Page 53 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start

“No, it’s not fine,” she whispers, then looks directly at me with more courage than I’ve ever seen from her. “Nothing about this is fine. But Michelle...” She takes a shaky breath. “The way you two look at each other, even now... maybe some things are worth fighting for.”

Heat creeps up my neck as Jessica’s quiet observation hangs in the air. Even whispered, her words carry the weight of truth I’ve been trying to avoid. The way she’s looking at us, shy but knowing, makes my chest tighten with a mix of embarrassment and something dangerously close to hope.

“Jessica,” I manage, my voice barely steady, but she’s already looking away, suddenly fascinated by a soggy paperback at her feet.

The worst part? She’s not wrong. And from the way Grayson’s dark eyes are studying my face with newfound intensity, he knows she’s not wrong either.

We ride back in Grayson’s truck, both of us lost in respective thoughts while the radio plays soft country music that seems designed to encourage poor romantic decisions. When we reach my coffee shop, neither of us moves to get out.

The silence stretches between us, filled with the weight of everything that almost happened in my coffee shop and everything that did happen in Jessica’s waterlogged bookstore.

I should thank him and go inside, maintain the professional distance we’ve worked so hard to establish. Not sit in my car with the man who’s supposed to be destroying my life, wishing I could invite him up for more coffee and conversation that has nothing to do with city planning.

“Thank you,” I say finally, the waves crashing on the shore beyond the dunes. “For helping tonight. You didn’t have to?—”

“Yes, I did.” His voice carries quiet certainty that makes my chest tighten. “You needed help, and I was there. That’s how it works.”

The simple statement hits harder than any grand gesture could. David never helped with anything unless it directly benefited him. Three years together, and I can’t recall a single instance of assistance without strings attached.

“Michelle?” Grayson’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You look like you’re processing something complicated.”

I laugh despite myself. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since anyone just helped because they could.”

His expression shifts, becoming softer around the edges. “That says more about the people in your past than it does about tonight.”

“I know. It’s just...” I trail off, unsure how to explain that his simple kindness has completely upended my understanding of what partnership could look like.

“Just what?”

“I’m out of practice with people who don’t keep score.”

“Well, helping Jessica tonight was more satisfying than arguing about building codes.”

“Even more satisfying than designing duck crossings?”

“The duck crossing was professionally satisfying. Tonight was personally satisfying.”

The distinction hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications neither of us seems ready to address directly. Personally satisfying. As in, he enjoyed spending time with me doing things that had nothing to do with development projects or committee obligations.

I turn to face him fully and realize he’s closer than I thought. Close enough to count the faint lines that appear when he smiles.

The air in the small space feels charged, electric with possibility and months of suppressed attraction finally bubbling to the surface.

“This is complicated,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the crash of the waves.

“Very complicated,” he agrees, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans slightly closer, and I catch that intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with coffee and something uniquely him.

“The committee, the development, what everyone expects...”

“I know.” His voice has dropped to that rough whisper that does dangerous things to my pulse.

“Everyone’s counting on me to fight this project.”

“I know that too.”

“And you’re...” I can barely get the words out because he’s so close now that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“The enemy,” he finishes with a rueful smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “At least officially.”