Page 41 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)

TWENTY

I did the right thing.

I keep telling myself that as I sit in my truck outside Twin Waves Brewing Co., watching the morning rush through windows I can’t walk through today. Michelle moves behind the counter, serving coffee to customers who don’t know that yesterday I broke both our hearts to save her business.

My phone sits silent. No angry calls, no texts demanding explanations. Just silence that grows heavier every hour.

Clean breaks heal faster than messy explanations, right?

At least that’s what I tell myself while watching her laugh at Caroline through the window.

My chest aches. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Not in protecting her from David—that was necessary.

But in how I did it. In making her think she didn’t matter when she’s the only thing that’s mattered for months.

My phone buzzes. Scott’s name appears.

“How’s Michelle handling the news?” No hello, just straight to business.

“About how you’d expect.”

“Which means?”

“She’s not speaking to me.”

Dead silence. “Grayson, please tell me you explained about Norris’ threat.”

“I couldn’t. It would destroy her to know that trusting me made her vulnerable again.”

“So you let her think you’re exactly like him instead?”

The accusation hits hard. “I was protecting her.”

“You were protecting yourself from having to see her hurt. There’s a difference.”

I start to argue, then stop. Sitting here watching Michelle through windows I can’t cross, Scott’s words ring true.

“She doesn’t know why you did it,” Scott continues. “All she knows is that when things got complicated, you picked business over her. Sound familiar?”

David Norris. The ex who stole her ideas and left her convinced that mixing business with feelings always ended in betrayal.

I just proved her right.

“I need to explain?—”

“You need to figure out what you’re actually apologizing for first.”

The line goes dead. I’m left staring at the woman I love, watching her serve coffee to a community I was supposed to help protect. She looks tired, her usual bright energy dimmed to something that barely resembles the Michelle who kissed me three days ago.

I reach for my phone and call her.

Straight to voicemail.

“Michelle, it’s me. I know you’re angry, but we need to talk. Yesterday wasn’t what it seemed. I was trying to protect?—”

Beep. Twenty seconds don’t leave room for explanations about threats and terrible choices.

I call again. Voicemail again.

By the third call, she’s screening me out completely, deleting my voice from her life with the efficiency of practiced heartbreak.

The coffee shop door opens. Jessica emerges, scanning the parking lot until she spots my truck. Her expression could melt steel as she marches across the asphalt with the stride of a person about to deliver a lecture I won’t enjoy.

I roll down the window.

“What is wrong with you?” No preamble, no pleasantries.

“Good morning to you too, Jessica.”

“Don’t you dare ‘good morning’ me. Michelle spent half the night crying because she thinks you used her feelings to get her support for your project.”

The accusation carries Michelle’s pain. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what did happen? Because from where I’m sitting, you spent weeks getting her to trust you, convincing her to work together, and then the second things got complicated, you tossed her aside.”

“I was protecting her from her ex.”

“What?” Jessica’s expression shifts from anger to confusion.

“David called Scott, asking detailed questions about our project. He knows things only Michelle would know—grant strategies, community development models, everything she shared with me in confidence.” My hands grip the steering wheel.

“He’s planning to steal our approach and target Twin Waves because of her involvement. ”

Jessica goes very still. “You broke up with her to protect her from David?”

“I couldn’t tell her. It would destroy her to know that trusting me made her vulnerable again.” The words taste bitter. “So I made her think I was choosing business over her.”

“You idiot.” But Jessica’s voice has lost its edge. “She thinks you’re David all over again.”

The comparison to her ex lands hard. Because Jessica’s right—from Michelle’s view, the pattern is identical. Trust, collaboration, abandonment when business conflicts with feelings.

“I need to talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Jessica, she doesn’t understand why I made that choice.”

“Because you didn’t trust her with the truth. Because instead of letting her decide how to handle David’s threat, you made the decision for her.”

The observation stops me cold. That’s exactly what I did—decided that protecting her from painful truths was more important than treating her as an equal partner.

“She would have been devastated to know David was targeting her again.”

“And now she’s devastated anyway, but she thinks you’re the one who betrayed her.”

