The Floor Plan

Every morning for a week, Lina had arrived at the Blue Plate at seven thirty, straight from her night shift, in her pale blue uniform.

Marco had a plate ready before she sat down. Eggs, potatoes, toast, and the small bowl of peppers. And next to the plate, every morning, a sheet of paper with his handwriting on it: one practice email from his CELPIP book, written the night before.

Lina ate with one hand and corrected with the other, using a green pen, because Marco said red made him feel like a criminal.

"Better," she said on Wednesday, giving back the paper. "Three mistakes. Monday, you had eleven."

"Three," said Marco, as if she had given him a medal. Bev, the waitress, clapped from the coffee machine.

On Thursday, Lina did not correct anything. Instead, she put her phone on the counter. On the screen was a document from the city council website: forty-two pages of drawings. NORTHLINE HOMES — RIVERBEND RESIDENCES — DEVELOPMENT PERMIT APPLICATION.

"Page three," she said. "Grace sent it to me at six this morning. She said, 'You read it, you're the one who understands rooms.'"