Page 18 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

Jessica: Book club emergency meeting tonight. Hazel baked. Bring coffee. Also…maybe be prepared to discuss your, um, tie-related developments.

I groan. How does she already know? Caroline can’t have even made it across campus yet.

Me: There are no tie-related developments. It was basic community service.

Jessica: The pictures look… less basic. More like—capital R Romantic.

Me: I helped him not look like he dressed in the dark. That’s it.

Jessica: Mhm. Just don’t be surprised when Hazel has opinions. She always has opinions.

Her texts are softer than Caroline’s posts but somehow worse—like being roasted by a librarian who highlights all your weak spots in neat, underlined notes.

Sunlight pours through the front windows, laying golden rectangles across the worn wooden floors that just witnessed this morning’s romantic disaster in high definition. Through the glass, people stroll along the boardwalk while waves crash against the shore.

I can still feel phantom warmth where Grayson stood. The memory of his pulse under my fingers haunts my nervous system like a ghost that refuses to leave.

This is a problem of massive proportions.

I’ve spent years building a life fortified against exactly this kind of romantic trouble.

Emotional barriers thicker than castle walls, professional boundaries sharper than scalpels, and an ironclad rule about avoiding entanglements with men who could destroy everything I’ve worked for.

And apparently all it takes is one crooked tie to turn me into a swooning idiot who forgets how motor functions work around attractive contractors with dark eyes and inconveniently good shoulders.

The morning rush gives me blessed distraction from spiraling thoughts about social media evidence and Jessica’s emergency meetings. I lose myself in familiar espresso rhythm—the sharp hiss of the steam wand and the rich smell of fresh grounds.

I serve people who trust I’ll be here tomorrow and the day after that, no matter what Grayson Reed’s demolition timeline says and my apparent inability to maintain professional boundaries with attractive enemies.

But every door chime makes me look up, expecting Grayson with another wardrobe emergency requiring personal attention. Ridiculous, because he’s probably at town hall practicing his presentation about why my coffee shop needs demolishing for Twin Waves’ economic future.

I need fresh air and perspective. I step outside to the deck area with tables overlooking the surf. The salty breeze fills my lungs as waves crash against the shore. The palmetto tree rustles overhead, and the ocean mixes with the coffee scents from my shop.

This is what I’m fighting for. Not just the coffee shop, but this view, this place, this life I’ve built by the sea.

But when I close my eyes, all I can think about is the way Grayson looked at me like I was precious instead of his opposition.

I’ve polished the espresso machine until it shines. Miles Davis plays from my speakers—because it reminds me of Dad and keeps me centered when my world tilts sideways into romantic chaos.

The coffee shop has never been more organized, which means my anxiety level has definitely reached new heights.

“You look like you’re about to vibrate right out of your skin,” Tom observes, settling at the counter with his usual coffee order and forty years of reporter wisdom. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. Just preparing for tonight’s town council meeting.”

“Ah.” Tom nods with the wisdom of a man who’s covered local politics since before I was born. “Big night for the development discussion.”

“The presentation where Reed explains why progress requires bulldozing my life’s work, and I explain why progress can jump in the ocean.”

He nods. “I see.”

I laugh despite my stress levels reaching the atmosphere. “How do you think it’ll go?”

“Honestly? I think you’re both in for it.”

“Thanks for the encouraging pep talk, Tom. Really boosting my confidence.”

“Not as bad as you think. You’re both fighting for things you believe in, which makes compromise nearly impossible when your beliefs involve the same piece of real estate. Hard to find middle ground when both sides are defending what’s best for Twin Waves.”

“So what’s the solution?”

He shakes his head, worry clouding his eyes. “Don’t honestly know.”

The bell over the door jingles. Jessica slips inside, notebook tucked under her arm like always.

“So…” she says carefully, gaze flicking to mine with a knowing softness, “the book club decided to meet this afternoon instead. Hazel baked. Amber brought wine.” She hesitates, then adds, “I, um, may have made a little timeline of… significant moments. Just to keep us organized.”

