By the time Emily reached the town hall, the square outside was already filling with people. The air held the clean chill that followed rain, and puddles still reflected the uneven sky. She stepped carefully over wet leaves scattered along the steps, balancing the folder under her arm like a fragile promise.  

Inside, the hall smelled of old wood and damp coats. The ceiling beams curved like ribs, the kind of architecture built when people still believed in permanence. Rows of folding chairs were arranged in uneven lines facing the small podium. She recognized faces—shop owners, former classmates, elderly residents who had known her parents. Their conversations dropped into low murmurs when she walked in.  

Mayor Collins stood near the front, tie slightly crooked, rehearsing his speech with the help of a young assistant. He noticed her and smiled in that calculated way that never reached his eyes.  

“Ms. Rhodes,” he said, his tone practiced. “We appreciate your presence. The community’s eager to hear your assessment.”  

“I’m sure they are.”  

She found an empty seat near the middle. The folder rested on her lap, heavy despite its thinness. Beside her, an old man coughed softly into his sleeve. Across the room, Liam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. Their eyes met briefly. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that meant both everything and nothing.  

The meeting began with the scrape of a microphone. Collins launched into his speech, a rhythm of words Emily had heard a hundred times before—growth, opportunity, modernization. He painted pictures of glass buildings and job creation, the kind of optimism that required demolition first.  

When her turn came, she walked to the podium. Her heels clicked softly against the wooden floor, echoing louder than she intended. She adjusted the microphone and scanned the room.  

“The redevelopment plan,” she began, “has potential. But potential doesn’t justify erasing history. Some areas—like Maple Street—hold structural and cultural value that cannot be replaced.”  

A murmur swept through the room.  

“We can’t build something meaningful by pretending the past never happened.”  

Collins gave a strained chuckle. “Ms. Rhodes, sentiment is admirable, but sentiment doesn’t generate revenue.”  

“No,” she said, “but it keeps people here long enough to make revenue possible.”  

The hall went still. Then a woman near the back started to clap, slow and deliberate. Others joined—hesitant at first, then sure. The sound rose like rain on rooftops.  

Collins’s smile tightened. “Let’s keep order, please.”  

She stepped down, heart pounding, and returned to her seat. Liam’s eyes followed her all the way.  

After the meeting adjourned, the crowd spilled outside. The late-afternoon light stretched long across the square. People gathered in small clusters, debating, complaining, hoping. Emily stayed near the steps, exhaling slowly.  

“You handled him well,” Liam said behind her.  

“I wasn’t trying to.”  

“Could’ve fooled me.”  

He handed her a paper cup of coffee. “The diner’s serving free refills for protestors.”  

“Guess that makes me one now.”  

“Welcome to the club.”  

They stood side by side watching the people disperse. The banners that had been held high minutes ago now drooped in the fading light.  

“Do you think any of this will change his mind?”  

“Collins? Maybe not. But it reminded people the town’s still theirs.”  

“You sound like someone running for office.”  

“God forbid. I prefer fixing things that actually stay fixed.”  

A gust of wind swept through the square, sending a protest poster tumbling across the ground. She bent to pick it up. The ink bled slightly: SAVE HOLLOW CREEK. She folded it and tucked it under her arm.  

“You’re really staying, aren’t you?”  

“For now.”  

“That’s enough.”  

They lingered until the square was empty. Streetlamps flickered on, painting halos across the wet pavement.  

“Coffee’s still warm.”  

“You still put too much sugar.”  

“Still tastes better than that city blend you drink.”  

“You wouldn’t survive a week in New York.”  

“I barely survived two days.”  

“You came back early.”  

“Couldn’t stand the noise.”  

“And me?”  

“Couldn’t stand missing you more.”  

She looked away. “You always know how to ruin a neutral conversation.”  

“It’s a gift.”  

They walked toward her car in silence. The air was cooling fast, smelling of rain and asphalt.  

At the edge of the lot, he stopped. “You’re fighting a hard battle, Emily.”  

“So are you.”  

“Difference is, I don’t have to convince myself why I’m here.”  

“Maybe I’m still learning.”  

“Then keep learning. Don’t let them decide what’s worth saving.”  

The streetlight flickered overhead, turning his face half in shadow.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

“You always do.”  

He watched as she drove away, her taillights glowing red across the wet street. The poster slipped from under his arm and landed face-up in a puddle. The ink blurred, the words dissolving into gray. Still, he bent to pick it up, smoothed the paper carefully, and carried it with him into the dark.