Page 17 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

NINE

MICHELLE

I ’m putting fresh croissants on the shelf when Grayson walks through the door.

His clothes look like he got dressed in the dark during a storm.

His tie hangs crooked in a way that hurts my eyes.

The morning breeze follows him inside, carrying the salty smell of the ocean and the promise of another beautiful day in Twin Waves.

The sight makes my heart jump around like a rabbit.

We had one honest talk about our feelings yesterday, and now my heart thinks we’re about to get married. This is crazy. My heart has no respect for my plans.

“Morning,” he says, walking to the counter like he’s asking for help. “Double espresso and maybe a miracle?”

“I’m out of miracles, but I can make good coffee.” I turn to the espresso machine, happy to have something to do that doesn’t make me look at his messy clothes. “You look like you fought with a tornado. And lost. Twice.”

“Town council meeting is tonight. Turns out my construction degree didn’t teach me how to give speeches. Or how to fix ties.”

I look back and wish I hadn’t. His hair looks perfectly messy in that way that probably takes other guys hours to do. His gray eyes look worried, and it makes me want to fix everything wrong in his whole life.

This is dangerous thinking.

“Your tie looks like modern art,” I say, pushing his coffee across the counter with maybe too much force. “The kind people stare at and wonder if it’s upside down.”

“Miranda used to handle this stuff,” he mutters, tugging at the knot. “Results speak for themselves.”

“That’s not results. That’s a tragedy in silk.”

He huffs out a laugh—unexpected, rough around the edges. It hits me square in the chest, like music I didn’t ask for but can’t ignore.

“That’s pretty accurate.”

I look at his face—real nervousness mixed with the kind of humor that’s not fair to my brain—and make a decision that’s either helpful or completely stupid.

“Come here.” I wave him around the counter, instantly questioning my life choices.

He blinks. “What?”

“Your tie. It’s tragic, and half the council is about to judge you while you pitch bulldozing my shop. I’m helping the community by preventing wardrobe-related distractions.”

He hesitates just long enough to make my pulse trip, then steps around the counter. The shop seems to shrink three sizes when he’s this close. When did Grayson Reed get so tall? And since when does his presence feel like standing too close to a furnace?

“I should tell you I don’t know how to do this,” I say, reaching for his tie with hands that are steadier than they should be. “I know how to make coffee and organize the town. Fixing ties wasn’t in either class.”

“Good thing I’m desperate enough to take help from the enemy.”

I step closer to reach his collar, and everything tilts like the world just moved. His cologne—cedar and something clean—makes my head spin faster than my coffee machine on a busy morning. His breathing shifts when my fingers brush his neck.

The tie is smooth beneath my fingers, expensive silk against calloused hands that shouldn’t be shaking. Heat radiates through his shirt, carrying soap and cedar and something that scrambles every coherent thought.

“This is harder than it looks,” I whisper, tugging at the knot, pretending his heartbeat under my fingers isn’t wrecking my concentration.

“Michelle.” My name rumbles out of him, low and careful. It makes me look up before I can stop myself.

Mistake. Huge mistake.

We’re locked in a stare that feels dangerous—like we’ve struck a match in a room full of kindling. Fire, ready to consume everything I’ve worked so hard to keep safe.

His eyes do that intense thing that makes me think he’s seeing parts of me I didn’t know I was showing.

The air between us crackles with electricity that has nothing to do with his silk tie and everything to do with the fact that I want to wrap my arms around him while also planning his professional destruction.

Through the big corner windows, I can see the ocean waves crashing against the shore.

People walk along the boardwalk, and a palmetto tree leans over the path.

Orange and red leaves are scattered everywhere.

The white and orange striped awning over our windows flutters in the breeze.

Orange mums in pots sit next to carved pumpkins by our outdoor tables that look out over the surf.

“There,” I manage, stepping back before I do really stupid things like kiss him in my own coffee shop twenty minutes before a town council meeting where we’ll be enemies. “Much better. Now you look like someone who knows about construction instead of someone who wandered in from a costume party.”

“Thank you.” His voice sounds rough, and he’s looking at me like I just did surgery instead of fixing fabric. Like I just changed his whole world using nothing but silk and being close. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m adding wardrobe help to my coffee shop services. Smart business for a woman facing demolition.”

