“I’ll fix it,” I say finally. “Even if I have to turn that dunk tank into a ‘foam splash photo booth’ or get the mayor’s nephew to co-sign a temporary variance.”
Dylan smiles. “Now that sounds like the Addison Bennett I know.”
But the fireflies don’t look quite as magical anymore. And the playlist humming through the speakers feels like a reminder: we still have work to do. And not just pie and string lights. Politics. Permits. Pull.
This fundraiser might be personal — but it’s also going to be a fight.
And I’m not about to lose.
25
BREWING UP TROUBLE
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 25
Dylan
Beans & Brew hums with its usual cozy chaos, and Lucas?* is frantically fixing the espresso machine, probably for the third time this morning. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mingles with buttery pastries, creating an aroma that could ease the worst of mornings. I settle into a booth by the window, drumming my fingers on the worn tabletop and wondering exactly when coffee dates became nerve-wracking.
Outside, sunlight dapples the sidewalk as Addison walks up, golden highlights catching in her hair like sparks. She pauses just beyond the door, scanning the coffee shop with an expression that brightens instantly upon spotting me. My stomach does that funny little flip it’s grown fond of lately, the nervous energy sharpening into anticipation. She strides inside confidently, greeting familiar faces with effortless warmth before sliding into the seat across from me and dropping her planner onto the table.
“Sorry I’m late. Just got an urgent text from the client about the New Year’s Eve party at Town Square.” She rolls her eyes affectionately, her smile making the corners of her eyes crinkle slightly.
“Was it really urgent, or a social committee urgent?” I tease.
She laughs, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Definitely social committee urgent. Apparently, choosing between ice sculptures or fire dancers could determine the fate of the evening.”
Lucas, the charismatic owner of Beans & Brew, ambles up to our table, a dishrag thrown casually over his shoulder, eyes dancing mischievously. “Fancy seeing you two here. You know, I might start charging a matchmaking fee.”
Addison raises a playful eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Careful, Lucas, or we might start billing you for providing endless entertainment.”
Lucas chuckles heartily. “Touché. What shall I get you?”
“The coffee station working?” Addy quips.
“For now, so don’t take too long to order.”
“Cappuccino for Addison, plain and painfully boring black coffee for me.” I say.
“Painfully boring?” Addy chuckles.
Dylan shrugs. “When the shoe fits.”
Addison laughs, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s time to branch out, Dylan.”
I press a hand theatrically to my heart. “You’re both traitors.”
Lucas smirks, clearly enjoying our banter. “I’ll take that as confirmation.” He strolls back toward the counter, still chuckling.
“So,” Addison begins, flipping open her notebook to a fresh page, pen poised, “let’s tackle this dunk tank disaster.”
I lean back, chuckling wryly. “Disaster might be an understatement. Town hall’s last email basically said ‘don’t hold your breath.’”
Addison wrinkles her nose in mock disgust. “Well, they haven’t dealt with us yet.”
“Us?” My pulse quickens slightly at her casual confidence.
“Teamwork makes the dream work, right?” she quips, nudging my foot gently beneath the table.
