Page 38 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Miranda used to handle this stuff,” he mutters, tugging at the knot. “Results speak for themselves.”
“That’s not results. That’s a tragedy in silk.”
He huffs out a laugh—unexpected, rough around the edges. It hits me square in the chest, like music I didn’t ask for but can’t ignore.
“That’s pretty accurate.”
I look at his face—real nervousness mixed with the kind of humor that’s not fair to my brain—and make a decision that’s either helpful or completely stupid.
“Come here.” I wave him around the counter, instantly questioning my life choices.
He blinks. “What?”
“Your tie. It’s tragic, and half the council is about to judge you while you pitch bulldozing my shop. I’m helping the community by preventing wardrobe-related distractions.”
He hesitates just long enough to make my pulse trip, then steps around the counter. The shop seems to shrink three sizes when he’s this close. When did Grayson Reed get so tall? And since when does his presence feel like standing too close to a furnace?
“I should tell you I don’t know how to do this,” I say, reaching for his tie with hands that are steadier than they should be. “I know how to make coffee and organize the town. Fixing ties wasn’t in either class.”
“Good thing I’m desperate enough to take help from the enemy.”
I step closer to reach his collar, and everything tilts like the world just moved. His cologne—cedar and something clean—makes my head spin faster than my coffee machine on a busy morning. His breathing shifts when my fingers brush his neck.
The tie is smooth beneath my fingers, expensive silk against calloused hands that shouldn’t be shaking. Heat radiates through his shirt, carrying soap and cedar and something that scrambles every coherent thought.
“This is harder than it looks,” I whisper, tugging at the knot, pretending his heartbeat under my fingers isn’t wrecking my concentration.
“Michelle.” My name rumbles out of him, low and careful. It makes me look up before I can stop myself.
Mistake. Huge mistake.
We’re locked in a stare that feels dangerous—like we’ve struck a match in a room full of kindling. Fire, ready to consume everything I’ve worked so hard to keep safe.
His eyes do that intense thing that makes me think he’s seeing parts of me I didn’t know I was showing. The air between us crackles with electricity that has nothing to do with his silk tie and everything to do with the fact that I want to wrap my arms around him while also planning his professional destruction.
Through the big corner windows, I can see the ocean waves crashing against the shore. People walk along the boardwalk, and a palmetto tree leans over the path. Orange and red leaves are scattered everywhere. The white and orange striped awning over our windows flutters in the breeze. Orange mums in pots sit next to carved pumpkins by our outdoor tables that look out over the surf.
“There,” I manage, stepping back before I do really stupid things like kiss him in my own coffee shop twenty minutes before a town council meeting where we’ll be enemies. “Much better. Now you look like someone who knows aboutconstruction instead of someone who wandered in from a costume party.”
“Thank you.” His voice sounds rough, and he’s looking at me like I just did surgery instead of fixing fabric. Like I just changed his whole world using nothing but silk and being close. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m adding wardrobe help to my coffee shop services. Smart business for a woman facing demolition.”
The bell rings as Caroline pushes through the door with her usual college student energy, and I jump across the shop to get away from whatever magnetic field just tried to swallow us both.
“Morning, sunshine!” Caroline calls out, then stops when she sees Grayson behind my counter looking like a man who survived a disaster. “Oh. Hi, Mr. Reed. You look... professional.”
“Michelle did emergency fashion help,” Grayson explains, touching his newly fixed tie like it might catch fire from leftover tension.
“Emergency fashion help?” Caroline arches an eyebrow, already smirking. “Wow. Truly heroic, Michelle. The town thanks you for your sacrifice.”
I grab her usual mug, focusing on the hiss of steam instead of the memory of Grayson’s pulse under my fingers. Caroline drops into her chair, pulling out her laptop like she’s about to live-blog the apocalypse.
“Community service,” I mutter, tamping the espresso too hard. “Keeping Twin Waves professional, one tragic tie at a time.”
“Mm-hmm.” She props her chin in her hand, smirk widening. “Community service that looked suspiciously like a rom-com audition tape.”
Grayson clears his throat like a man who just realized he’s been caught in a romantic trap. “I should go to town hall. Lookover my notes before I explain why your coffee shop needs to be torn down for the good of everyone.”
