Page 14 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“We didn’t survive recessions and hurricanes just to get bulldozed for chain restaurants with their headquarters in Charlotte.”
She’s brilliant at this, and growing admiration and mild panic spread through my chest. She’s displaying the kind of leadership that comes from caring about individual lives.
“I’m not anti-progress,” Michelle says, her voice softening just enough to sound reasonable rather than radical. “But real progress builds on what already works instead of replacing it. It strengthens what we have instead of bulldozing it for the promise of something shinier.”
She sits to thunderous applause, and I’ve just been thoroughly outplayed by a beautiful woman who probably learned community organizing through church committees and book club meetings.
The public comment parade stretches for nearly an hour. Economic supporters speak up—families needing jobs that don’trequire hour-long commutes, young couples eyeing moves to bigger cities, retirees worried about declining property values. But Michelle’s army dominates: longtime residents, business owners, families who value the kind of place where everyone knows your name and half your business.
Caroline Sanders, Michelle’s apprentice in world-saving, approaches the microphone with practiced confidence. She looks straight at me, and Michelle’s influence is written all over that steady, unflinching gaze. “I don’t want to leave Twin Waves after college. I grew up here, and when I was having a hard time after my parents’ divorce, the town was here for me. But I also don’t want it to become a postcard version of itself—all the charm preserved under glass while the real community gets priced out.”
She pauses before delivering what feels like a personally targeted question: “Can’t development serve the people who actually live here instead of the people who might visit here?”
The applause for Caroline is even louder than what Michelle received, probably because half the audience helped heal her after her parents’ divorce and the other half taught her in Sunday school or hired her to babysit their kids.
Mayor Waters finally calls mercy after promising additional community input sessions that nobody appears excited about. As people file out, conversations continue in tight clusters throughout the room. Battle lines are clearly drawn: economic necessity on one side, preservation at all costs on the other, with plenty of folks caught somewhere in the middle trying to figure out if there’s a third option nobody’s mentioned yet.
Scott materializes beside me like he’s been waiting for the crowd to thin out. “Well. That was educational.”
“Could’ve been worse,” I say.
“The Cooper kid asked a fair question,” he admits with grudging respect. “About serving existing residents first.”
Michelle accepts congratulations from her troops, and an uncomfortable knot forms in my chest. She has this way of making every person feel important and heard, and I’m beginning to understand why the whole town would follow her into battle against whatever threatens their community.
“I keep thinking about sustainable development,” I say, which surprises me almost as much as it surprises Scott.
He raises an eyebrow. “Sustainable how?”
“Development that builds on what’s already here instead of replacing everything.” The words feel strange but right, as if I’m finally saying something I’ve been thinking without recognizing it. “What if sustainable development means working with the community, not around it?”
Scott studies my face with fifteen years of friendship and business partnership behind his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not catching feelings for the opposition leader.”
Across the room, Michelle glances up from her strategy huddle with Jessica and Amber. Our gazes meet for a split second, and electricity passes through me.
“Of course not,” I tell Scott, adding another lie to my growing collection of self-deceptions. “Just thinking about different approaches to community development.”
“Right.” Scott doesn’t sound convinced, probably because I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my thoughts from him. “Just remember we have investors expecting a certain return on their investment. This isn’t a charity project.”
Outside, the fall night air hints at winter underneath the salt breeze. Most folks have scattered to their cars and trucks, but Michelle lingers on the community center steps with her core team. She’s probably doing whatever community leaders do when they’re trying to save the world one coffee shop at a time.
I should walk to my truck, drive home to my sterile apartment, maintain what’s left of my professional objectivityand emotional distance. Instead, I find myself approaching her group with all the self-preservation instincts of a moth flying directly toward flame.
“Ms. Lawson.” I aim for polite professionalism, the kind of tone I’d use with any other community leader after any other municipal meeting where I hadn’t just been thoroughly outmaneuvered.
“Mr. Reed.” She manages careful neutrality, but curiosity flickers in those brown eyes. “How do you think that went?”
Caroline give Grayson an amused glare.
“Caroline,” Michelle warns, but she’s fighting a smile.
“Your presentation was impressive,” I tell her, because honesty feels safer than whatever else wants to come out of my mouth. “You really know this community.”
“So was yours,” she replies with what sounds like genuine appreciation rather than polite social noise. “I liked the ship’s wood details in those renderings. Shows you’re paying attention to what makes this place special instead of trying to impose some generic development template.”
We're being aggressively polite. I have no doubt we are both terrified of what might happen if we drop the professional facade and start saying what we actually think.
“I meant what I said about preserving Twin Waves’ character,” I continue, because apparently I can’t help myself. “This isn’t about erasing what works or replacing everything with something corporate and soulless.”
