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I didn’t look at the third row when I said it. “Callahan’s Books belongs to Ms. Callahan outright. The lot at the north end belongs to the town. Electrical systems in four of my six require complete replacement. Foundation issues affect three. Roof repairs are overdue on all of them.”

“We know our buildings need work,” Frank said. “That’s not news.”

“The transom over your door is original. Nineteen-oh-two, wavy glass, and somebody reglazed the bottom rail with the wrong putty about forty years ago and it’s held anyway. It’s the best piece of joinery on this street.” I heard myself and stopped. “It’s also eleven inches under a roof that’s shedding granules into your gutter. What’s news is that without capital investment, several of these buildings will become uninhabitable within three years.”

Frank looked at me for a second longer than he had before.

“The cost of emergency repairs will exceed property values. Landlords abandon rather than renovate. And Main Street goes from struggling to vacant.”

Owen straightened in his seat. Two of the council members looked at the table.

“My proposal is phased.” I advanced to the timeline. “Phase one, infrastructure—electrical, plumbing, structural. Phase two, facades, with the historical character kept. Phase three, anchor tenants who drive foot traffic and support what’s already here.”

“What kind of anchor tenants?” Ivy’s question cut through the room.

“Specialty retail that complements rather than competes with current offerings. Artisan food markets. Boutique hospitality. Businesses that give regional visitors a reason to choose Holly Creek over Portland or Salem.”

“Boutique hospitality,” Nora repeated, as if it were a diagnosis. “You mean expensive hotels that price out locals.”

“I mean accommodations that extend visitor stays and increase spending at local businesses. Including yours, Ms. Winters.”

Our gazes locked across the room, and I lost my place in my own slide deck.

“Thank you, Mr. Cole. We’ll open the floor for public comment. Nora, I believe you requested time?” Owen stepped in before either of us could reload.

She stood up with a folder in her hands, thick with paper I hadn’t anticipated. “Mr. Cole’s presentation is impressive.” She moved toward the front of the room, and I stepped aside to give her space at the projection screen. “His numbers and timeline are right, and so is his analysis of Holly Creek’s problems.”

I’d built four rebuttals on the drive over. She’d just taken the first one away from me.

“But the numbers leave things out.”

She pulled a paper from her folder and held it up for the council. “This is a letter from Margaret Ferris, who owned the building that houses Pearl’s bakery until Mr. Cole bought it. When Pearl couldn’t make rent three years ago after her husband’s medical bills, Margaret reduced her rent by forty percent and didn’t raise it until Pearl’s business recovered. That doesn’t appear in property value assessments.”

She raised another paper. “This is the childcare log from the year Frank’s daughter had her baby. She couldn’t afford daycare, so half this street took a turn holding an infant while she worked. Your foot-traffic report didn’t count the stroller.”

She lifted a third. “These are the seventy-three local kids who got their first jobs on Main Street in the past ten years. They learned to show up because the people signing their checks knew their parents and would call home if they didn’t.”

She faced me, her jaw set. “Your spreadsheet sees the empty buildings. It misses the people keeping the rest of them open.”

“With respect,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the heat climbing my neck, “sentiment doesn’t pay mortgages. These buildings will fail regardless of how many students worked first jobs in them if the structural issues aren’t addressed.”

“And addressing structural issues doesn’t matter if you destroy the community that makes these buildings worth saving.”

“Nobody’s destroying anything. Those buildings are already functionally dead.”

“You’re proposing to demolish three buildings in phase two.” She jabbed a finger at my timeline slide, still visible on the screen. “The old pharmacy, the corner unit next to Donnelly Hardware, and the feed store that’s been boarded since I moved here. Three buildings gone, replaced with ‘mixed-use development’ that could mean anything.”

“Those buildings are beyond economical repair. The cost of renovation exceeds replacement value significantly.”

“By your calculations.” Her voice rose. “Based on your priorities. Using your definition of value.”

“My definition of value keeps towns from dying.”

“Your definition of value treats people like variables in an equation.”

We’d ended up inches apart. Her coat smelled of pine and powdered sugar. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood this close to someone who wasn’t handing me a document.

“Enough.”