Page 7 of July's Bad Boy: Blaze
The town hall is packed by seven o’clock p.m. Mayor Orville stands at the front, trying to maintain order as voices rise in concern and frustration.
"One at a time, please!" he calls. "We need to work together!"
"What about the developer's offer?" someone calls out. "Maybe it's time to consider it. They'd fix the road."
"They’re the ones that caused this," counters a woman from the back. "No, thanks."
"You can't prove that!" someone else yells.
The argument escalates, with people taking sides. I scan the room and spot Blaze leaning against the back wall, observing quietly. Our eyes meet briefly before I look away.
Orville bangs his gavel. "Please! We need solutions, not arguments."
Before I've made a conscious decision to do so, I find myself standing.
"We take care of our own," I say, loud enough to cut through the chatter. The room quiets. "We've done it before. We'll do it again."
All eyes turn to me. I'm not usually one for public speaking, but desperation loosens my tongue.
"We don't need some developer swooping in to save us. What we need is to share what we have." I take a deep breath. "I'm proposing a garden swap and pantry share. Those with extra supplies contribute to a community pantry. Those with garden space grow extra produce. We distribute based on need."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, some hopeful, others skeptical.
"And how do we decide who gets what?" someone calls out.
"We form a committee. Keep track of inventory. Make sure everyone gets the basics."
"That sounds like socialism," grumbles one of the old men who gathers at the diner.
"It sounds like community," I counter. "Like neighbors helping neighbors."
Orville nods approvingly. "I think Grace has a good starting point. Let's form that committee tonight."
The meeting continues, with plans taking shape. I volunteer to coordinate the pantry share, while others sign up for garden planning and inventory management. It's not perfect, but it's something.
When the meeting finally adjourns, it's past ten. I'm exhausted, and my clipboard is filled with notes and volunteer names.
Outside, the night air is cool and refreshing. I pause on the steps, taking a moment to breathe.
"That was impressive."
I turn to find Blaze loading boxes into Shane's truck. He must have been helping with cleanup while I was finishing up inside.
"What was?"
"The way you stood up in there. Rallied everyone." He closes the truck bed. "You really give a damn about this place, huh?"
I'm too tired for our usual sparring. "Someone has to."
His expression is unreadable in the dim light. For once, he doesn't have a snappy comeback.
I turn and walk away, feeling his eyes on my back. If he thinks a pair of soulful eyes and a guitar can fix what this town needs, he's in for a rude awakening.
CHAPTER 3
BLAZE
I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a tour bus. Every muscle screams in protest as I roll over, squinting at the sunlight just starting to stream through the thin curtains of Shane's guest room. Who designed a bedroom with east-facing windows and no blackout curtains? Probably the same sadist who invented morning people.
