude way. In a you people are lucky I’m here way.

She’s wearing a chunky sweater the color of cinnamon and a sleek ponytail, and she’s got her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Her eyes flick to me, sharp and encouraging.

“You ready?” she asks.

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway, so let’s call that growth.”

She snorts. “That’s the spirit.”

We head down the hall to the meeting room. The one with the long table and the chairs that were designed to punish your spine for wanting comfort.

The door is open.

Mayor Ruth Caldwell sits at the head of the table, posture straight, hair smooth, blazer crisp enough it could cut glass. She was born holding a clipboard. Beside her is a binder thick enough to stop a bullet.

She looks up when we enter, and for one wild second, I expect skepticism. I expect the polite smile that says you’re cute, Nash, but no.

Instead, she nods. Just once.

“Mr. McCoy. Ms. Ross,” she says. “Thank you for coming.”

Faith gives her a bright professional smile. “Of course, Mayor Caldwell. We appreciate you making time.”

I swallow. My throat is suddenly too dry.

“Yeah,” I manage. “Thank you.”

We take our seats. I set my folder down carefully. I’m afraid that if I move too fast, the whole thing will shatter. Faith opens her laptop with a confident click. Her screen lights up, and I see a neat slideshow title:

McCoy Ranch Guest Ranch Proposal — Phase One

Mayor Caldwell folds her hands. “Alright. Let’s begin. You’ve submitted revised plans. I understand you’ve adjusted your environmental impact details and your projected revenue estimates.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, then immediately hate how small that sounds. I’m a kid asking permission to go outside.

I clear my throat. Sit up straighter.

“Yes,” I repeat, firmer. “We adjusted based on the feedback from the committee. We’re not trying to bulldoze the ranch into a tourist trap. This is controlled expansion. Small at first.”

Faith clicks to the first slide, and just like that, I can breathe again.

Because this isn’t the lie. This is the dream.

This is the thing that’s been living in my head for years, scratching at the inside of my ribs, and it wants out.

“We’re proposing a phased development,” Faith says smoothly, her tone warm but sharp. “Phase One includes renovating the existing guest house on the east edge of the property⁠—”

I jump in, hands moving without permission. “It’s already got a good foundation. We’d update plumbing, add insulation, fix the roof, and make it actually livable year-round.”

Mayor Caldwell makes a note.