Page 43 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start (Twin Waves #2)
TWENTY-ONE
MICHELLE
T he federal grant papers cover my kitchen table in neat stacks that mock me. The money came through—enough to save Twin Waves and transform it into something special. Too bad the man who designed half the project decided I wasn’t worth fighting for when his investors questioned his judgment.
My phone buzzes. Jessica’s name flashes across the screen.
“Channel Seven wants to interview you about the grants,” she says. “This afternoon.”
“Just me?” Though I already know the answer. Grayson’s been avoiding me since yesterday.
“Unless you want to grovel and beg your missing ex-boyfriend to show up.”
“He’s not missing. He’s avoiding me.” The words scrape my throat.
“Michelle—”
“I have to go. Customer.”
I hang up and focus on the espresso machine, letting the familiar routine calm my nerves. The morning crowd has thinned to just Mrs. Hensley in her usual corner, reading the newspaper with gossip-hunting intensity.
The bell chimes above the door. I glance up, expecting another regular with pitying eyes.
David stands in my doorway.
My hands freeze on the steam wand. He looks exactly the same—perfectly styled hair, expensive suit, that smile I once thought meant affection before I learned it was just his hunting face.
“Hello, Michelle.”
Ice floods my veins. This isn’t happening. Not today. Not when I’m already hanging by a thread.
“What are you doing here?”
“Heard about your grant success. Impressive work.” He moves toward the counter, and I step back instinctively. “Historic preservation paired with community development. Very clever.”
“Get out.”
“Don’t be hostile. I drove all the way from Nashville to congratulate you.” His gaze sweeps the coffee shop. “This place has real potential now that you have funding.”
“I said get out.”
“Actually, I think we should discuss business. You always were brilliant with community organizing, and I have some ideas about maximizing these grants.”
The words hit me. This is exactly what Grayson warned me about—people wanting to exploit my community connections. Except now it’s David standing here with designs on my grants.
“I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t heard my proposal yet.” David leans against the counter, making himself comfortable. “What if I told you I could triple your preservation funding impact?”
“I’d say you’re lying.”
“Same old Michelle. Always suspicious.” His laugh makes my skin crawl. “I’ve learned a lot since we worked together. My development company specializes in historic preservation now. We could be partners again.”
Partners. The word makes me nauseous.
“We were never partners. You stole my ideas and left me broke.”
“That was a misunderstanding. Business decisions that benefited both of us eventually.” David’s voice takes on that smooth tone he used when he wanted something. “Look how successful you are now. This coffee shop, the community support, the grants. I helped you become stronger.”
“By betraying me?”
“By teaching you independence. And now that independence has created something valuable.”
Mrs. Hensley clears her throat loudly from her corner. “Michelle, honey, do you need me to make a call?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Hensley. Mr. Norris was just leaving.”
“Actually, I was hoping we could have lunch. Discuss opportunities that would benefit Twin Waves.” David’s smile sharpens. “I’ve been following your project development. The collaborative approach with local contractors is very innovative.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Small business networks. Everyone’s talking about your partnership with Grayson Reed.
” David pulls out his phone, swiping to show me a social media post. “Caroline’s Instagram is particularly informative.
Such sweet photos of you two working together on ‘historic preservation magic.’ Her followers eat up that small-town romance angle. ”
My stomach drops. Caroline’s been documenting our collaboration for weeks, posting pictures of us bent over blueprints, sharing coffee, laughing over grant applications. To her college friends, we probably looked like the perfect small-town power couple building something beautiful together.
To a man like David, we looked like a business opportunity ripe for exploitation.
“She tagged your coffee shop in every post. Made it very easy to track your progress.” David’s smile sharpens. “Though I notice he’s not here anymore. Trouble in paradise?”
Heat burns my cheeks. David knows about Grayson. Of course he’s been watching my life, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when I’m most vulnerable.
“My business relationships are none of your concern.”
“Perhaps not. But your grants are public record, and your development plans are exactly what my company helps communities implement.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Are you sure? Federal historic preservation funding is complicated. Lots of regulations, compliance requirements, reporting deadlines. Easy to make mistakes that could cost you everything.”
