The Havenwood Town Hall smelled faintly of lemon polish and old paper, a combination Liam had associated with civic duty since he was a boy. He sat in a squeaky wooden chair near the back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a fortress against the forced cheerfulness of the room.
Town meetings were a necessary evil, a periodic dose of community spirit he endured with the same grim resignation as a dental cleaning. He just wanted to get the latest updates on the Founder’s Day street closures, make sure his bookstore’s sidewalk wouldn’t be commandeered for a bounce house, and then retreat back into the quiet sanctum of his shop.
He scanned the room. Mrs. Gable from the bakery was passing around a tin of her famous lemon bars.
Mr. Henderson, the retired postman, was holding court about the unseasonable warmth. It was a familiar tableau, comforting in its predictability.
Then the predictability shattered.
Chloe Maxwell swept in, a whirlwind of bright energy in a crisp white blazer and jeans. She didn’t just enter a room; she made an entrance, a sunny disruption to the room’s muted tones.
A dozen heads turned, and a murmur of welcome rippled through the crowd. She smiled, a dazzling, effortless thing, and waved to a few people by name as she found a seat near the front.
Liam sank a little lower in his chair. It had been a week since her grand opening, a week of watching his regulars trickle out of her shop, “The Daily Grind,” clutching sleek paper cups that felt like tiny, white flags of surrender.
It had also been a week since she’d tried to offer him one of those cups, an olive branch he’d all but slapped away.
He watched as she chatted animatedly with the woman next to her. Everything about her seemed engineered for success—her confident posture, her easy laugh, the way she made even the fluorescent lighting of the town hall seem flattering.
To Liam, it felt like an invasion. She wasn’t just a business owner; she was a brand, a perfectly curated image of modern ambition that made his dusty, beloved bookstore feel like a forgotten relic.
“Alright, settle down, everyone, settle down!”
Mayor Beatrice Thompson tapped the microphone, the feedback screeching for a second before settling into a hum. Beatrice was a woman built like a sturdy oak tree, with a no-nonsense bun and a gaze that could quell a playground squabble from fifty paces.
She had been Havenwood’s mayor for as long as Liam could remember, a fixture as permanent as the clock tower itself.
“Thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice warm but firm.
“We’ve got a few items on the agenda, but I want to start with the most pressing. Our heart.”
She paused for dramatic effect. “The heart of Havenwood.”
Liam stifled a groan. He knew this speech.
“I’m talking, of course, about our clock tower.” A collective sigh of concern went through the room.
“As many of you know, Old Bartholomew—as my grandpappy used to call it—is not feeling his best. The winter was hard on him. The mainspring mechanism is shot, the façade is crumbling, and frankly, if we don’t do something soon, the only time he’ll be right is… well, never.”
A few polite chuckles.
“Founder’s Day is just two months away,” she continued, her expression growing serious.
“It is unthinkable, absolutely unthinkable, that we celebrate the founding of this town with a broken clock tower looming over us. It’s a symbol of our history, our endurance. It needs to be ticking. It needs to be chiming. It needs our help.”
Liam felt a familiar pang of anxiety. The clock tower fundraiser was an annual tradition, but this year felt different.
The estimate from the historical preservation society was astronomical. He’d seen the number in the local paper.
It was the kind of figure that made bake sales and car washes feel utterly futile.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Mayor Thompson said, as if reading his mind.
“‘Beatrice, that’s a lot of money!’ And you’re right. It is. But we are a town that gets things done. We are a town that comes together.”
Her eyes swept the room, and for a terrifying moment, Liam felt them land on him. He focused on a water stain on the ceiling, trying to become invisible.
“To that end,” the Mayor boomed, her voice full of theatrical purpose, “we need strong leadership for this year’s fundraising committee. We need a team that represents the best of Havenwood. The deep roots of our tradition, and the vibrant energy of our future.”
Liam’s stomach clenched. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.
“We need someone who understands the legacy of this town, someone whose family has been a cornerstone of this community for generations.”
He could feel a dozen pairs of eyes discreetly turning his way. The Caldwells had run The Last Chapter for nearly a century.
He was legacy, whether he liked it or not. He felt sweat prickle on his neck.
“And,” the Mayor added, her smile widening, “we need someone with fresh ideas. Someone with marketing savvy and a dynamic spirit who has already brought a new spark to our town square.”
Liam’s gaze shot involuntarily toward Chloe Maxwell. She was looking at the Mayor with a bright, attentive expression, a model citizen hanging on every word.
A horrifying, impossible idea began to form in Liam’s mind, so absurd he almost dismissed it.
