Page 89 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start

“Right. That’s why you ignored six texts and sound like you’ve been gargling glass.”

I consider pretending to be sick, claiming I need solitude to recover from whatever fictional ailment might justify emotional unavailability. But Jessica knows me too well, and my lies have never been particularly convincing under pressure.

The lock turns with a soft click—because of course she still has my spare key from when the dog got into the garbage and I needed backup while cleaning up the disaster.

“Oh, honey.” Jessica’s voice softens when she sees me crouched on the floor, surrounded by ceramic debris and coffee stains that have already started setting into the wood grain. “What happened?”

“Professional complications,” I say, the words bitter as burnt espresso. “Apparently our collaboration created vulnerabilities that needed to be managed.”

Jessica’s expression hardens with the kind of protective fury that makes her dangerous to anyone who hurts people she loves. “He said that to you?”

“Among other things. Turns out mixing business with personal relationships is professionally irresponsible. Who knew?”

I continue collecting pottery shards, grateful for the task that prevents me from having to meet her eyes. Because looking at Jessica means seeing my own heartbreak reflected back, and I’m not ready for that level of emotional honesty yet.

“Michelle, look at me.”

I don’t.

“Sweetie, please look at me.”

Reluctantly, I raise my head. Jessica’s sitting cross-legged on my couch, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears and barely contained rage.

“What exactly did he say?”

So I tell her. The whole devastating conversation.

“He said he wasn’t ready for the kind of relationship that could survive professional complications,” I finish, my voice steady now because numbness has finally kicked in to protect me from the worst of the pain.

“That’s...” Jessica searches for words, her hands clenching into fists. “That’s not what people say when they’re scared. That’s what people say when they’re cutting you loose.”

“Exactly.” The confirmation shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Clean, efficient, emotionally sanitized. Very professional.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Please don’t. I need my best friend to visit me in coffee shops, not in prison.”

Jessica doesn’t laugh at my attempt at levity. Instead, she stands up and starts pacing my small living room.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she says finally. “The man who bought every property on Main Street to prevent chain stores from moving in doesn’t suddenly decide that community partnership is too risky.”

“Maybe the chain store prevention was just good business sense. Protecting his investment in local character.”

“Or maybe something else is going on that you don’t know about.”

I shake my head, sweeping the last of the ceramic into my palm. “You sound like me three relationships ago, making excuses for behavior that speaks for itself.”

“I know. But Michelle?—”

“But nothing. He made his choice. Professional interests over personal feelings. Timeline concerns over relationship complications. Everything I swore I’d never let anyone make me feel again.”

My voice breaks on the last words because the truth is devastating: I did this to myself. Ignored every warningsign, dismissed every protective instinct, allowed attraction to override hard-earned wisdom about the dangers of trusting men with both my heart and my business.

“So what happens now?” Jessica asks quietly.

“Now I remember why I spent seven years building walls instead of bridges. Why I chose independence over partnership, safety over risk, protecting what I have over reaching for what I want.”

“And professionally?”