The threat hangs between us. David’s not offering help—he’s pointing out how easily he could destroy what I’ve built.
“I can handle my own projects.”
“Of course you can. You always were capable.” David’s voice turns softer, fake kindness dripping from every word. “I’m just saying it would be easier with experienced support. Especially since your contractor partner seems to have abandoned ship.”
“Grayson didn’t abandon anything.”
“No? Then where is he while you’re handling federal compliance alone?”
The question stings because I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Where is Grayson while I navigate bureaucracy and interviews and community expectations by myself? Why did he choose his investors over me the second things got complicated?
“He’s dealing with business matters.”
“Ah, business. Always comes first, doesn’t it?” David’s smile turns knowing. “Especially when personal feelings start affecting profit margins.”
“Get out of my coffee shop.”
“I’m trying to help, Michelle. Same as always.”
“You never helped me. You used me.”
“And now another is using you the same way.” David’s voice hardens. “At least when we worked together, you got credit for your ideas. What credit are you getting now?”
The accusation lands harder than it should. Because part of me has wondered the same thing—whether Grayson needed my community connections to make his development work. Whether I was just another useful resource.
“That’s different.”
“Is it? He got you to support his project, rally community backing, provide grant expertise. Then he disappeared when things got messy.”
“Stop talking.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you from repeating the same mistake.” David’s voice turns gentle again, the tone he used when he wanted me to trust him. “Some men are good at making women feel important while they’re useful.”
“You don’t know anything about Grayson.”
“I know he left you to handle everything alone. I know he’s not here fighting for your partnership.” David leans closer. “I know he gave up on you.”
“You don’t know why he left.”
“Enlighten me.”
I open my mouth to defend Grayson, then realize I don’t have a defense. Because I don’t know why he left either. One day we were partners building something beautiful, the next he was calling our relationship a professional mistake.
“That’s what I thought.” David’s smile turns satisfied. “I’m not here to cause problems. I’m here because I see an opportunity for both of us.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
“You have grants and community support. I have development expertise and capital. We could create something bigger than either of us could manage alone.”
“Like last time?”
“Better than last time. Equal partnership, shared profits, shared decisions.” David pulls out a business card. “Think about it, Michelle. You’ve spent years building something beautiful here. Don’t let another man destroy it when you could protect it with a guy who understands your vision.”
He slides the card across the counter. I don’t touch it.
“My answer is no.”
“You haven’t considered it yet.”
“I don’t need to consider it. The answer will always be no.”
David’s expression shifts, the fake kindness disappearing. “That’s unfortunate. Because grant funding comes with compliance requirements that most small business owners find overwhelming. It would be a shame if administrative errors forced you to return the money.”
The threat is clear now. David’s not offering partnership—he’s offering protection from problems he could create.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m explaining reality. Federal grants are complicated. Mistakes happen. Sometimes they happen to people who refuse reasonable assistance.”
My hands shake with rage, but I keep my voice steady. “Get out of my coffee shop. Now.”
“I’ll be in town for a few days. In case you change your mind.” David pockets his business card. “Think about what happens when your missing partner doesn’t come back. You might find you need friends after all.”
He walks toward the door, then turns back with that satisfied smile.
“Oh, and Michelle? That interview this afternoon? Make sure you have good answers about project management and compliance oversight. Channel Seven loves investigating how federal money gets spent.”
The door closes behind him. I stand behind the counter, shaking with fury and fear and the terrible realization that David Morrison is back in my life at the exact moment when I’m most vulnerable.
Mrs. Hensley appears beside the counter with her half-finished coffee.
“Honey, that man gave me the creeps. Who was he?”
“My ex-business partner. The one who stole my ideas and left me broke.”
“And now he’s back.” Mrs. Hensley’s expression turns knowing. “Right when you’re dealing with all this grant money and missing that boyfriend of yours.”
“Grayson and I are working through some things.”
“Same difference. He left you to handle everything alone, and now the vultures are circling.”
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.