But Mayor Thompson was a meddler of the highest order.
“Therefore, it is my great pleasure to announce that this year’s ‘Save the Clock Tower’ campaign will be co-chaired by two of our finest business owners.”
She paused, letting the silence hang in the air, a maestro conducting her audience.
“Mr. Liam Caldwell of The Last Chapter…”
A polite smattering of applause broke out. Liam felt his blood run cold.
He wanted to slide under his chair and disappear. He managed a stiff, barely perceptible nod.
“…and Ms. Chloe Maxwell of The Daily Grind!”
The applause for Chloe was significantly more enthusiastic. Liam watched as a flash of genuine shock crossed her face, a flicker of panic in her wide eyes before it was expertly smoothed over with a radiant, if slightly tight, smile.
She gave a small, graceful wave.
Liam was paralyzed. The entire room was a blur of smiling, nodding faces, all seemingly in agreement that this was a stroke of absolute genius.
Tying the town’s past to its future. The old guard and the new.
It was a perfect sound bite, a lovely little narrative. For him, it was a waking nightmare.
He was being publicly shackled to his rival. To the woman whose sleek, soulless enterprise was actively trying to kill the business his grandfather had built.
The thought of spending hours in meetings with her, of having to collaborate and compromise with that relentless, manufactured optimism, made him feel physically ill.
He chanced a look at her. She had turned in her seat, her eyes searching for his across the room.
Their gazes locked for a brief, electric moment. He saw the same horror he felt reflected back at him, a silent, mutual plea of “Can you believe this?” before her professional mask snapped back into place.
He couldn’t refuse. Not here, not now.
Refusing to help save the clock tower would be tantamount to treason in Havenwood. He would be branded as the town grump who cared more about his pride than his community.
The Mayor had him cornered, and she knew it.
“I know they’ll do a fantastic job,” Mayor Thompson concluded, beaming. “Let’s give them another round of applause to show our support!”
The room erupted again, and Liam felt the sound wash over him like a wave, threatening to drown him. The meeting droned on about zoning permits and parade routes, but he heard none of it.
His mind was a frantic cacophony of outrage and despair.
When the meeting was finally adjourned, he shot to his feet, desperate to escape. But it was too late.
A small crowd had already formed around Chloe, congratulating her. And Mayor Thompson was bearing down on him with the determined air of a battleship.
“Liam! Wonderful news, isn’t it?” she said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.
“Mayor, I… I’m not sure I’m the right person for this,” he managed, his voice strained.
“Nonsense!” she boomed.
“Your grandfather would be so proud. Now, you and Chloe need to get started right away. No time to waste.”
She winked. “I expect big things from you two.”
Before he could protest further, she was gone, leaving him standing alone in the crosscurrents of people leaving the hall. He turned toward the door, ready to bolt, and ran straight into Chloe.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping back. She looked smaller up close, without the admiring crowd buffering her.
The bright smile was gone, replaced by a look of wary apprehension.
“It’s fine,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the exit.
“So,” she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. It was the first nervous gesture he’d ever seen her make.
“It looks like we’re partners.”
The word ‘partners’ sounded alien and wrong. “It looks that way,” he said flatly.
An awkward silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken antagonism. The friendly chatter of the departing townsfolk seemed a world away.
“Listen,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I’m just as thrilled about this as you are. Which is to say, not at all.”
Liam was momentarily surprised by her candor. “The Mayor doesn’t exactly take no for an answer.”
“Tell me about it,” she sighed, rubbing her temples.
“Look, can we meet tomorrow? We should probably… figure this out.”
She gestured vaguely between them. “My place? Eight o’clock? Before I open?”
The thought of walking into The Daily Grind, of sitting in that minimalist, sterile environment to plan bake sales, was galling. But his own shop was his sanctuary, and he wasn’t ready to let her invade it.
Not yet.
“Fine,” he clipped out. “Eight o’clock.”
Without another word, he turned and pushed through the double doors, stumbling out into the cool evening air. He stood on the steps of the town hall and breathed deeply, trying to clear his head.
Across the manicured green of the town square, the lights of The Last Chapter cast a warm, golden glow onto the sidewalk. It looked safe.
It looked like home. A few yards away, the trendy, industrial lights of The Daily Grind shone with a cold, white intensity.
And there, in the center of it all, stood the clock tower, dark and silent against the twilight sky. It was no longer just a historic landmark.
It was a monument to his predicament, a problem he was now inexplicably, infuriatingly, forced to solve with the one person in the world he wanted nothing to do with.