Page 24 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“This was good. The conversation, I mean. We should do it again, preferably before one of us destroys the other’s livelihood.”
“Should we?” She tilts her head like a confused bird that’s just been offered advanced math.
“I think there might be solutions neither of us has considered yet. Solutions that don’t involve pitchforks, angry mobs, or me fleeing town in the dead of night.”
She tilts her head farther, studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve or possibly a psychiatric case study. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we’re both fighting for the same thing—we just have different ideas about how to achieve it without causing widespread emotional damage.”
“Which is?”
“A Twin Waves that thrives without losing what makes it special. Like your coffee beans—finding the perfect balance instead of burning everything to the ground.”
She considers this, drumming her fingers against her coffee cup. “You really believe that, or are you just saying things that sound good while secretly planning my doom?”
Excellent question that deserves an honest answer, even if honesty makes me vulnerable to disadvantage and possible emotional devastation. “Both, probably. But mostly the first one.”
She laughs, and the sound transforms her entire face into something that could power the Eastern seaboard. “At least you’re honest about being calculating and emotionally confused.”
“I’m honest about being confused by a person who saves my table even when she hates everything I represent. This situation is more complicated than I expected, and I specialize in complicated.”
“Because of the community opposition?”
“Because of you.” The admission explodes out of my mouth like a confessional grenade.
The words hang between us, more revealing than a full psychological evaluation. Her expression shifts, surprise replacing skepticism.
“Because of me?”
“Because you’re not who I thought you were and watching you fight for this place is making me question assumptions I’ve held about development philosophy and possibly my entire career. Also because you make excellent coffee and save my table even when you should probably ban me from the premises and maybe have me arrested.”
“I don’t hate you,” she says quietly, like she’s admitting to a crime.
“No?”
“I hate what you represent and that you’re threatening everything I’ve built. But I don’t hateyou.” She pauses. “Which is inconvenient, because hatred would be simpler and require significantly less emotional energy.”
“Simpler isn’t always better, even though it would make my life considerably easier.”
“Says the man who just bought me breakfast and possibly dismantled my entire worldview.”
“Says the woman who saved my table and may have accidentally given me hope for humanity.”
We look at each other across the small space between us, the ground shifting beneath everything I thought I understood about this situation and possibly my entire emotional landscape.
My phone buzzes again. Scott, increasingly frantic and probably stress-eating office supplies.
“I really do have to go before Scott sends out a search party.”
“I know.”
“But this conversation isn’t finished. We’re going to figure this out.”
“No,” she agrees, and her smile could melt steel. “It’s not.”
I pause at the door, looking back at her surrounded by paperwork and morning light, coffee cup in hand and determination in her posture like some kind of caffeinated warrior goddess.
“Your father would be proud of how you’re fighting for this place.”
