Page 26 of Burning Hearts
Miss Pearl didn’t blink. “And I prefer a quiet dishwasher. Life is full of facts.”
She palmed our tickets, tapped the fine print with her two-finger wrist tap, and said, “Look, it says redeem together. Counts as one if separated. Isn’t it amazing how my handwriting finds its way into policy?”
This was her favorite kind of meddling—logistics with feelings.
She slid the tickets back and added, “If you need a code word, say ‘lantern.’ I will remove the audience with grace.”
“Copy.”
It was the only thing I could think to say.
The back booth had the angle I preferred. A wall at my shoulder, a view of the floor, and the kitchen door left of me for noise. Through the swing door, the dish station made the kind of noisy racket that could hide a conversation.
Or a confession.
Ellis arrived on the minute. Dark jacket, sleeves pushed once like an accident. His stubble had been trimmed; the kind of trimming that one does on purpose. He saw me see him and slowed half a step.
Then pretended he hadn’t.
We stood next to the table.
“Rules are rules,” he said.
“Rules are rules,” I agreed.
We slid into the booth and Miss Pearl suddenly appeared, leaning her hip on the table, her voice low.
“Thank you for not being idiots with wind and tents. Two dinners on my tab. Don’t argue, I always win. Tip in cash. If I drift toward your table, you’re being watched. If I smile and keep walking, you’re clear.”
She tucked a pen behind her ear and said, “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
With that, she vanished, hurrying off to accomplish a million tasks.
We both read menus we didn’t need. Ellis folded his, I flattened mine.
“The meatloaf special is good,” he said.
“You say that like a test.”
“It is,” he answered. “If you sauce it wrong, I walk.”
Miss Pearl returned.
“Meatloaf,” I said. “Biscuit plate, coffee.”
Ellis mirrored the same order.
She approved with a small nod that felt encouraging, then left us to the dishwasher’s loud cover.
We weren’t on a date; we were drawing a treaty.
My team, Brickyard Brewery, and his team, Signal House, would compete in public and cooperate in practice. Residency Week meant three finalists trying to use the same town square for taproom demos, live shoots, and candle workshops without turning it into a blooper reel.
We were here to hammer out press notes, safety notes, shared signage, and quiet hours. One shared playbook so the Commons looked intentional instead of chaotic.
If the town was going to watch us compete all week, the least we could do was sit down once and make sure nobody set the optics on fire.
“I have some ideas for press clarifications,” Ellis said. “Two sentences probably. I’d say one transparency, one safety.”
