Page 50 of Burning Hearts
The ceiling kept my secret, and somewhere a few feet away, a neighbor I wasn’t kissing turned off his light.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CADE
Decision Night lookedlike a finale the town had been rehearsing for years. The Annex washed the room in soft amber over a sea of battery candles. String lights stitched through the air and chalkboards at the aisles tallied #TeamBrew, #TeamWick, and #TeamSignal like election returns. The No-Flame Patrol floated by in cheerful sashes.
I took the space the way I take any room that might decide to disobey. Exits clean, center aisle wide enough for a stretcher.
I had to admit; I was nervous. This was a million-dollar decision that would change the lives of me and my co-investors.
A game changer that the Langfords were generous enough to fund.
But I’d heard the rumors around town; I knew there were people who assumed Ellis was a shoo-in because he was related.
And I knew Ellis hated that.
I only hoped his boss wouldn’t hate him if Signal House ended up losing.
“Y’all can have ambiance,” Miss Pearl murmured as she eased a candle back from a drape. “You just can’t have arson.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d already moved on because that was the point.
Brickyard’s table sat near the front. Renderings, timelines you could read without squinting, a mason jar holding #TeamBrew pins. Across the way, Signal House had a glass-booth mockup with clean lines, one stool, and smart cable routes. Wick & Wax had a meadow of LEDs and a repentant sign that read: ALL EFFECTS SIMULATED PER CODE.
The town forgives quickly when you comply with the rules.
Wyatt shouldered up beside me in blues.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“Just running exits,” I said. “Doors, aisles, heads.”
He gave a small nod, like I’d answered correctly.
“Good,” he said, and tipped his chin toward the stage before adding, “we’re about to count.”
Beau floated to the mic. His sequined jacket did half the work, while his voice handled the rest.
“Riverfield, welcome to Decision Night!” he said, dragging out the words. “Darlings, our battery candles are lit, our hair is sprayed, and at least three of you are already slightly overserved. Let’s make some memories!”
He glanced at Miss Pearl, and she returned a small nod and a smile.
Laughter rolled through the room and phones rose to snap pictures.
“Three finalists,” Beau said, shuffling cards he probably didn’t need. “But only one prize. Before our board shows their hands, each team gets sixty seconds to remind us why we ironed our shirts. Think speed-dating—with supervision.”
Beau turned to me. “Cade Briggs, Brickyard Brewery.”
I stepped into the lights that weren’t flattering but were honest.
“Brickyard mean jobs and a heartbeat taproom,” I said. “Beer you can bring your dad to enjoy, and quiet nights after ten. We’ll build to code and keep walkways clear. When our sign says‘Open,’ the place will be calm. When we say ‘Closed,’ you’ll be able to sleep.”
I nodded to Station 1, then over to Wyatt.
“That’s my time,” I said.
