Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
I check my reflection again, fixing a rebellious hair strand. Despite arriving fifteen minutes early, the Town Hall parking lot is already half-full.
"You're just rebranding a town," I tell myself. "Not donating a kidney."
My stomach knots anyway as I collect my portfolio. I've spent days researching Meadowbrook's history and preparing materials I'm already second-guessing.
The imposing brick Town Hall with its white columns looks quintessentially New England. I adjust my blazer and take a deep breath.
Inside, I follow signs to Conference Room B, my heels announcing my arrival with each step. Outside the door, I hear comfortable laughter.
You could leave. Claim a flat tire. Food poisoning. Spontaneous combustion.
I enter before I can reconsider.
Six people turn to look at me. The small conference room features an oak table, blank whiteboard, and sad coffee station.
"You must be Eva!" A silver-haired woman approaches. "I'm Margie Henderson, Town Council secretary."
"Thanks for having me," I reply, surprisingly steady.
She introduces everyone: Harold from the historical society, Margaret from the bookstore, Tom from the Chamber of Commerce, Lisa from tourism, and Betty who's lived here "since dinosaurs roamed."
"And our chair should be—ah, perfect timing!"
The door opens and the room's energy shifts. I turn to see James Adams.
Photos don't capture him. He's tall with commanding presence, dark hair silvered at the temples, eyes crinkling when he smiles—which he's doing now.
"Sorry I'm late. Traffic on Main." He scans the room until his gaze finds me. "You must be Eva Miller."
"That's me." Our handshake is warm and solid. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I've been looking at your portfolio. Impressive work."
"You looked me up?"
His mouth quirks. "I like to be prepared."
"Of course you do," I reply, immediately fearing it sounds sarcastic. But he just laughs genuinely.
"Let's get started, shall we?" James gestures toward the table. "I think we've got a full house now."
I take a seat between Margie and Margaret (that won't be confusing at all), opening my portfolio and trying to look like I belong here. James remains standing, moving to the front of the room with easy confidence.
"Welcome, everyone, to our first Meadowbrook Branding Committee meeting. I appreciate your time and expertise." James makes eye contact with each person. "Before we dive in, let's introduce ourselves—share why you care about Meadowbrook's image."
Everyone shares their connections. Harold mentions preserving history while moving forward. Margaret wants to attract diverse businesses. Tom discusses economic development.
When my turn comes, I clear my throat. "I'm Eva Miller, freelance UX designer. I've only lived here eight months, so I'm still learning about Meadowbrook. But fresh eyes can be valuable. I care about creating authentic experiences that connect people to places."
"Fresh perspective is exactly what we need," James nods, writing "Meadowbrook Brand Refresh" on the whiteboard with bullet points for "Goals," "Timeline," and "Deliverables."
"Our current branding is fifteen years old and no longer reflects our community," he explains, displaying the logo: a generic tree with "Meadowbrook: A Place to Call Home."
I make an involuntary noise: half-snort, half-cough.
James raises an eyebrow. "Something to add?"
My cheeks burn. "It's very... 2005. And that tree could be anywhere. Nothing distinctive about it."
"What would you suggest instead?"
"I'd want to research more, but Meadowbrook has that beautiful covered bridge, the river, historic downtown with distinctive lampposts..." I trail off. "Sorry, didn't mean to jump ahead."
"No, that's exactly the feedback we need. Eva's right. Our branding could be any small town. We need something uniquely Meadowbrook." Then he surprises me: "I propose working in pairs. Eva, since you've got design expertise but are new, why don't you partner with me?"
"That makes sense," I manage. "I'd appreciate the local insight."
The meeting continues for another hour. James outlines the six-week timeline, proving organized and surprisingly open to input.
When we exchange contact information, he says quietly, "Most people here are very careful about what they say to me."
Before I can ask what he means, we're setting the next meeting.
As everyone leaves, James pulls me aside. "Could we meet Tuesday at three, Meadowbrook Brew?"
"Tuesday works."
He hands me his card with his cell number. "I'm looking forward to working together. I've been hoping to shake things up around here."
"Well, you've partnered with the right person for that. Shaking things up is my specialty."
His smile widens. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Walking to my car, I realize I somehow ended up partnered with the committee chair—a man who seems genuinely interested in my ideas, who looked at my portfolio beforehand, and who wants to shake things up.
Tuesday at three. This rebranding might be more interesting than I thought.
Tuesday afternoon finds me arriving at Meadowbrook Brew fifteen minutes early, laptop and portfolio in tow. The coffee shop is busy but not crowded, with a mix of students, remote workers, and people catching up over cappuccinos.
I claim a table by the window, ordering a latte to calm my inexplicable nerves. It's just a work meeting. With the town's most prominent citizen. Who I contradicted within five minutes of meeting him.
Totally normal.
At precisely three o'clock, the door opens and James walks in. Several heads turn—a reaction he seems oblivious to as he scans the room. When he spots me, his professional smile transforms into something warmer, more genuine.
"Eva. Right on time." He slides into the chair opposite me, setting down a leather portfolio that probably costs more than my entire outfit.
