Page 20 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

“I should get back to work,” she says quickly, turning to wipe down the already-spotless espresso machine. “You should probably go prepare for tonight.”

She’s right. But my feet have apparently decided to stage a rebellion against rational decision-making.

“What if tonight goes well?” I ask. “What if we actually find solutions that work for everyone?”

“Then you get your development modifications, and I get to keep fighting for my coffee shop’s place in them.”

“And this?” I gesture between us. “Whatever this is?”

She stops wiping the counter and looks at me with an expression that’s equal parts longing and resignation.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I honestly don’t know.”

T he construction office buzzes with pre-meeting energy, but I spend the rest of the day staring at the same spreadsheet while replaying Michelle’s admission that she liked taking care of me.

Community impact projections pale in comparison to the memory of her fingers working against my collar, her face serious with concentration.

Scott appears in my doorway around lunch, taking one look at my glazed expression and settling into the chair across from my desk.

“You look distracted,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Just reviewing materials for tonight.”

“Right.” His expression suggests he’s not buying my professional focus act. “Want to talk about what’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been different for weeks. Distracted. You keep checking your phone, but when I ask about project updates, you look confused.”

I set down my pen and lean back, recognizing defeat. Scott’s been my business partner for eight years. He can spot emotional complications from three counties away.

“It’s the coffee shop,” I admit finally. “Michelle Lawson.”

“The woman leading the opposition against our development.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re falling for her.”

“I’m crushing on the woman who’s trying to stop our biggest project,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Scott processes this information with the careful consideration he brings to all complicated business problems.

“That’s either the worst possible timing in professional relationship history,” he says finally, “or the best possible motivation to find a creative solution.”

“There’s nothing to solve,” I say quickly. “It’s just... complicated attraction. Physical chemistry. Nothing more.”

“Right.” Scott’s expression suggests he’s not buying my casual dismissal. “Just physical chemistry that’s making you question a multimillion-dollar project.”

“I’m not questioning the project. I’m trying to find a way to make it work for everyone involved.”

“Including Michelle.”

“Including the entire community,” I correct, but even I can hear how defensive that sounds.

Scott leans back in his chair, studying me. “Grayson, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never let personal feelings interfere with professional decisions. Ever.”

“I’m still not.”

“Then explain why you spent hours yesterday redesigning the entire waterfront section to preserve sight lines from a coffee shop window.”

Because the thought of Michelle losing her view of the Atlantic made my chest feel like it was being crushed in a vise. Because I kept imagining her standing behind that counter, watching the waves, and the idea of taking that away from her felt like theft.

“Community integration,” I say instead. “Better long-term investment strategy.”

“Meaning you don’t have to choose between the project and Michelle. You need to find a way to make the project work for both of you.”

“The modified plans already preserve the coffee shop.”

“I’m not talking about building preservation. I’m talking about partnership. Instead of seeing her as opposition, start seeing her as a potential collaborator.”

“Scott, she questions everything about this development.”

“That’s because she’s protecting what she loves. But from what I’ve observed, she cares about Twin Waves’ future as much as you do. She just needs to believe that development can strengthen the community instead of destroying it.”

I consider this, thinking about yesterday’s conversation. The way she talked about preserving what makes Twin Waves special while acknowledging the need for economic growth. Her genuine concern for longtime residents who might be displaced by rising property values.

“You think I should ask her to work with us?”

“I think you should ask her what would make this development serve the community better. Really ask her. Not as opposition to be managed, but as a soul whose opinion matters.”

“And if she says the only good development is no development?”

“Then you’ll know. But, Grayson?” Scott stands, straightening his jacket.

“From what I’ve observed, Michelle Lawson doesn’t oppose things just to be difficult.

She does it because she’s protecting what she loves.

Find a way to do that while building what the community needs, and you might solve more than one problem. ”

After he leaves, I sit thinking about protection and love and creative solutions.

About Michelle’s face lighting up when she described the jazz nights she wants to host, the community garden she’s planning for the empty lot behind the bookstore.

Her vision for Twin Waves as a place where people choose to build lives instead of just passing through.

Scott’s right. The answer isn’t winning this fight. It’s fighting for the same things.

T he Twin Waves Community Center conference room feels smaller tonight, maybe because Michelle and I keep catching each other’s eyes across the table while Mayor Waters reviews the agenda.

Michelle’s wearing a navy blue blazer that makes her look professional and competent and completely devastating to my ability to focus on city procedures.

“First item,” Mayor Waters announces, “environmental impact assessment updates.”

I present the coastal erosion mitigation plans, trying not to notice the way Michelle leans forward when I explain how the new seawall design will actually improve protection for existing businesses.

Her questions are sharp and insightful, and I realize she’s been researching coastal engineering in her spare time.

“The new seawall design will actually improve storm protection for the entire boardwalk district,” I explain, pointing toward the beachfront diagram. “Current weather patterns drive waves straight into the existing structures. The modified design channels that energy away from the community areas.”

“Environmental impact on the beach ecosystem?” Michelle leans forward, her dark blonde hair falling loose in a way that makes my mouth go dry.

Focus, Reed.

“Minimal disruption,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended. “We’re enhancing natural sand flow patterns rather than fighting them. The dune restoration will actually create better nesting areas for sea turtles.”

She makes notes with fierce concentration, biting her lower lip in that way that makes me wonder what else might earn that same focused attention. When she glances up, catching me staring, heat flickers in her dark eyes before she quickly looks back down.

“When I first opposed this project,” she says quietly, “I was picturing something completely different.”

“What were you picturing?” I ask, though part of me knows I should keep this conversation strictly professional. The way she’s looking at me right now—like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect—makes rational thought increasingly difficult.

“Expensive high-rises blocking the ocean views. Exclusive beach access for people who could afford million-dollar condos.” Her voice carries a hint of breathiness that wasn’t there moments ago. “Private boardwalk sections that would cut off local families from their own community beach.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawns, and with it, something that feels dangerously close to relief. “Not mixed-income housing that preserves public beach access and supports local businesses.”

“Exactly.” She sets down her pen and looks directly at me, and the intensity in her gaze makes my pulse kick into overdrive.

“Your original marketing materials emphasized profit potential while barely mentioning community preservation. I thought you were another developer who saw dollar signs instead of people’s lives. ”

“Note to self,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds when my heart is hammering against my ribs, “better marketing materials that actually explain what we’re trying to build.”

“Note to self,” she counters, and there’s something almost playful in her tone now, dangerous and inviting, “ask more questions before organizing the entire town into opposition campaigns.”

The admission is loaded with implications that have nothing to do with municipal planning and everything to do with the way she’s looking at me like she’s reassessing every assumption she’s made about who I am.

We share a moment of mutual acknowledgment that we both could have handled our initial interactions more diplomatically. It’s oddly comfortable, admitting our respective mistakes while planning how to fix them.

“Second item,” Mayor Waters continues, “community spaces integration.”

This is where it gets interesting. Michelle presents her research on successful mixed-use developments that preserved community character while adding economic opportunities. Her presentation is thorough, professional, and absolutely brilliant.

“The key,” she says, clicking through examples from coastal towns that managed growth without losing their character, “is ensuring that new development enhances existing community gathering spaces rather than replacing them.”

She commands the room, and something shifts in my chest. This isn’t just attraction anymore. This is respect. Admiration. The growing realization that Michelle Lawson isn’t just beautiful and passionate—she’s exactly the kind of partner I never knew I was looking for.