Page 59 of Flights and Sights

Barbara frowned. “I have Mr. Lowell on my agenda first. Apologies. Mr. Lowell, please join us at the front.” She gestured toward the lectern and I stepped forward to take my place.

“Hi,” I said quietly into the microphone. “My name is Paxton Lowell and I’ve lived in Foggy Basin my entire life.” As I spoke, I became more and more confident, and my voice stopped quavering and came out clear and strong. “I’m here to discuss the purchase of the property adjacent to Celestial Cask. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a decade, since I took over for my uncle, Paul Lowell, and started running the meadery myself. We have a vision for this property. We’d like to expand the meadery, both the taproom and the brew space. We’ve been talking about what to add. I’d love to have an outdoor event space to hold concerts, and seating for nice days, and maybe even a venue for parties like weddings and other events. We want to expand the brewing room, too. Eventually we’d like to distribute not just in Foggy Basin, where we distribute now, but maybe even statewide.”

One of the council members cleared his throat, a bald, older man. “And have you secured funding for this expansion?”

I nodded slowly. “We just received word this morning that we’ve been approved for a grant with the Pearce Foundation. It covers a substantial portion of the costs, and they’re offering support to find further funding as well, in the form of loans or grants. We’re also waiting to hear back from several other grant applications.”

“So you haven’t secured all the funding you’ll need?” His eyes were dark and sharp and I felt myself wither under his gaze a little.

“Well, no, but—”

“No further questions,” the man said. “You may be excused Mr. Lowell.”

Embarrassed, I slunk to my seat. The people in suits stood again, looking obnoxiously smug.

“My name is Elliot Ramsey,” he said. “This is my associate, Elizabeth Clark. We’re here to talk about what our company can do for Foggy Basin as a whole, if we’re granted the purchase of this property.”

Elizabeth held up big, glossy renderings on what looked like foam boards as Elliot talked. “We can promise to bring at least a hundred jobs to Foggy Basin.”

A hundred? Just like the brewery’s promises, I thought. I suppressed a disdainful snort.

“We will add revenue to the town and surrounding areas with our project, and bring Foggy Basin into the modern era.”

The renderings were of a busy downtown type area with tall, mixed-use buildings and very little green space.

“Walkability,” he said, nodding at Elizabeth, who pulled out the next rendering, one of sidewalks with pedestrians and bicycles everywhere.

“Mr. Lowell’s presentation is charming, but lacks scalability. And as you’ve heard, he also lacks funding, so while his ideas are charming, they aren’t fully realized. We have full funding to complete this development project and can break ground as soon as next week.”

Did he actually say anything about what they want to do? It didn’t sound like it. All he’d done was throw out some buzzwords and insult me.

Barbara Traylor nodded, her lips pressed tightly together, and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Ramsey.” Then she turned to the crowd. “We’ll have public comments next.”

She named the first three people who would be allowed to comment, and waited for the first person to approach the lectern. They spoke about the school development project, which again, I found unimpressive. The next person talked about the fundraiser for the library, and the third went back to the topic of the school.

After what seemed like a lot of back-and-forth about the school and library, several folks came up and spoke about the property sale and development. Some were in favor of my proposal—saying they wanted to keep the heart of Foggy Basin intact, to preserve its charm and character. Others were opposed to any development at all. They didn’t want increased traffic, or the strain on the infrastructure.

Eventually, it seemed as if everyone had been given the opportunity to speak. Mrs. Traylor glanced at her list and then looked up at the crowd. “Our last community voice is Callum Sinclair.”

My stomach lurched. I didn’t know he’d signed up to speak at all. He gave me a reassuring smile and squeezed my hand before making his way up the aisle to the lectern.

“I’m Callum Sinclair,” he started. “My family lives in Foggy Basin, and I’ve lived here most of my life. Some of you may know me from my recent byline for Connection Monthly, an article about the meadery itself. You may not know that Paxton sources all of his ingredients locally. There are several honey farms in the area that supply his honey, for example. The fruit comes from local orchards. Everything is so lovingly crafted. Celestial Cask isn’t just a soulless corporation looking to make a quick buck. Paxton loves Foggy Basin. He loves his meadery and is passionate about crafting something sustainable. That’s what drew my eye to Celestial Cask in the first place, and the more I learn about Paxton Lowell and Celestial Cask and how those two fit into Foggy Basin, the more I’m certain that if you don’t grant him the opportunity to expand, you’ll be making a serious mistake. This is exactly what Foggy Basin loves. This is what Foggy Basin is. Don’t sell out to a soulless corporation with money and empty promises.”

He sat down after that, back next to me, and took my hand in his. It was warm. Solid and reassuring. My eyes burned with tears that I blinked back.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“You can thank me later.” He grinned at me and squeezed my hand again, sending my heart soaring.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Barbara said. “This council agrees we’re going to need to reconvene regarding this matter. We’re giving the council members twenty-four hours to consider their decision. We’ll be back here tomorrow with the final verdict. This session is adjourned.”

Once we were outside of town hall, I stood and stared at Callum. “Tomorrow.” My tone was incredulous, thick with worry and fear.

He nodded. “It’s okay. We can wait one more day.”

There was that word again. We. I ached for it to be true, longed for him to want to stick around long enough to see this through with me. I wanted to hold him tight and forbid him from getting on that plane again on Wednesday. How was I supposed to let him go, knowing he’d not only be terrified on every flight without me, but also gone for the better part of three months?

I let out a shaky breath. “Okay. One more day. You’re right. We can do it.” A moment passed. “What if—?”