“A timeline?”

Her shoulders lift, sheepish. “Years of coffee shop interactions. Nothing fancy. Just… sorted by levels of romantic tension.”

“Jessica, there has been zero romantic tension. There’s been professional coffee service and occasional weather talk with absolutely no romantic meaning.”

She tilts her head, studying me like I’m trying to sell her something she doesn’t quite buy. “Then explain this morning’s tie situation—the one currently blowing up my feed.”

“Basic human courtesy. The man looked like he got dressed during a hurricane while blindfolded.”

“And you felt compelled to fix it because…?”

“Because his presentation reflects on the entire community development process, and I didn’t want him looking unprofessional during important municipal discussions that will literally determine my coffee shop’s continued existence.”

Jessica stares at me for a long beat before her lips twitch, and then she lets out a quiet laugh—the kind that always sneaks up on her, soft but impossible to ignore.

“Oh, Michelle. You are so far gone.”

“I am not far gone anywhere. I’m standing in my coffee shop, defending my livelihood.”

“While fixing his tie and staring into his eyes like you were about to solve world peace.”

“Caroline told you about the eye contact situation?”

Jessica’s brows rise. “Caroline posted pictures. Very… flattering ones. You look like a romance cover model. He looks like he’s two seconds from declaring his undying devotion.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” I say weakly.

Jessica hides a smile behind her hand. “You were having a moment, Michelle. Whether you admit it or not.”

“It was not a moment. It was helpful community service with unintended side effects that I’m not analyzing right now.”

“Look at your face in those pictures.” Her tone is gentle, but it slices through me.

I stare at the photos again, horrified at how transparent I look—like he’s the most important discovery of my life. And worse, the way he’s looking back.

“This doesn’t change anything practical,” I say finally, clinging to logic like a lifeline. “He’s still planning to demolish my coffee shop, and I’m still rallying the entire town against him.”

“Of course. Star-crossed opponents.” Jessica closes her notebook with a quiet snap. “Romeo and Juliet with better coffee and hopefully less tragedy.”

“Romeo and Juliet ended with mass casualties.”

Her mouth quirks. “This doesn’t have to.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”

“Maybe.” She slides her phone back into her bag. “But those pictures suggest you’re already halfway to admitting what everyone else can see.”

I swallow hard. “Jessica… what if we can’t save both the coffee shop and—whatever this is?”

Her answer is quiet, almost kind. “What if the only way to save yourself is to stop fighting him and start working with him?”

I close her phone and hand it back, my brain buzzing like an overworked espresso machine. “This is going to end badly for everyone.”

The afternoon light has shifted, casting longer shadows across tables where customers shared their morning routines hours before witnessing my public romantic breakdown.

Outside, distant waves crash against the shore and the occasional seagull cries.

Through the corner windows, people stroll past on the boardwalk, the palmetto tree swaying in the breeze.

The sounds of Twin Waves continuing its daily rhythm while my world tilts completely sideways into romantic chaos.

In a few hours, Grayson will present his development plans to the town council. In a few hours, I’ll present community opposition to those same plans.

But first, I have to survive a book club meeting where my closest friends analyze my love life like it’s the monthly book selection and possibly more entertaining.

Tonight, we’ll be professional opponents presenting competing visions for Twin Waves’ future.

I just hope we can figure out how to fight for each other instead of against each other.

Because after this morning’s tie incident of epic proportions, I’m pretty sure I’m developing feelings for the enemy.

And judging by those pictures, the feeling might be devastatingly mutual.

I step outside onto the deck one more time, breathing in the salt air and watching the waves crash.

The ocean stretches endlessly before me, and for the first time, instead of feeling trapped between the sea and Grayson’s development plans, I feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s room for both my dreams and whatever this thing is growing between us.

The pumpkins and mums by the tables seem to glow in the afternoon light, and I can’t help but think that even in autumn, even when things are changing, there’s still beauty to be found.

Even when your whole world is about to change because of a crooked tie and a man with gold-flecked mahogany eyes.