Chapter Eight #2
Andre put him at the loading bay with three volunteers, two dollies, and a delivery truck full of produce, frozen poultry, dry goods, and industrial-size bags of rice that someone with a personal vendetta against lower backs had clearly packed.
Lennox was in shape. He worked out. He trained.
He could hold his own in most situations that required stamina.
The Full Plate Project loading dock did not care.
By the fifth stack of canned goods, his T-shirt clung to his back.
By the second pallet of potatoes, Andre had corrected his lifting form twice.
By the third round of Miss Dottie yelling from the kitchen that nobody better crush her tomatoes, Lennox had developed deep respect for every person who made food appear on shelves before the doors opened.
Lane passed through once with a clipboard and a smirk.
“You sweating, Jackson?”
He lifted a box onto the dolly. “Moisturized.”
“You look humbled.”
“I look helpful.”
“You look like community service is working you.”
Andre barked out a laugh.
Lennox pointed at Lane. “You enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
“I donated money.”
“And now you’re donating sweat. Full-circle philanthropy.”
He leaned close enough to lower his voice. “You like seeing me work.”
Lane’s eyes swept over his arms, then back to his face. “I like seeing you follow instructions.”
He smiled. “Give me some later.”
Her mouth opened.
Andre made a choking sound behind them.
Lane’s eyes narrowed, but color warmed her cheeks. “Unload your truck, criminal.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She walked away, and Lennox watched her go because he was a man with eyes who loved to see a perfectly round ass in motion.
Andre slapped a box against his chest. “Keep moving, lover boy.”
Lennox caught it with a grin. “Yes, sir.”
By the time the truck was empty, the food bank had opened.
Families moved through the front pantry with baskets.
Volunteers guided people down the aisles of shelves organized by category.
In the kitchen, steam clouded the pass window as containers of hot meals were lined up for pickup.
Ms. Cora seemed to know everyone’s name and preferred cereal brand.
Marisol moved through it all with her tablet, solving problems before most people noticed them.
Lennox washed his hands in the back, accepted a paper towel from a volunteer who looked at him as if she were still deciding whether he was fine or felonious, then went looking for Lane.
He found her near the side hallway that led to the administrative offices. Her face was balled up but not in an irritated manner. Her jaw was tight, and her shoulders squared. Her smile was so polite it could have drawn blood.
The man standing in front of her was a stocky Black man in a poorly fitted gray suit that pulled too tightly across his middle and shined at the elbows.
His tie was too short. His shoes were too glossy.
His smile had the oily confidence of somebody who had practiced looking harmless in mirrors and failed anyway.
Lennox slowed, and Lane’s eyes shifted to him.
“Everything okay?” he asked, stopping beside Lane.
The man turned, eyes sweeping Lennox from head to toe before his smile expanded. “Everything’s fine. Just having a business conversation with Ms. Sanders.”
Lennox looked at Lane. Her face said, I’m going to explain later and possibly commit a misdemeanor before lunch.
The man extended his hand. “Curtis Bell. Community acquisition consultant.”
Lennox shook his hand. “Lennox Jackson.”
Curtis’s smile flickered. He knew the name. Not well enough to be afraid yet, but enough to reassess the room.
Good.
Lennox released his hand. “Community acquisition consultant?”
Curtis chuckled. “Sounds fancier than it is. I help developers and communities find mutually beneficial pathways when neighborhoods start changing.”
Lane’s smile sharpened. “Gentrification with a thesaurus.”
Curtis gave a soft laugh, though his eyes hardened. “Ms. Sanders has a wonderful sense of humor.”
“She does,” Lennox said. “Especially when people waste her time.”
Lane coughed.
Curtis adjusted his jacket. “I was just telling Ms. Sanders we admire what she’s built here.
Truly. The Full Plate Project is a beautiful community resource.
But this area is evolving. Major opportunities are coming to this corridor, and sometimes legacy organizations need support transitioning into spaces that better fit their next chapter. ”
Lennox heard the threat beneath the polish.
He had spent his entire life listening to powerful men make harm sound like progress.
