Page 76 of Something’s Brewing

Garrett took another sip of his drink. “When we were kids, Nick and I convinced Chloe there was a family tradition where the youngest sibling had to do everyone’s chores for a month.”

Madison laughed. “You did not.”

Garrett grinned. “She believed us for over a week.”

The dessert arrived. “Enjoy,” the waitress said.

Madison felt warmth settle somewhere deep in her chest. This—sitting across from him, this connection—felt dangerously easy. Like she was slipping into a life she hadn’t planned.

A shadow fell across the table as she reached for her fork. She looked up.

Mayor Morty Benson stood there. His tie hung slightly crooked, and a faint flush colored his cheeks.

“Well,” he said. “Isn’t this cozy.” His words carried the faint looseness of someone who’d had more than one drink.

Garrett’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly. His shoulders squared. His gaze sharpened. “Evening, Mayor,” he said, cool and polite.

Morty ignored him. His attention stayed fixed on Madison.

“I hear you’ve been asking questions,” he said. “Digging into city business that doesn’t concern you.”

Madison set her fork down carefully.

“I believe it concerns anyone who lives here,” she said.

The room quieted. Conversations slowed. People pretended not to stare.

Morty leaned closer, resting lightly on the edge of their table. “Your accusations are false,” he said. “Dangerously false. You’re going to damage good people with this little crusade of yours.”

“Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Madison replied calmly. Her pulse kicked up, but her voice didn’t.

His smile tightened.

“You don’t understand how things work in a small town,” he continued. “My cousin built that compliance outfit from nothing. I made sure the city gave him the contract. That’s what family does.”

For a split second, his words hung in the air. Madison felt something click into place. There it was: Conflict of interest. Contract steering. Direct involvement.

He’d just handed it to her.

Morty seemed to realize he’d said too much. His expression darkened.

“You’re stirring up trouble that doesn’t belong to you, Miss Mitchell,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “People who push too hard in this town sometimes find doors closing.” He paused. “Or worse.”

Garrett’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood.

The shift in the room was immediate. Conversations stopped altogether. The only sound was the clink of silverware somewhere in the distance.

Garrett didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “You’ve said enough.”

Morty turned slowly, forced to tilt his head back slightly to meet Garrett’s eyes. The difference in height suddenly mattered. Garrett seemed larger than usual—solid and immovable.

“I’m having a private conversation,” Morty snapped.

“No,” Garrett said evenly. “You were making a threat.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that Morty had to take a half step back.

“You will not threaten her,” Garrett warned. “Not now. Not ever.”