"Actually, I was early," I admit. "Chronic punctuality disorder."
"A condition I share." He glances at my half-empty latte. "Mind if I grab a coffee before we dive in?"
"Please do."
While James orders, I take the opportunity to observe him without the pressure of direct interaction.
In the casual setting of the coffee shop, he seems slightly more relaxed than at the meeting, though still very much put-together in his button-down shirt and tailored slacks.
He chats easily with the barista, who's practically beaming at the attention.
He returns with a simple black coffee. "So, tell me what you've discovered about our little town in your research."
I open my laptop. "Well, I did a deep dive into Meadowbrook's history. Did you know the town was almost named Riverdale until someone pointed out there were already three Riverdales in the state?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I did not know that. Where did you find that tidbit?"
"Historical society archives. They've digitized a lot of their records." I turn the screen toward him, showing a scanned newspaper from 1802. "It's actually fascinating how much debate went into the naming. There was a whole faction pushing for 'Adams Settlement' after the founding family."
"My ancestors, actually," James says casually.
I freeze. "Wait—you're descended from the town founders?"
He winces slightly. "Distantly. It's not something I usually mention."
"Because people might expect you to live up to some historical legacy?"
The question slips out before I can censor it, and I immediately regret the presumption. But James looks at me with something like surprise.
"That's... perceptive," he says slowly. "Most people just think it's interesting trivia."
"Sorry. I tend to see connections where others see facts. Occupational hazard of being a designer." I hurriedly change the subject. "Anyway, I've been looking at other town rebrandings for inspiration. The successful ones all capture something authentic and distinctive about the place."
James leans forward, seemingly relieved by the shift in topic. "What stands out to you about Meadowbrook? As a newcomer, what's distinctive?"
I consider this. "The river, obviously. But it's more than that—it's how the town has grown around the river rather than trying to contain it. The way the parks and paths follow its natural flow."
"Like the town respects the landscape rather than imposing on it?"
"Exactly!" I pull up some photos I've taken. "And these historic buildings downtown—they've been maintained but not sterilized. They have character, little quirks. The crooked weathervane on the clocktower. The mismatched bricks on the library where they did repairs after the flood of 1923."
James watches me with an intensity that would be unnerving if it didn't feel so...appreciative. Like he's genuinely interested in my observations.
"What else?" he prompts.
"The people," I say without thinking. "Everyone knows everyone. When I go to the farmers' market, the apple guy remembers I like Honeycrisps. The barista here knows my order. It's connected without being intrusive."
"Mostly," James says with a small smile.
"Mostly?"
"Small towns can be a bit...watchful."
"You'd know better than I would." I hesitate, then add, "It must be challenging sometimes, being so well-known here."
Something shifts in his expression—a momentary dropping of the mask. "It has its complications."
"Like everyone expecting you to have all the answers?" The words are out before I can stop them.
James looks startled, then gives a small laugh. "You really don't hold back, do you?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Sorry. I told you: filter not included."
"Don't apologize." He shakes his head. "It's actually... nice. Most people tiptoe around me. Or worse, they assume they know everything about me already."
Our eyes meet across the table, and for a moment, there's a strange sense of recognition. Like we both know what it's like to be seen but not really seen.
The moment stretches, then breaks as James clears his throat and looks down at his portfolio. "I've been thinking about what you said regarding the town logo. You're right that it could represent anywhere. What if we focused on the covered bridge as a central motif?"
We spend the next hour bouncing ideas back and forth, our conversation flowing with surprising ease. James has an impressive grasp of design principles for someone outside the field, and he listens to my suggestions without defensiveness.
"We should probably wrap up," he says eventually, glancing at his watch. "I've got another commitment at five."
"Of course." I start gathering my notes. "This was productive. I think we've got a solid direction for Thursday's meeting."
"Definitely." He pauses, then adds, "I'm glad we were paired together, Eva. Your perspective is valuable... and not just because you're new to town."
The compliment catches me off guard. "Thanks. You're not what I expected either."
"Oh? What did you expect?"
I hesitate, then decide honesty is better than awkward backpedaling. "Someone more controlling. Less open to criticism of the status quo."
Instead of being offended, he laughs. "Fair enough. My reputation does tend to precede me."
"For what it's worth, I like the real version better."
The words hang in the air between us, more personal than I intended. James looks at me with an expression I can't quite decipher.
"That means more than you know," he says quietly.
As we walk out of the coffee shop together, I'm struck by how different this interaction has been from what I anticipated. James Adams isn't just the polished community leader everyone describes. There's depth there, complexity, maybe even a hint of the same kind of loneliness I sometimes feel.
"See you Thursday," he says at the curb, extending his hand.
I take it, feeling again the warmth and solidity of his grip. "Thursday."
He holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then turns and walks toward his car: a sensible but expensive-looking sedan that somehow perfectly matches his persona.
I watch him go, a strange flutter in my chest that I refuse to examine too closely. It's just the satisfaction of a productive meeting, I tell myself. Just the relief of finding a project partner who values my input.
Nothing more complicated than that.
Right?