Chapter 8 Lacy
LACY
The email arrives at six in the morning, three lines of bureaucratic courtesy that might as well be a summons.
Valuable. Like I'm evidence in a trial instead of a person trying to keep her business alive.
I forward it to Tess before my coffee finishes brewing.
Her response is immediate. Don't panic. We prep today.
Too late for the first part.
The apartment feels too quiet without Stone. He left hours ago for his meeting with Darius, and the space still smells like him. Woodsmoke and something earthy I can't name. My sheets are a disaster. My body aches in places that make me flush thinking about last night.
Worth it. All of it.
Even if the city's about to use us as ammunition.
I shower, dress in clothes that feel like armor. Gray slacks, white blouse, cardigan that says "responsible small business owner who makes sensible choices." The kind of outfit Evan would approve of.
The thought makes me want to burn it.
My phone dings. Stone.
Meeting ran long. Blair's pushing hard. Call you after?
Yes. Be careful.
Always.
The lie is sweet enough that I almost believe it.
The bookstore opens at nine. I'm there by eight, sorting inventory that doesn't need sorting, rearranging displays that were fine yesterday. Nervous energy with nowhere useful to go.
Tess arrives with pastries and a manila folder thick enough to be threatening.
"Okay." She drops everything on the table. "Let's talk strategy."
"There's strategy for being publicly examined about who I'm sleeping with?"
"There's strategy for everything." She flips open the folder. Articles, printed emails, screenshots of social media posts. All neatly tabbed and highlighted. "Blair's narrative is how the program lacks oversight and creates inappropriate situations. She's using you and Stone as Exhibit A."
"Because we're together."
"Because you're visible together." Tess pulls out a page covered in talking points. "We spin this as a success story. The program facilitated cultural exchange and economic partnership. Stone's contributions to your business are measurable. Everything else is private."
"They're not going to care about private."
"Then we make them care about measurable." She taps the page. "Increased foot traffic since Stone started helping. Social media engagement. The festival booth numbers. We show them data, not drama."
I scan the talking points. They're good. Clinical. Everything reduced to metrics and outcomes.
It feels like erasing what actually matters.
"What if I just tell the truth?"
Tess looks at me like I suggested streaking through the council chambers. "Which truth? That you fell for an orc you barely know and now the whole city's treating it like a circus?"
"That the program works exactly how it should. It brings people together. Sometimes that's complicated, but complicated doesn't mean wrong."
"Lacy."
"I'm not going to stand up there and pretend this is just business partnership. That's what they want. Reduce it to something safe and forgettable." I push the talking points back across the counter. "Stone's not a line item. Neither am I."
Tess is quiet for a long moment. Then she sighs. "You're going to give me an ulcer."
"Probably."
"Fine. We do it your way. But we prep answers for the ugly questions. Because they will ask ugly questions."
"I know."
We spend the next two hours running scenarios. Tess plays Blair, all pointed insinuation and concern-trolling. By the eleventh round I want to throw something.
"How does your relationship with Mr. Venn affect your judgment as a grant recipient?"
"It doesn't. My business decisions are based on community need and financial sustainability."
"Some might say accepting help from a placement worker creates a conflict of interest."
"Some might say rejecting help based on species creates a bigger one."
Tess breaks character. "Okay, don't say that last part."
"Why not?"
"Because calling out racism, even politely, makes you the problem in their eyes." She rubs her temples. "I know it's unfair. But this hearing isn't about what's right. It's about what they can justify."
The bell above the door goes off. Aunt Rene shuffles in, wrapped in her purple cardigan and carrying a small paper bag.
"You feeding my niece? She gets mean when she's hungry."
Tess grins. "Working on it."
Rene surveys the spread of papers and pastries. "This the hearing prep?"
"How did you—"
"Gladys saw the email. Her daughter works in the council office." Rene settles into the reading chair by the window like she owns it. "Whole neighborhood's talking."
Great. Exactly what I need.
"They taking bets on how badly Blair's gonna try to bury you?"
"Aunt Rene."
"What? I put five dollars on you making her cry. Seemed optimistic." She pats the chair beside her. "Come sit. Your friend can spare you five minutes."
Tess waves me off. "I'll organize this mess."