Lane’s voice stayed cool. “And I was just telling Mr. Bell that The Full Plate Project is exactly where it needs to be.”
Curtis nodded as if she were a child making a point with crayons.
“Of course. Of course. We simply want to open a dialogue. If a new, state-of-the-art facility became available, one with modern equipment, more square footage, updated parking, perhaps in a less congested area, we’d hope you would consider the possibilities. ”
“Inaccessible possibilities,” Lane said.
“Different does not always mean inaccessible.”
“It does when the people who need us most can’t get there.”
His smile thinned. “There are always transportation solutions.”
“Are you funding those too?”
Curtis’s eyes flicked briefly toward Lennox before returning to Lane. “We’re not here to argue logistics today.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To keep communication open.”
Lane’s smile did not move. “Consider it open and concluded.”
Lennox almost laughed.
Curtis’s jaw shifted.
“Well,” Curtis said, sliding a business card from inside his jacket. “I’ll leave my card. These conversations tend to become more urgent with time.”
There it was.
Lane’s expression did not change, but Lennox felt the temperature of his own blood drop.
Curtis held the card out.
Lane did not take it.
Lennox did.
Curtis looked at him.
Lennox slipped the card into his pocket. “I’ll make sure she has it.”
Curtis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I didn’t realize you were part of the organization.”
“I’m on call.”
Lane made a sound that might have been a laugh if she had not been so angry.
Curtis took a step back. “Ms. Sanders, I hope you’ll think carefully. Change is coming to this corridor whether we like it or not. It would be unfortunate for The Full Plate Project to end up on the wrong side of it.”
Lennox stepped half an inch forward.
Not much.
Enough that Curtis noticed, and so did Lane.
Lennox smiled calmly. “Drive safe, Curtis.”
The man’s gaze held his for one beat too long. Then he nodded, adjusted his too-tight jacket, and walked toward the exit.
Lennox waited until Curtis disappeared through the front doors before turning to Lane. “No.”
Lane looked at him. “No?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”
“You’re about to say you have it handled.”
“I do.”
“And I’m saying no.”
Her brows lifted. “You’re very brave saying no to me inside my own food bank.”
“I’m also sweaty and underfed. Dangerous combination.”
Despite herself, her mouth twitched.
Lennox nodded toward the hallway. “Office?”
Lane looked over his shoulder at the pantry floor, then sighed. “Five minutes.”
Her office was small but organized with two desks.
There was a wall calendar full of color-coded notes.
Shelves stacked with binders and a framed photo of Lane, Nova, and Cadence standing in front of the building with their arms around one another.
A second frame held a poem written in Lane’s own handwriting, though Lennox didn’t dare read it without permission.
Growth.
Look at him.
Lane closed the door and leaned against it. “That man all but threatened me.”
“I noticed.”
“He works for some developer trying to buy up half this corridor. They’ve been sniffing around for months, but this is the first time they sent somebody to my face.”
Lennox pulled Curtis’s card from his pocket.
Curtis Bell. Bell Community Strategies. Acquisition & Transition Consultant.
Transition consultant.
He hated that.
“He said your food bank is blocking a land deal?”
“Not in those exact words, but yes.” Lane crossed her arms. “The developer wants the whole strip. Boutique apartments and retail. Some wellness concept and probably a coffee shop that charges nine dollars for oat milk and cold foam.”
Lennox’s mouth twitched. “Sounds accurate.”
“The problem is this building sits in the middle of their pretty little plan. We have a lease for now, and I’ve been fighting to buy the building outright before the owner caves to pressure.
” Her jaw tightened. “Curtis came to suggest that if they found us a new state-of-the-art facility, we should consider moving.”
“You said no.”
“Hell no. They’d move us somewhere pretty and useless.
Out by the highway or some industrial park with terrible bus access and no foot traffic.
Our people can get here. Seniors walk here.
Kids stop by after school. Mothers come after work because the bus drops them two blocks away.
” Her eyes flashed. “A shiny building doesn’t feed anybody if nobody can reach it. ”