Page 33 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

“I was never your enemy. I was just too stubborn to recognize I was falling in love with the most attractive woman in Twin Waves.”

She laughs, but the sound carries nervous edges. “Most attractive woman in Twin Waves?”

“Most attractive woman I’ve ever met, who happens to create perfect coffee and argue municipal policy with the passion most people reserve for professional sports.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I’m oddly specific about most subjects. Especially when those subjects involve you.”

I cross the room then, closing the distance between us because standing on opposite sides of her living room feels like unnecessary emotional architecture. She tilts her face up to look at me, and the sparkle in her eyes is even more pronounced in the soft apartment lighting.

“Grayson,” she says quietly. “What are we doing?”

“We’re figuring out if two people who spent weeks arguing about property development can figure out how to build something together instead.”

“And what would we be building?”

“I don’t know. Something that serves both of us. Something that lasts.” I reach up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and she leans into the touch. “Something worth more than its market value.”

She steps closer, eliminating the last bit of professional distance between us. “I’d like to try building that.”

“Even though I’m probably going to mess it up?”

“Even though I’m definitely going to overthink everything and probably panic at least twice a week?”

“Those sound like manageable construction challenges.”

“Does that make us business partners now?”

“That makes us whatever we want to be.”

She reaches up to kiss me then, soft and sure and tasting like red wine and the promise of something I never thought I’d be brave enough to want. When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, trying to memorize this moment when everything changed.

“Michelle?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I look around? I want to see more of your life.”

Her smile lights up the room. “Only if you promise not to make construction commentary about my decorating choices.”

“I can’t promise that. I’ve already identified at least three code violations.”

“You have not.”

“The lighting fixture in your kitchen is held up by hope and a prayer.”

“It’s vintage character.”

“It’s a fire hazard.”

“Shows what you know about interior design.” She takes my hand, leading me toward her bedroom area. “Come on. Let me show you the rest of my code violations.”

“This should be educational.”

“This should be terrifying. I made most of my decorating decisions based on what was affordable and what made me happy, not what met professional construction standards.”

The bedroom is small but cozy, with a reading chair positioned near the window and a nightstand covered in books and reading glasses and what appears to be...

“Is that needlework?” I ask, picking up a small embroidered hoop.

Michelle freezes. “No.”

“This is definitely needlework. With what appears to be...” I study the pattern more closely. “Is this a tiny dog wearing a bow tie?”

“Put that down.”

“This is adorable.” I examine the stitching with the appreciation I usually reserve for well-executed construction joints. “How many of these do you have?”

“It’s a hobby. A perfectly normal hobby that many people enjoy.”

“How many, Michelle?”

She sighs and opens the top drawer of her nightstand, revealing at least a dozen completed needlework pieces, all featuring small dogs in various outfits and poses. A Corgi in a Santa hat. A Beagle wearing sunglasses. A Poodle with a tiny scarf.

“This is the most devastating thing I’ve ever discovered about you,” I tell her seriously.

“Devastating?”

“Devastatingly cute. I was prepared to fall in love with a fierce coffee shop owner who argues municipal policy. I was not prepared to fall in love with a girl who embroiders tiny dogs in formal wear.”

“They’re not all in formal wear.”

“You’re right. This one’s wearing a bikini.”

“That’s a summer outfit.”

“For a Yorkshire Terrier.”

“Yorkie fashion is very sophisticated.”

I set down the needlework and look at her—really look at her—standing in her bedroom in soft clothes with her hair down, surrounded by evidence of hobbies that involve tiny embroidered dogs and books with titles like The Billionaire’s Baby Secret and coffee equipment that probably costs more than most people’s cars.

“Michelle Lawson,” I say slowly, “you’re not at all who I thought you were.”

“Is that a problem?”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in fifteen years.”

She moves closer, reaching up to straighten my shirt collar with the kind of casual intimacy that suggests she’s already thinking of us as an established unit.

“So what happens now?” she asks.

“Now I help you fix that lighting fixture in your kitchen before it burns down the building.”

“That’s romantic.”

“Now I learn everything there is to know about needlework dog fashion.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Now I try to deserve this. Deserve you. Deserve the chance to build something that makes us both happy instead of just profitable.”

She kisses me again, longer this time, with the kind of certainty that suggests she’s made a decision about taking this risk.

“For the record,” she says against my lips, “I think you already deserve it.”

“Really?”

“Really. But you’re still fixing my lighting fixture.”

“Deal.”

“And you’re never telling anyone about the embroidery.”

“That’s going to be difficult. This is Twin Waves. Everyone’s going to want to know why I’m suddenly googling ‘tiny dog bow tie patterns.’”

“You’re not googling anything.”

“I might be googling things. For research purposes.”

“Research for what?”

“For understanding my girlfriend’s hobbies.”

“Girlfriend?” Her smile suggests the title suits her perfectly.

“Unless you prefer ‘opposition leader I’m madly in love with.’”

“Girlfriend works.”

“Good. Because I was running out of professional terminology for whatever this is.”

She laughs, pulling me toward the kitchen where the questionable lighting fixture awaits professional attention. Outside, Twin Waves settles into evening routines, but inside Michelle’s apartment, everything has shifted into something new and terrifying and absolutely worth building.

I’m still grumpy. Michelle’s still sunshine. We’re still on opposite sides of a development project that could change everything.

But now we’re on the same side of love.

And for the first time in fifteen years, that doesn’t scare me.

It makes me want to get started.