Page 35 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)
Jessica nudges a manila envelope between our glasses—the compliance packet Penelope dumped at the shop—Penelope’s neat loops still glaring from a sticky note: Deadlines gallop. —P.
The envelope sits between our wineglasses like a live wire, Penelope’s tidy handwriting daring me to blink first.
I stroll down the street to the other end of the block where my apartment sits over my shop.
Maybe Jessica’s right. That happiness counts for something, and trust can coexist with caution.
And the man who asked to be my boyfriend while fixing my electrical problems might be exactly the partner I need to fix everything else that’s broken.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if I’m right.
Tonight, I’ll research grant applications and dream about collaborative solutions and try not to think about how much I have to lose if I’m wrong about Grayson Reed.
Again.
I stroll down the street to the other end of the block where my apartment sits over my shop.
Maybe Jessica’s right. That happiness counts for something, and trust can coexist with caution.
And the man who asked to be my boyfriend while fixing my electrical problems might be exactly the partner I need to fix everything else that’s broken.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if I’m right.
Tonight, I’ll research grant applications and dream about collaborative solutions and try not to think about how much I have to lose if I’m wrong about Grayson Reed.
Again.
T he next evening arrives warm and breathless, and I’m on outfit number four when my phone buzzes.
Grayson: Fair warning: Amber’s researched “the most romantic waterfront restaurants in the Outer Banks.”
My pulse quickens at the casual intimacy in his text, the way he includes me in plans like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days. The thought of being trapped on a ferry with Grayson and a newly engaged couple feels simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Me: How do you feel about being interrogated about your real estate intentions while surrounded by water with no escape route?
Grayson: Terrified. Pick you up in twenty?
When Grayson’s truck pulls up, I’m waiting on the outdoor seating section of the coffee shop in a sundress that Jessica assured me strikes the perfect balance between “community leader” and “woman who definitely kissed her boyfriend senseless last night.” The memory of said kiss makes my cheeks warm as he unfolds from the driver’s seat, all lean muscle and confident stride until he spots me and stops cold.
His intake of breath is sharp enough to hear from the porch. “Sweet mercy,” he murmurs, just loud enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Is that your professional architectural assessment, Mr. Reed?” I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than intended.
He climbs the steps with predatory grace, eyes never leaving mine. “My professional assessment,” he says, voice dropping to that gravelly register that turns my knees to water, “is that you’re going to be a dangerous distraction tonight.”
The heat in his gaze makes my skin flush. “Dangerous how?”
“The kind that makes a man forget he’s supposed to be having serious conversations about business partnerships.” His hand finds my waist, thumb tracing a small circle that sends electricity shooting through my entire nervous system. “The kind that makes him want to skip dinner entirely.”
“Grayson,” I breathe, and his eyes darken.
“Say it again.”
“We should go,” I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.
By the time we reach the Cedar Island ferry terminal, I’ve managed to remember basic conversation skills, though the charged silence in the truck suggests Grayson’s having similar difficulties.
Amber and Brett are already waiting in line, Brett’s arm wrapped possessively around Amber’s waist as she gestures animatedly about something.
“There they are!” Amber calls, practically bouncing with excitement as we approach. “Look at you two looking like the perfect couple!”
Heat floods my cheeks, but Grayson’s hand finds mine with casual confidence that makes my heart skip.
“Can I see your ring again, Amber?”
“Of course.” She sticks her hand out for me. I’ve seen it many times already, but now it’s somehow different.
The vintage solitaire catches the late afternoon sun. “It’s beautiful, Amber. Really.”
“Isn’t it?” She holds up her hand, and the ring sparkles with the kind of light that only comes from genuine happiness. “Brett found it at this antique shop in Beaufort,” she tells Grayson. “He said it reminded him of me—classic but with unexpected depth.”
The tender look that passes between them makes something flutter in my chest. This is what love looks like when it’s sure of itself.
“So where are we headed?” Grayson asks as we board the ferry, his hand settling at the small of my back with casual possession.
