Page 103 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start

“Smart man,” Mom says, then turns back to me with laser focus. “Now, about that snake David showing up today. Mrs. Hensley says he was sniffing around your grants like the predator he’s always been.”

“He wants to ‘partner’ with me. Which really means steal my work and take credit for it. Again.”

“Of course it does. That manipulative parasite never changes.” Mom’s voice could strip paint. “And where’s your contractor boyfriend during this crisis?”

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. He was for exactly one day before he decided I was a professional liability.”

“Oh, he cares,” Dad says dryly, not looking up from his paper. “Mrs. Hensley’s been providing detailed reports about your... public displays of affection.”

Heat floods my face. “Dad!”

“Apparently you two put on quite a show outside the coffee shop last week. And again at the town meeting. Mrs. Hensley said the chemistry was so intense she needed to fan herself with the agenda.”

“We did not put on a show?—”

“Honey,” Mom interrupts with a knowing smile, “half the town saw you kiss that man like you were trying to consume his soul. Caroline posted about it on Instagram with heart-eye emojis.”

I bury my face in my hands.

“The kissing looked very promising,” Mom continues cheerfully. “Which is why we’re all confused about why he suddenly decided you were bad for business.”

“Because his investors questioned whether his feelings for me were affecting his business judgment,” I mumble through my fingers.

“And apparently they were,” Dad observes. “Affecting his judgment so much that he panicked and chose his portfolio over his heart.”

Mom’s expression turns fierce. “After asking you to be his girlfriend? What kind of coward does that?”

“Margaret,” Dad warns, looking mortified.

“What? I’m being practical. Bad kissers make terrible husbands.”

“And how exactly would you know about other kissers?” Dad asks suspiciously.

“Before you, obviously. Don’t be jealous, Robert. You won.” Mom pats his hand absently, then refocuses on me. “So this Grayson can kiss, but he can’t stick around when you need him?”

“He chose his investors over me when they questioned his judgment.”

“Coward,” Mom declares. “Real men fight for what matters.”

“Your mother chased off two of her other suitors with a rolling pin,” Dad adds helpfully.

“They were being inappropriate,” Mom defends. “I had standards.”

“You were terrifying. Still are, sometimes.”

“Good. Fear keeps marriages interesting.” Mom turns back to me. “The point is, you deserve a man who fights for you, not a guy who runs away the second things get difficult.”

“Maybe he was trying to protect me.”

“Protect you from what? His own feelings?” Mom snorts. “Men and their emotional cowardice. They’d rather sacrifice everything than admit they’re scared.”

“I was scared too,” I admit quietly.

“Of course you were. Love is terrifying. But that’s what makes it worth fighting for.” Mom reaches over to squeeze my hand. “The question is: do you want him back?”

The honest answer burns in my throat with dangerous intensity. Because yes, I want him back with a desperation that terrifies me. But wanting a guy who told me he was falling in love with me one evening then threw me away the next feels like emotional masochism.

“We were at dinner with Brett and Amber,” I whisper, the memory still raw and electric. “He said he was falling in love with me. His voice went all low and rough, and he said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.”