Page 70 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start

“You read my maintenance logs?”

“They were sitting right there on the counter. Very organized. Color-coded by date and problem type.” There’s something almost fond in his voice. “It’s exactly what I would have done.”

Caroline makes that “aww” noise again, louder this time.

“Caroline,” Grayson says without looking away from me, “didn’t you mention something about closing duties?”

“I did? Oh. Oh, right. Closing duties. Very important closing duties that require my immediate attention in the back room.” She grins at both of us. “Take your time with the... equipment testing.”

She disappears into the storage area with the subtle discretion of a freight train, leaving Grayson and me alone in the quiet coffee shop.

“So,” he says after a moment. “Emergency espresso machine repair.”

“Emergency espresso machine repair,” I confirm. “Very legitimate mechanical crisis.”

“On a Saturday evening. When most repair services are closed.”

“Timing is everything in the coffee business.”

He steps closer, close enough that cedar cologne washes over the scent of fresh coffee. “Michelle.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For texting me instead of calling a repair service.”

“Thank you for coming. Even though you probably knew it was barely an emergency.”

“I hoped it was barely an emergency.” His smile is soft and dangerous and does things to my cardiovascular system that should require medical supervision. “I was looking for an excuse to see you.”

My heart performs a complete acrobatic routine. “You were?”

“I’ve been looking for excuses to see you for weeks. The espresso machine just happened to provide excellent cover.”

We’re standing close enough now that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. The coffee shop feels charged with possibility, warm with golden light from the pendant lamps and the kind of quiet intimacy that happens after closing time.

“This is dangerous,” I whisper.

“What is?”

“This. Us. Standing here like we’re not professional adversaries who should be fighting about development timelines and community impact studies.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly, “we don’t have to be adversaries anymore.”

“Grayson—”

“I’ve been thinking. About what you said yesterday. About finding solutions that work for everyone.” He reaches up to touch my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “What if we could figure this out together? The development, the coffee shop, all of it?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to be your enemy anymore. I want to be your partner. In business and...” His voice trails off, but his eyes say everything he’s not ready to put into words.

My pulse pounds in my ears. “And?”

Instead of answering with words, he leans down and kisses me. Soft at first, tentative, as if he’s asking permission. But when I melt against him, my hands fisting in his shirt, the kiss deepens into something that tastes like possibility and coffee and the kind of trust I haven’t felt in years.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathing hard and my knees feel distinctly unreliable.

“So,” I manage. “Partners.”