Page 50 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Rustic confusion?”
“Their exact words. I’ve been running a rustic confusion establishment without knowing it.”
“I’ll try the blend tomorrow and give you a second opinion,” he says. “Though I should warn you, I can only tell the difference between ‘coffee’ and ‘really good coffee.’ I’m not qualified to judge nutmeg complexity.”
“The most honest feedback I’ve gotten all week.”
We’re both laughing now, and the charged atmosphere between us has shifted from professional tension to dangerouswarmth. The kind that makes me forget we’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the biggest fight in Twin Waves history.
I should redirect us back to city planning. Should maintain professional boundaries. Should stop noticing how his eyes crinkle when he laughs or how his hair falls across his forehead when he’s genuinely amused.
Instead, I hear myself asking, “What’s the weirdest feedback you’ve gotten on a building project?”
His expression shifts, becoming thoughtful. “A town in Georgia once demanded that our shopping center include a duck crossing because the local ducks had been using that route to the pond for ‘approximately forever’ according to one very passionate city council member.”
“Did you include the duck crossing?”
“We included the duck crossing. Complete with traffic signals and warning signs.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“The ducks ignore it completely. They cross wherever they want, usually during rush hour for maximum traffic chaos.”
I laugh until my sides hurt, imagining Grayson Reed, serious development professional, designing traffic lights for rebellious waterfowl.
“So you’ve been dealing with small-town weirdness longer than just Twin Waves.”
“Apparently so. Though I draw the line at traffic signals for raccoons, no matter how convincing the argument.”
“Good to know you have standards.”
“Professional standards,” he corrects, but his tone is teasing. “Personal standards are apparently more flexible, considering I’m sitting in a coffee shop after hours talking about city rules with a woman who color-codes customer behavior patterns.”
“Hey, those patterns are scientifically valid observations.”
“I’m sure they are. I’m also sure most city planners don’t have access to data about tourist photography habits related to beverage complexity.”
The conversation flows as if we’ve been friends for years instead of professional enemies. I relax in ways I haven’t since David’s betrayal, sharing stories about customer interactions while Grayson offers tales of building challenges in communities where historical societies have more power than city councils.
We’re so caught up in conversation that when he reaches for his coffee cup, I do the same at the exact moment. Our hands collide in midair, sending his cup sideways and mine straight into my lap.
“Oh no!” I jump up, but the damage is done. Coffee soaks through my jeans, and I’m mortified. “I’m such a disaster.”
“Stay right there,” Grayson says, already moving. His voice carries an edge of command that does alarming things to my pulse. “Don’t move.”
He disappears behind my counter as if he owns the place, returning with dish towels and that competent air he gets during emergencies.
“It’s fine, really,” I protest, but he’s already kneeling beside my chair, carefully blotting the coffee from the worst spots.
The position puts his face level with my thighs, and I stop breathing entirely. He’s so close I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, can count the faint lines that appear when he concentrates. His hands move across the damp fabric, and every brush of his fingers sends heat racing through my veins.
“Michelle, stop squirming.”
The low command makes my stomach flip. There’s authority in his voice I’ve never heard before, and it does dangerous things to my self-control.
“This is so embarrassing,” I manage.
“Why? Accidents happen.” He glances up, catching me staring down at him with what must be a completely inappropriate expression. His hands still against my leg. “Though if you keep looking at me that way, I’m going to forget what I’m doing and why I shouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking.”