Partner. The word I used to describe our business relationship, stripping away any hint of personal connection. No wonder Michelle felt discarded.

“I messed this up completely.”

“Spectacularly,” Jessica confirms. “But recognizing the problem is the first step.”

“How do I fix making the woman I love think I used her?”

“You start by admitting that your way isn’t the only way. Michelle Lawson has been handling complicated situations since before you arrived in Twin Waves. She didn’t need you to sacrifice your relationship to save her from David.” Jessica stares at me for a long moment.

“She needs to know everything. But first I need to figure out how to explain why I handled it by breaking her heart instead of trusting her.”

“You better figure it out fast.” Jessica glances back toward the coffee shop. “Because she’s planning to fight this development on her own now. And if David’s circling, she’s more vulnerable than ever.”

I’m about to respond when my phone buzzes. Scott’s name appears on the screen.

“Take it,” Jessica says. “I’ll tell Michelle you’re not giving up.”

I answer as Jessica walks away. “What now?”

“We have a bigger problem,” Scott says without preamble. “The investors got wind of Norris’ interest in our project. They’re concerned about competitive threats and want to accelerate our timeline.”

My stomach drops. “Accelerate how?”

“They want us to move forward with the original plan. Full development, maximum profit potential. They’re threatening to pull funding if we can’t guarantee that community partnerships won’t compromise the project’s commercial viability.”

“In other words, they want me to cut ties with Michelle completely.”

“They want assurance that personal relationships won’t affect business decisions. And they want it by tomorrow.”

I lean back against my truck, feeling the walls close in from every direction. “So now I have to choose between funding that could save the project and the woman I love.”

“Or find a third option that satisfies everyone. But Grayson? These investors don’t bluff. If they walk, we lose everything we’ve put into this project.”

The line goes dead, leaving me staring at the coffee shop where Michelle is serving coffee to customers who don’t know their gathering place hangs in the balance. David’s threat, investor ultimatums, and my spectacular failure to handle any of it properly.

I’ve managed to put Michelle in more danger by trying to protect her, and now I have less than twenty-four hours to fix everything I’ve broken.

Michelle deserves an explanation that honors her intelligence instead of treating her as fragile. She deserves to know that I picked protecting her over protecting myself, even though I handled it terribly.

She deserves to know that I love her too much to let anyone treat her as disposable—including me.

But first, I need to figure out how to apologize for making a choice about our future without including her in the decision. For treating our partnership as something to be managed instead of something strong enough to handle threats together.

My phone shows three missed calls from potential investors. I delete them without listening. Whatever happens next, it’ll be with Michelle’s input or not at all.

Now I just need to convince her to give me another chance to do the right thing correctly.

But watching her serve coffee through windows that feel more like barriers every minute, I’m beginning to understand that trust, once broken, requires more than explanations to rebuild.

I start the truck and drive away, but not before I see Michelle glance toward the parking lot through the window. For just a second, her mask slips, and I catch a glimpse of the hurt I put there.

The image follows me home, where I stare at the walls of my empty house for exactly twenty minutes before I crack.

I throw some clothes in a duffle bag, grab my helmet and keys, fire up the Harley, and head for Charlotte.

If I’m going to figure out how to fix this mess, I need perspective that only family can provide.

F our hours later, I’m standing on Amanda’s front porch in Charlotte, holding my helmet, a hastily packed duffle bag, and what’s left of my dignity.

The coastal ride should have cleared my head.

Instead, every mile reminded me of the trips Dad and I used to take on this same route when I was eight, back when he still thought motorcycle rides could fix whatever was broken between him and Mom.

Turns out wind therapy doesn’t cure stupidity.

Amanda opens the door before I can knock, as if she’s been watching through the window. Which she probably has, because that’s what big sisters do—monitor your disasters from across the state.

“You look terrible,” she says, stepping aside to let me in.

“Thanks. Really what I needed to hear.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“Define sleep. Because if you mean actual rest versus lying awake replaying every stupid thing I’ve said in the past week, then it’s been a while.”