“The Back Porch Restaurant,” Brett says. “Amber researched it extensively.”
“By extensively, he means I read every review and studied their menu for two hours,” Amber admits cheerfully. “But it’s supposed to have the best seafood in the Outer Banks and the most romantic sunset view.”
As the ferry pulls away from shore, the four of us find a spot at the railing. The wind whips through my hair, and I’m acutely aware of Grayson standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Beautiful evening for this,” he murmurs, but when I glance at him, he’s not looking at the water. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“The sunset should be spectacular,” I manage, though my voice sounds strangled.
“Already is,” he says quietly, and the sincerity in his voice does dangerous things to my composure.
“You two are adorable,” Amber observes with barely contained glee. “Watching you discover each other is like watching a romantic movie in real time.”
“We’re still figuring things out,” I protest, though Grayson’s thumb stroking across my knuckles suggests he’s figured out exactly how to make me lose my mind.
“Some things don’t need figuring,” Brett says, his tone knowing. “Some things just are.”
The forty-minute ferry ride passes in a blur of salty air, wedding planning chatter from Amber, and increasingly charged glances between Grayson and me. By the time we dock at Ocracoke, I’m wound tight as a spring from the combination of his proximity and the anticipation crackling between us.
The Back Porch Restaurant sits right on Silver Lake Harbor, all weathered wood and twinkling lights that reflect off the water like scattered stars. Our table on the deck offers an unobstructed view of the sunset painting the sky in shades of coral and gold.
“This is perfect,” Amber sighs, settling into Brett’s side. “Romantic enough to make me forget we’re technically here to interrogate Michelle’s boyfriend about his business intentions.”
“Amber,” I warn, heat creeping up my neck.
“What? It’s true. We all know why we’re really here.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Jessica sent me a very detailed text about the bookstore situation.”
Grayson straightens slightly, though his hand remains linked with mine. “Which gives me the perfect opening to explain before anyone starts planning my exile from Twin Waves.”
“We’re listening,” Brett says, and there’s something in his tone that suggests he takes protecting the people he cares about seriously.
“The letter Jessica received wasn’t a threat. It was an invitation.” Grayson’s voice carries confidence. “To partner with me on a historic preservation project that would secure her building’s future permanently while creating something that serves the entire community.”
Amber leans forward with obvious interest. “What kind of partnership?”
“The kind where we apply for those grants Michelle’s been researching.
” He turns to face me fully, eyes bright with excitement and something deeper.
“Historic tax credits, community development funding, preservation grants—there’s enough available money to not just repair the flood damage, but to restore the entire building to its original glory while upgrading it to modern standards. ”
My pulse quickens as the implications sink in. “You want to create a community hub.”
“I want to create something that proves development doesn’t have to mean destruction.” His thumb traces across my knuckles with devastating precision. “Something that preserves history while serving the future. Something we build together.”
The way he says ‘together’ makes my insides flutter dangerously. “And Jessica gets to keep her bookstore?”
“Jessica gets a twenty-year lease at below-market rates, the building gets landmark protection, and Twin Waves gets a model for how historic preservation and sustainable development can work in harmony.” His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes breathing difficult.
“The coffee shop you and I discussed becomes the anchor tenant, with the bookstore maintaining its current space plus an expansion.”
“That’s brilliant,” Brett says, leaning forward with obvious admiration. “Historic preservation funding is huge right now, especially for projects that demonstrate community partnership.”
“It’s not just brilliant,” Amber adds, fanning herself dramatically. “It’s romantic. Building something together, preserving the past while creating the future... that’s basically the plot of every good romance novel ever written.”
“It’s not a romance novel,” I protest, though my voice lacks conviction because the way Grayson is looking at me suggests he might disagree.
“Isn’t it?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like we’re writing our own love story. One grant application at a time.”
The heat in his voice makes my breath catch. Before I can formulate a response that doesn’t involve melting into a puddle of romantic sentiment, our server arrives.
He’s balancing four plates, and just as he reaches to hand them to us a toddler at the next table breaks free and slams into his legs.