The bell rings as Caroline pushes through the door with her usual college student energy, and I jump across the shop to get away from whatever magnetic field just tried to swallow us both.

“Morning, sunshine!” Caroline calls out, then stops when she sees Grayson behind my counter looking like a man who survived a disaster. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Reed. You look... professional.”

“Michelle did emergency fashion help,” Grayson explains, touching his newly fixed tie like it might catch fire from leftover tension.

“Emergency fashion help?” Caroline arches an eyebrow, already smirking. “Wow. Truly heroic, Michelle. The town thanks you for your sacrifice.”

I grab her usual mug, focusing on the hiss of steam instead of the memory of Grayson’s pulse under my fingers. Caroline drops into her chair, pulling out her laptop like she’s about to live-blog the apocalypse.

“Community service,” I mutter, tamping the espresso too hard. “Keeping Twin Waves professional, one tragic tie at a time.”

“Mm-hmm.” She props her chin in her hand, smirk widening. “Community service that looked suspiciously like a rom-com audition tape.”

Grayson clears his throat like a man who just realized he’s been caught in a romantic trap. “I should go to town hall. Look over my notes before I explain why your coffee shop needs to be torn down for the good of everyone.”

“Good luck,” I tell him, proud my voice sounds almost normal instead of like I just breathed helium. “Don’t let them scare you. Half of them still think the internet will go away, and the other half think development is a curse word.”

“Very encouraging.”

He walks toward the door, then stops with his hand on the handle like he forgot something important. “Michelle?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For the tie thing. And for... everything else that just happened that we’re definitely not going to think about right now.”

After he leaves, Caroline and I sit in heavy silence. The only sounds are the espresso machine and my dignity dying slowly.

“So,” Caroline says, tone casual but dripping with amusement, “that was the most romantic disaster I’ve ever seen before nine a.m.”

“What was? I fixed a tie. Basic human kindness.”

“Yeah, sure. Totally normal kindness. Most people help their mortal enemies adjust their accessories while making intense eye contact.”

I focus on her latte art like it’s a final exam. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Caroline sips her drink, unimpressed. “Of course you don’t. Classic. Denial looks good on you, though—real subtle.”

“His tie was never that tragic before.”

“And I’ve definitely never seen you look at him like you wanted to drag him into the back room and make out with him while also planning his professional destruction.”

“Caroline!” I almost drop her mug, which would be terrible because she needs caffeine to survive math class, and I need her to survive math class so she can keep helping me fight Grayson’s demolition plans. “What are you saying?”

“What? I’m just observing. The romantic tension in here was thicker than your cinnamon roll frosting and twice as sweet.”

“There was no romantic tension. There was helpful community assistance with side effects.”

“Right. Community assistance that made you both forget how to breathe normally.”

I slide her coffee across the counter with maybe more violence than necessary. “Drink your caffeine and go learn economics. Stop analyzing my nonexistent love life like it’s your homework.”

“Nonexistent?” Caroline raises an eyebrow like she’s been taking lessons from Jessica and the FBI. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked very existent.”

“Caroline.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll drop it. But if you’re going to keep giving emergency fashion help to your professional enemies, you might want to work on your poker face. It’s currently advertising your feelings like a neon sign.”

“Noted and filed under ‘Things I Never Asked For.’”

After Caroline leaves for class, I’m alone with my espresso machine and leftover cedar cologne that won’t go away like a ghost of poor choices.

My phone buzzes, and I glance down, already dreading what fresh humiliation awaits me.

Caroline has posted on social media. Of course she has.

The first picture is Grayson standing in front of the counter with his tie hanging like a defeated flag. Caroline’s caption reads: “This tie personally offended me. Michelle agreed. #TieEmergency.”

The next shot—oh, fantastic—is me standing close enough to feel his heartbeat while I straighten the knot. The text overlay: “Community service, but make it fashion.”

And then the final picture, the worst of them all: both of us staring at each other like we’ve just discovered the cure for loneliness. Caroline’s verdict in block letters: “Professional enemies. Totally believable.”

Heat prickles across my cheeks. The comments are already rolling in, little hearts and laughing emojis exploding across the screen like confetti at my execution.

My phone buzzes again. Jessica this time.