Page 119 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
I accept the call and put it on speaker. “Scott?”
“Grayson, I hope you’re sitting down. Combining with Michelle’s business was the smartest move we’ve ever made. Hammond Sustainable Development wants to schedule a meeting tomorrow to discuss long-term partnership opportunities. “
Michelle’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight as possibility blooms between us.
“What kind of opportunities?” I ask.
“The kind that involves community preservation projects across the entire southeastern coast. The kind that could make Reed Development Corporation the premier sustainable development firm in the region.”
“And the kind,” Michelle adds with growing excitement, “that prioritizes community benefit over corporate profits?”
“Exactly,” Scott confirms. “Grayson, you didn’t just make a statement today—you positioned Reed Development Corporation as the leader in ethical development practices.”
I look at Michelle, radiant in the last light of sunset, and understand finally that choosing love over fear doesn’t require sacrifice—it creates possibilities that fear could never imagine.
“Schedule the meeting,” I tell Scott. “Michelle and I have some communities to serve.”
The call ends, leaving us alone with the sound of waves and the promise of everything we’re about to build together.
“Ready to change the world?” Michelle asks.
“Ready to love you while we do it,” I reply, and her laugh carries on the ocean breeze like a promise of forever.
The sun disappears completely into the Atlantic, but the sky remains bright with stars and possibilities that stretch as endless as our love and twice as beautiful.
EPILOGUE
JESSICA
The Hensley House looks absolutely magical this blazing July afternoon, seven months after Grayson’s dramatic victory over Coastal Capital. Victorian trim catches sunlight streaming through ancient live oaks, while the Atlantic sparkles beyond the wraparound porch. Heat shimmers off the sand where white chairs form perfect rows, and I’m questioning my decision to wear pantyhose to a beach wedding.
Watching Amber walk down the grand staircase in her grandmother’s restored lace wedding dress makes me forget about melting mascara and humidity disasters.
“She looks like a queen,” Michelle whispers beside me, dabbing her eyes with emergency tissues I’ve learned to pack for every Bookaholics Anonymous emotional crisis. “Pearl would be so proud.”
I nod, throat tight as Brett’s face transforms at the altar. The man looks like he’s witnessing a miracle, which I suppose he is. These two were business partners pretending they weren’t desperately in love. Now Brett watches his bride approach with reverence usually reserved for religious experiences.
The wedding party includes Mason as ring bearer, marching with the careful concentration of a six-year-old entrusted withprecious cargo. Ellen as flower girl, actually sticking to the path instead of chasing butterflies. Tally as a bridesmaid, radiant in sage green and responsible for the dessert course of the reception.
All of us Bookaholics serve as bridesmaids, united in sage green dresses that actually flatter everyone—a minor miracle. Jo looks stunning next to Mads. Hazel glows with the satisfaction of perfect wedding planning. Michelle beams with pride for the woman who’s become like her sister.
Crew tugs at his bow tie with the expression of an eleven-year-old forced into formal wear, making me bite back laughter that would disrupt the ceremony’s serious mood.
“Mom, I can’t breathe,” he stage-whispers to Amber, loud enough for three rows to hear. “This thing is trying to strangle me.”
“You look very handsome,” Amber whispers back. “Two more minutes.”
“Two minutes feels like two hours when you’re being murdered by fancy clothes,” Crew mutters, but he stands still.
The ceremony is perfect—Brett’s voice breaking slightly on his “I do,” Amber’s radiant smile when they’re pronounced husband and wife, the explosion of rice and bubbles as the happy couple kisses.
The reception transforms the Hensley House’s interior into a coastal paradise. The Salty Pearl’s catering team—led by Tally’s masterful dessert display—serves seafood from their own restaurant, paired with a three-tiered cake that’s more artwork than dessert.
I’m helping myself to a second piece of Tally’s divine lemon lavender cake when the DJ announces it’s time for the bouquet toss. Against my better judgment—and despite being perfectly happy with my single status—I find myself herded onto the dance floor with every other unmarried woman present.
Aubrey Wheaton, the wedding planner, handles the chaos with bubbly authority despite the blazing heat threatening to wilt her crisp white button-down. Her red hair escapes its professional bun in humidity-induced curls, but she manages the crowd like a general commanding troops.
“All the single ladies, gather ‘round!” she calls out with energy that makes resistance futile. “Time for someone to catch their destiny!”
