Chapter 21 #2
She swallowed. “Could we include Bryn’s husband?” she asked. “He’s not from here, but this would… matter to him.”
Liz’s expression softened. “If he’s willing to write something or Zoom in, yes,” she said. “It would carry weight.”
Bree nodded slowly. The lump in her throat grew, but it wasn’t all panic now. Some of it was something fiercer.
“I’ll call him,” she said. “Today.”
Jason tapped the blueprint. “From my end, I’ll make sure all the plans emphasize safety and noise mitigation,” he said. “We show them this isn’t some fly-by-night rave spot. We’re talking family workshops and engine rebuilds, not all-night EDM.”
“Thank you,” Bree said.
“We’re not walking away, Bree,” Hank whispered. “Not unless every door slams so hard we’re bleeding. And even then, we’ll probably look for a window.”
She looked at him, at this man who’d once threatened to build barricades around her studio because the glass looked flimsy. The terror hadn’t vanished. But it sat alongside something else now. Resolve.
“Okay,” she said. “Then let’s fight for it.”
She called Charlie from the sidewalk around the corner, where the noise of Bay Street thinned, and the gulls seemed louder.
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.
“Love you too,” he replied. “Now go buy a building. I have to call Gracie and tell her I'm sorry I balked at her having a boyfriend.”
That night, back in her hotel room, she curled against Hank on the bed, paperwork spread across the comforter like a second quilt.
“We sign the special use application tomorrow,” he said, tapping the page. “Jason’s already filled in most of it. Liz added some notes in mayor-ese.”
She traced the line where their names appeared together: applicants Hank James, Aubree Spencer.
“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked quietly. “If the board drags it out, we could be bleeding money for months.”
“We’ll adjust,” he said. “Scale back some of the initial studio stuff, ramp up the shop work. I can take more rebuild contracts, and Colby can pick up consulting. Brian’s already talking about merchandising.”
“Brian’s always talking about merchandising,” she said.
“True,” he said. “Point is, we’ll flex. I meant what I said today. I’m more scared of not trying.”
She studied his face, the faint grooves near his eyes, the steady line of his mouth. He’d carried weight before. Different, heavier. This was a different kind of load. Chosen.
“You make it sound easy,” she said.
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s worth it.”
He set the papers aside and tugged her closer, rolling so she sprawled partly on top of him. Heat slid between them, familiar and new all at once.
“You know what else is worth it?” he asked.
She smiled, slowly. “I have a guess.”
Their mouths met, the connection immediate; the paper rustled beneath her elbow as she braced herself, laughter bubbling up even as desire curled low in her belly.
“Careful,” she said against his lips. “If we crumple the application, the board will definitely deny us.”
“We’ll just tell them we stress-tested it,” he murmured.
They didn’t go as far as they had on the boat; clothes stayed mostly on, bodies aligned in a slow, rocking rhythm that left both of them flushed and breathing harder, the kind of release that felt like letting go of breath they’d been holding all day.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the dim lamplight, the muffled sounds of the harbor drifting through the slightly open window.
“Tomorrow,” he said into her hair, “we'll deal with all of this.”
“Tonight,” she said, tracing circles on his chest, “we rest. Because apparently being brave is exhausting.”
His chest rose and fell under her hand, steady. “Good thing we’re in training,” he said.
She smiled against his skin, eyes slipping closed. Scared and hopeful, tired and wired. On the edge of something.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t look for a way off the ledge.