Page 23 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

“The way you’re looking at me right now.” His voice has gone rough around the edges. “The way that makes me want to forget we’re supposed to be enemies.”

We’re both frozen there—him kneeling between my legs with coffee-soaked towels in his hands, me looking down at him with my heart hammering against my ribs and heat pooling in places it shouldn’t. The jazz has shifted to something slow and intimate, and the moment feels electric.

“Grayson—”

My phone explodes into Jessica’s ringtone—”I Will Survive” because she has a sense of humor about her dating disasters—shattering our bubble of inappropriate tension.

We spring apart like teenagers caught by parents. Grayson shoots to his feet, putting careful distance between us while I fumble for my phone with shaking hands.

“I should take this,” I apologize.

“Michelle?” Jessica’s voice carries the edge that means blood, fire, or her dating life has imploded. “I need you to prevent me from committing landlord murder.”

“What happened now?”

“Pipe burst in the bookshop. Water everywhere. My entire romance section is drowning.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t need to abandon your evening?—”

“Jess. I’ll be right there.”

Grayson stands when I hang up, gathering our scattered documents with efficient movements.

“Emergency?” he asks.

“My friend’s shop is flooding. I have to?—”

“Go.” He hands me my jacket, then hesitates. “Do you need help? I know about water damage.”

I stare at him. Three months ago, this man represented everything threatening my carefully constructed life. Now he’s offering to spend his evening rescuing romance novels from plumbing disasters.

“You don’t have to?—”

“Michelle.” His voice carries gentle firmness that makes my knees weak. “Let me help.”

The walk to Jessica’s shop takes two minutes, during which I’m hyperaware of Grayson’s presence beside me as we walk. Her place is set to be demolished as well, since she’s on the same city block.

Jessica meets us at her door looking as if she wrestled a garden hose and lost. Her usually perfect auburn hair resembles a disaster movie victim, and her vintage dress bears water stains that suggest the battle was both recent and decisive.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she says, relief flooding her voice as she takes in both of us. “I’ve been trying to reach my landlord, but he’s not answering his phone. The pipe burst and I didn’t know what to do about the water shutoff and?—”

She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she really looks at Grayson.

“Wait.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, her gaze darting between us with a dawning realization. “You’re here. You’re both here. Together.”

The moment stretches between all three of us. Jessica’s expression cycles through surprise, understanding, and something that looks suspiciously like delight despite her crisis.

“Sorry, my phone was on silent,” Grayson says quietly, pulling the device from his pocket. His voice carries a hint of embarrassment. “I was...”

His eyes flick to me, and heat crawls up my neck as Jessica’s gaze sharpens with unmistakable interest.

“You were together,” Jessica breathes, and despite her destroyed bookshop, a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Of course you were.”

I catch Grayson’s expression—somewhere between mortification and the dawning realization that he’s walked into Jessica’s emotional minefield while she’s actively shipping us despite wanting to strangle him.

“Jessica,” I say carefully, heat crawling up my neck, “maybe we should focus on the immediate problem?—”

“The immediate problem,” she repeats softly, her voice gaining slight strength, “is that this is exactly like one of my ruined novels. The landlord who wants to evict me, helping clean up the mess.” Her gaze finds mine with surprising directness.

“While you look at him like...” She doesn’t finish, but her blush deepens.

“Where’s the main shutoff?” he asks, his voice carrying both authority and care. The same competence that made him attractive in my coffee shop now directed toward helping Jessica.

“I don’t know,” Jessica admits, wrapping her arms around herself. “I tried looking but everything’s flooding and I was afraid to make it worse.”

“Smart thinking,” he says, his tone gentle despite the crisis. “Michelle, can you help Jessica gather anything salvageable while I find the shutoff?”

The way he naturally includes me in the solution, the way he takes charge without being dismissive—it’s devastatingly attractive. Even in disaster mode, he’s the kind of man who protects and solves problems.

Jessica catches my eye with a look that says she’s noticed the same thing.

While Grayson disappears to manage the crisis, Jessica and I begin gathering soggy literature. The damage is extensive but not total—her mystery section escaped unscathed, though her historical romance collection resembles shipwreck survivors.

