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My stomach clenched. More bad news was the last thing we needed.
“It’s been delayed,” she announced, and a collective gasp filled the room.
“Delayed? But how?” I managed to find my voice amidst the sudden surge of chatter.
“It was Cassius Portman,” Mrs. Perkins said, her tone carrying a note of disbelief. “He pulled some strings, talked to the right people. The vote won’t happen for another six weeks.”
The room erupted into relieved sighs and quiet applause. My heart skipped a beat at his name—Cass had done this? But why?
“He did that for us?” My question cut through the noise as all eyes turned to me.
“Yes, Mila,” Mr. Hernandez spoke up from across the table. “He went out on a limb to buy us more time.”
“But I thought…” My words trailed off as realization dawned on me—the conversation I’d overheard wasn’t what it seemed. Cass had been working to help us after all.
I leaned back in my chair, my chest lightening with each breath as relief washed over me. A smile tugged at my lips despite myself.
“I jumped to conclusions,” I murmured more to myself than anyone else.
Mrs. Perkins gave me a knowing look. “Sometimes we see what we’re prepared to see,” she said gently.
I left the meeting with a spring in my step, feeling like I could breathe for the first time since that night at the event. Cass had proven himself an ally in more ways than one, and I couldn’t wait to tell him I knew—and that I was sorry for doubting him.
***
Next evening I made my way to Cass’s office. The door stood imposing before me, a barrier to the conversation I’d been rehearsing in my mind all day. Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and knocked.
Cass opened the door, his expression a blend of relief and hope. He stepped aside, allowing me space to enter, but I hesitated at the threshold.
“Mila, I—”
“No, let me start.” I held up a hand, then dropped it to my side. “I jumped to conclusions at the event. I should’ve asked you about it first.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly. “I wanted to tell you everything. It’s just…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.
I took the final step inside and closed the door behind me. “It’s complicated. I get that now.”
He nodded, moving closer. “Can we sit? Talk it through?”
We settled on the leather couch, a stark contrast to the plush armchair in my living room where my father would spend his afternoons.
“Cass, what you did with the council vote—it meant everything.”
“I would do it a thousand times over for you,” he said earnestly.
The distance that had wedged between us seemed to dissolve with those words. We were no longer two people on opposite sides of a divide; we were partners.
“So,” I started, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over us, “we have time now. We need a plan.”
Cass leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze intense and determined. “We do. Now that my partners know that I was just playing along to stall the project, they will work against us. We need something concrete, sustainable.”
“Something that shows its value beyond what anyone can offer in terms of money.”
“We could document everything—the center does for the community.” Cass’s eyes lit up as he spoke. “Videos, interviews with locals.”
“Showcasing real stories,” I chimed in, excitement building within me. “We make it personal for everyone who sees it.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! And we can organize an open house day—invite city council members, let them see firsthand what we’re fighting for. The way you did it for me, remember?”
