"You plan, I build"

The rain had only cleared that morning, leaving the streets damp and the air smelling faintly of pine and wet earth. Mira slipped into the community hall just as the crowd began to settle, her notebook clutched to her chest. Her second meeting, and it already felt easier to walk in. Less like a stranger. More like she belonged here—at least halfway.

The same councilman from last week stood at the front, tapping his pen against a clipboard. "Next order of business—Valemont Bridge." His voice echoed faintly off the wooden rafters. "Erosion's getting worse. We can't patch it again and pretend it's fine. The council's voting to rebuild—with locals leading the work."

Mira straightened. Finally—something worth more than potholes and bake sales.

"We'll need someone to draft the plans," the councilman said, scanning the room, "and, of course, a builder to lead the team."

"I'll do it," Mira said before hesitation could creep in. "I'll handle the design."

Heads turned, murmurs rippling through the room.

"You're Ellis' girl, right? The architect?"

Mira gave a brief nod, ignoring the ache at her father's name. "Yes. And I know what it'll take to make this last. I'll make sure it's done right."

From the side of the room, a voice cut through the low chatter. Smooth. Even. Slightly edged.

"As long as it doesn't turn into a city showpiece that collapses in two winters."

Mira didn't need to turn to know who it was. Darian Carter.

The councilman, unfazed, gestured between them. "Carter, you're heading construction again. Mira, you'll draft the plans. Looks like you two are our lead team."

Mira forced a smile. "Perfect. As long as he can read plans without rolling his eyes."

A quiet chuckle traveled through the room. Darian's jaw flexed once, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair.

Later that day, Mira stepped into Carter Woodworks. The wide, sunlit space smelled of cedar and varnish, beams stacked neatly along the far wall. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, glowing gold in the afternoon light.

Darian was already there, sleeves rolled, measuring a thick oak plank with the easy precision of someone who didn't rush but never wasted time. His movements were deliberate, steady. His face unreadable, slate-grey eyes focused on the task—not on her.

"You're late," he said, without glancing up.

"I'm on time. You're just obsessive," Mira shot back, dropping her rolled sketches on the worktable. "These are the first drafts. Curved support frame to keep erosion from eating at the base. Stronger, longer-lasting."

Darian finally looked at her, his gaze cool but steady. "Curved frames cost more. And they'll need reinforced foundations or they'll sink into the soil by year three."

"That's why," she unrolled her sketches, smoothing the edges, "the foundation is reinforced. Not just aesthetics. Stability."

He leaned against the bench, arms crossed, silent for a moment. "You design. I build. Just don't make it look like a skyline someone dropped on Valemont."

Mira arched a brow. "You plan, I build? That's the dynamic we're going with?"

Before he could answer, a new voice slid in—smooth, amused. "If it turns into a duel, at least let me sell tickets."

Elijah strolled into the shop, grin easy and posture loose, like he owned the sunlight spilling through the door. Zuri followed close behind, her oversized sunglasses perched on her head, scarf tied stylishly around her curls.

"Already bickering?" Zuri teased, leaning against a worktable. "It's been what, five minutes?"

"Six," Elijah said, flashing a grin at Mira. "Long enough to tell you two are either building a bridge or planning each other's funerals."

Mira shot Zuri a glare. "Remind me why you brought him?"

"To keep you from throwing a hammer at Darian," Zuri replied sweetly.

Darian let out a sharp breath—half sigh, half laugh, though his face didn't soften much. "If either of you break something, I'm charging for repairs."

For the next two hours, the group huddled over blueprints and site maps. Mira, passionate and fast-talking, sketched revisions while Darian's calm voice countered her every flourish with grounded, precise alternatives. Zuri chimed in with playful commentary "Are you two allergic to agreeing?", while Elijah leaned casually against a beam, tossing in the occasional flirtatious jab that made Zuri roll her eyes and laugh despite herself.

By the time they wrapped, Mira's pencil was worn to the nub, Darian's shirt had a streak of sawdust, and Zuri and Elijah were mock-arguing over whether a bridge could "have personality" or not.

As Mira and Zuri headed out, Mira shook her head. "I don't know how he hasn't driven someone completely insane yet."

Zuri smirked, glancing back at Elijah. "Maybe he has. Maybe that's why Elijah's the way he is."

Darian

The workshop was quiet now. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the faint creak of settling wood filled the space. Darian stood by the workbench, Mira's sketches still spread out where she'd left them.

His calloused fingers traced the curve of one line—not because he liked it. He told himself that twice. It was bold. Risky. Too ambitious for Valemont.

And yet… he didn't roll it up. Didn't shove it aside.

He left it there, neat, waiting.

Because maybe—just maybe—she knew exactly what she was doing