I join Rene by the window. Outside, the street's starting to fill with morning traffic. Normal people doing normal things, nobody testifying about their love life to hostile politicians.
"You doing okay, honey?"
The question cracks something. I've been so busy preparing, strategizing, building walls against what's coming. Nobody's asked if I'm actually okay.
"I don't know."
Rene nods like that's the right answer. "Your mama was like this too. Got all twisted up when something mattered, trying to logic her way through feelings."
"What did she do?"
"Usually? Made herself sick." Rene pats my hand. "But sometimes she'd stop fighting so hard and just let herself want something. Those were the good times."
I think about Stone's hands on me last night. The way he looked at me like I was precious and fierce and exactly right. No calculation, no strategy. Just wanting.
"I'm scared I'm going to ruin this."
"The business or the boy?"
"Both. Either." I lean my head on her shoulder. "Everything feels so big right now."
"That's love, baby. Always does." Rene reaches into her paper bag, pulls out something small wrapped in tissue. "Your granddad gave me this before we got married. Said it was for courage."
She unwraps it carefully. A little metal compass, tarnished but still functional. The kind you'd carry hiking.
"We were supposed to elope. Go out west where nobody cared that I was marrying below my station." Rene's voice goes soft with memory. "My parents threatened to disown me. His family said I'd ruin him with my fancy ideas. Whole town had opinions."
"What happened?"
"We went anyway. Took this compass and forty dollars and a truck that barely ran." She turns it over in her palm. "Got lost twice, broke down in Nevada, ate nothing but truck stop coffee for three days. Worst and best decision I ever made."
"But you came back."
"Eventually. After we'd proven we weren't asking permission anymore." She presses the compass into my hand. "Point is, sometimes the risky thing is the right thing. And people who love you will come around or they won't, but that's on them."
The metal is warm from her pocket. The needle spins, settles, points steady north.
"I want you to have it. For Wednesday."
"Aunt Rene, I can't—"
"You can and you will." She closes my fingers around it. "You're gonna stand up there and tell them true things, and some folks'll hate it. But you'll know which direction you're facing. That matters."
My throat goes tight. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You still gotta actually do it." She hauls herself up with a grunt. "Now I'm going to Gladys's for bridge. You keep feeding yourself and don't let that girl talk you into being boring."
Tess looks up, innocent. "I would never."
"Uh huh." Rene waves and shuffles out, purple cardigan flapping.
The compass sits heavy in my palm. I tuck it into my pocket, feeling the weight settle against my hip.
Tess watches me. "Family heirloom?"
"Something like that."
"Good. You'll need all the backup you can get." She taps a new page. "Now let's talk about what happens if they ask about Stone's background directly."
We work until lunch, until my head hurts and I've memorized responses to questions I hope they never ask. Tess finally declares us as ready as we're going to get and heads out to handle her actual clients.
I'm alone in the bookstore when Stone calls.
"How bad is it?"
His voice is rough. Tired. "They're recommending suspending new placements pending review. Current matches stay for now, but under 'enhanced monitoring.'"
"What does that mean?"
"Monthly check-ins. Reports on integration success. Basically treating us like we're on probation." He exhales hard. "Darius is fighting it, but Blair's got three votes locked already. She just needs one more."
"And the hearing?"
"That's where she gets it. Public pressure, sympathetic testimonials from 'concerned citizens.' She's building a case."
I think about the talking points Tess prepared. The safe, boring version of our story that erases everything real.
"We can't let her control the narrative."
"Lacy—"
"I mean it. If we go in there defensive, acting like we have something to apologize for, we've already lost."
Silence. Then, quieter: "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we tell the truth. Not the sanitized version. The real one." I grip the compass. "That the program worked exactly how it should. It brought us together. And yeah, that got complicated and messy and very public, but complicated doesn't mean failed."
"They'll tear us apart."
"Maybe. Or maybe we show them something worth protecting." I rest at the counter, watching dust motes drift through afternoon sunlight. "I'm testifying Wednesday. So are you, I assume?"
"Darius wants me to."
"Good. Then we do this together."
Another pause. I hear street noise on his end, voices, the rumble of traffic.
"I love you."
The words hit like a shock of cold water. We haven't said it yet. Danced around it, implied it, showed it in a hundred ways. But hearing it plain, in his voice, steady despite everything—