Page 11 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“How do we prove continuous community use?” I ask, hope and caffeine creating an interesting buzz in my chest.
“We find documentation. Photographs, business records, newspaper articles, personal testimonies.” Mads pulls out her phone. “Grandma, didn’t you leave boxes of old Chamber of Commerce materials in the attic of the Hensley House?” she asks, referring to the Victorian beach house Hazel inherited from Mrs. Hensley before fixing it up with Jack. “Mom showed me family photographs dating back to when hair was bigger and everyone wore questionable patterns. And Grandma...”
“Has preserved every newspaper clipping, business card, and community announcement since Nixon was president,” Mrs. Hensley finishes with obvious pride. “Hoarding tendencies are finally paying dividends.”
For the first time since reading that demolition notice, hope flickers instead of panic. Not quite confidence yet, but not complete despair either.
“This could actually work,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
“Of course it will work,” Mads says with confidence. “Though it requires cooperation from every business owner on the waterfront. Including people who enjoy filling out paperwork, which eliminates me entirely.”
“Including Jo,” Mrs. Hensley points out. “And Jessica.”
“They’re both already enlisted. Those ladies are ready to chain themselves to the buildings with Amber.” The memory of our book club war council produces a smile despite everything. “Turns out vintage furniture restorers have strong opinions about preserving authentic character.”
“And Amber’s restaurant depends on foot traffic from tourists who come for charm, not corporate developments,” Mads adds. “Not to mention, that you always have the Hensley ladies at your back as we manage the boutique together.” She meets her grandma’s grin. “You’ve got a solid coalition.”
Mrs. Hensley nods approvingly. “Now you’re thinking strategy instead of just emotion. Though emotion has its place too, especially when dealing with stubborn men who think logic solves everything.”
Her pointed look suggests we’re not just discussing preservation battles anymore.
“Mrs. Hensley, if you’re attempting matchmaking during a crisis?—”
“Sugar, I’ve been successfully matchmaking during crises since long before you were born. Works better than peacetime romance. Nothing makes people realize what they value quite like the threat of losing it.”
Deep in this planning session, the door chimes. I look up automatically, customer service smile ready, and freeze.
Grayson Reed stands in my doorway, looking uncertain in ways I’ve never witnessed—hands shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders tense, gold-flecked eyes that used to seem comfortingly steady now just reminding me he’s supposed to be the enemy.
“Michelle. Can we talk?”
Every customer in the place turns. Mrs. Hensley sets down her mug with obvious interest. Caroline glances up from her phone.
Live entertainment for the Twin Waves afternoon crowd.
“We’ve said everything necessary,” I reply, proud my voice maintains steadiness when my heart is executing complicated maneuvers I refuse to analyze.
“Have we?” He steps closer, and I catch the familiar scent of that subtle cedar aftershave that always clung to him during morning visits. “There’s been a significant misunderstanding.”
“About what? The part where you want to tear down my coffee shop, or the part where you’ve been planning it while pretending to care about my weekend plans?”
“I wasn’t pretending anything,” he says, voice carrying conviction that makes me want to believe him despite every logical reason not to. “I wasn’t planning to tear down your coffee shop specifically. I was planning waterfront development that unfortunately requires?—”
“Tearing down my coffee shop.”
“Yes.” He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up in ways that shouldn’t be attractive when I’m supposed to be furious with him. “Not because I want to hurt you, Michelle. Because this property is essential to the project design.”
“How considerate. Destroying my livelihood for architectural reasons.”
Mrs. Hensley makes a small “hmm” sound.
“That’s not—” Grayson stops, glances at our growing audience, looks back with what might be frustration. “Could we discuss this privately?”
“Why? So you can explain how demolishing my business is actually beneficial for me?”
“So I can explain this doesn’t have to be adversarial. There might be alternatives we haven’t considered.”
“Such as?”