“So,” she says, wringing out a paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice with the care usually reserved for wounded birds, “care to explain why you were with the development guy this late at night?”

“We were having a committee meeting. He offered assistance.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives me a look that could strip paint. “This meeting required after-hours coffee shop ambiance because...?”

“We’re trying to find common ground on building rules.”

“Right. Common ground.” She holds up a dripping romance novel featuring a shirtless man on a horse. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Jessica, I swear?—”

“Found the problem.” Grayson emerges from the back room. “Old pipe joint finally gave way. I stopped the flow, but we’ll need a plumber for proper repairs.”

“Thank you,” Jessica says, her teasing tone shifting to genuine gratitude.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get you taken care of.”

The next hour becomes a tense ballet of damage control, unresolved tension, and Jessica’s barely concealed matchmaking schemes. Grayson produces industrial fans from his truck he ran home to grab, while Jessica and I move undamaged inventory to higher ground.

“You know,” Jessica says, watching Grayson efficiently set up fans with the kind of competence that’s annoyingly attractive even when you want to throttle him, “for a man who just sent us both demolition notices, you’re surprisingly thorough about damage control.

Almost like you actually care about the businesses you’re planning to destroy.

” Her gaze slides meaningfully to me. “All of them.”

“I heard that,” Grayson calls from across the room where he’s directing airflow with focused intensity.

“You were supposed to.” Jessica’s smile carries layers of meaning. “I’m not exactly being subtle here.”

I catch his eye and mouth sorry , but he shakes his head. There’s something in his expression—resignation mixed with what looks suspiciously like affection for Jessica’s directness, even when she’s cornering him.

“Actually,” Jessica continues, surveying her destroyed romance collection, “this is more helpful than our usual interactions. Usually those involve certified letters about demolition timelines.” She pauses, then adds with deliberate sweetness, “But I suppose helping Michelle puts you in a better light. Smart strategy for winning over the woman you’re evicting. ”

“About that—” Grayson starts.

“Oh no,” Jessica cuts him off, but her tone is more calculating than angry.

“We are absolutely not having the demolition conversation while I’m documenting water damage for insurance purposes.

And definitely not while Michelle is standing right there looking like she wants to defend you despite knowing she shouldn’t. ”

We’ve transformed Jessica’s apartment into what resembles a disaster recovery zone, but the immediate crisis has passed, and her undamaged inventory is safe from further destruction.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Jessica tells Grayson as we prepare to leave. “Both of you. This could have been so much worse.”

“Call if you need help with insurance paperwork,” he says with sincerity that suggests he means it. “I’m serious.”

“I will. And Grayson?” Her voice wavers slightly. “I know this is... complicated.” She glances at the destruction, then at us, her cheeks burning. “You didn’t have to help someone you’re planning to...” She can’t finish the word ‘evict,’ but the weight of it hangs in the air.

“It’s fine,” he says quietly.

“No, it’s not fine,” she whispers, then looks directly at me with more courage than I’ve ever seen from her. “Nothing about this is fine. But Michelle...” She takes a shaky breath. “The way you two look at each other, even now... maybe some things are worth fighting for.”

Heat creeps up my neck as Jessica’s quiet observation hangs in the air. Even whispered, her words carry the weight of truth I’ve been trying to avoid. The way she’s looking at us, shy but knowing, makes my chest tighten with a mix of embarrassment and something dangerously close to hope.

“Jessica,” I manage, my voice barely steady, but she’s already looking away, suddenly fascinated by a soggy paperback at her feet.

The worst part? She’s not wrong. And from the way Grayson’s dark eyes are studying my face with newfound intensity, he knows she’s not wrong either.

We ride back in Grayson’s truck, both of us lost in respective thoughts while the radio plays soft country music that seems designed to encourage poor romantic decisions. When we reach my coffee shop, neither of us moves to get out.

The silence stretches between us, filled with the weight of everything that almost happened in my coffee shop and everything that did happen in Jessica’s waterlogged bookstore.

I should thank him and go inside, maintain the professional distance we’ve worked so hard to establish. Not sit in my car with the man who’s supposed to be destroying my life, wishing I could invite him up for more coffee and conversation that has nothing to do with city planning.