The Princess's Knight Complex

Chapter 4: A Place That Could Close

I spent the next week gathering information about the redevelopment plan.

The public website was difficult to navigate, and the meeting minutes had been posted as scanned pages with half the words missing. I learned that Harbor House's building had been listed as "underutilized civic property." The phrase made me furious. I printed the page and carried it around like evidence of a crime.

I also learned that the city had already spoken with several potential developers. The plan included a new cultural center, but no details about who would control it or what programs it would hold.

At Harbor House, I told Ruth we needed to prepare for the hearing.

"We'll need attendance records, class schedules, budget numbers, and letters from the families," I said. "I want us to be clear about what the building does, not just what it means to us."

Ruth nodded. "And we need a backup space."

"Yes."

We spent two days calling churches, libraries, and schools. Most had no room. One offered a basement with no windows. Another said we could use a classroom twice a week, if we stored our supplies somewhere else.

I went home exhausted and found Graham sitting on the steps outside my apartment.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting."

"Why?"

"I called. You didn't answer."

"My phone was in my bag."

"I know. I didn't want to leave a message about the foundation."

I put my keys in the door, then turned back. "You could have texted."

"I could have."

"What do you want?"

He held up a folder. "A copy of the preliminary plan. It isn't confidential, but the city hasn't uploaded the full document yet."

I took the folder. "How did you get this?"

"I asked the foundation's counsel."

"You told me you weren't involved."

"I said I hadn't reviewed Harbor House specifically. I reviewed the larger plan this afternoon because I was asked to."

"Did you recuse yourself?"

"I told the board I had a personal relationship with someone who runs one of the affected programs. They agreed I should abstain from any vote involving the site."

"Personal relationship?"

"That's what you are to me."

I stared at him. The words landed somewhere I didn't want to examine.

"Did you use your position to get me this?"

"I used a public records request. The counsel confirmed the document had already been submitted to the city."

"Why bring it to me?"

"Because you shouldn't have to spend a week looking for something I could obtain in an hour."

"I could have found it."

"I know."

He didn't say it like a challenge. He said it like a fact.

I opened the folder. The first pages showed the proposed redevelopment. Harbor House would be demolished. A new center would be built farther inland, with a shared-use agreement between the city and the Vale Foundation. The proposed space was half the size of our current building.

"Who wrote this?"

"The consulting firm the city hired."

"Who approved it?"

"No one yet."

The proposal also included a private event venue on the current Harbor House lot. I felt the blood leave my face.

"They're tearing down a public space to build a private one."

"That's one interpretation."

"It's in the document."

"It is."

He didn't soften the facts. I appreciated that.

"Why did the foundation agree to be involved?"

"The city asked us to contribute to the cultural center. The family likes the idea of being seen as part of the solution."

"That sounds like a way to get their name on the new building."

"It probably is."

I looked at him. "Do you agree with them?"

"No."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Nothing until I understand the process. I won't use my position to make a private promise to you."

"Why not?"

"Because you didn't ask me to."

I closed the folder. "Thank you."

He nodded.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked.

"I do."

"Then you can help me carry these boxes upstairs."

He looked at the stack of supply boxes beside my door. "That's a strange invitation."

"It's the invitation you're getting."

He carried two boxes while I carried one. My apartment was small, full of books, and not ready for a guest. I was glad of that. It gave me a reason to keep moving.

We unpacked paints and paper while I explained the classes we ran. Graham asked questions about the students and the building. He didn't suggest a solution. He didn't turn every detail into a chance to impress me.

When we finished, he stood by the door.

"You can stay for dinner," I said.

He glanced at the clock. "Would you like me to?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

We ordered takeout from the restaurant downstairs. He sat at my kitchen table and listened while I told him about the first year Harbor House had been open, when the roof leaked and we kept classes going under plastic tarps.

"You sound proud," he said.

"I am."

"You should be."

I watched him across the table. "You don't have to admire everything I do."

"I don't."

"Good."

"I admire this."

It was the first time I let myself wonder whether he saw me as someone who could be loved, not just someone who could be counted on.