Page 51 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
My breath catches. “Looking at you in what way?”
“The way you’re looking at me right now.” His voice has gone rough around the edges. “The way that makes me want to forget we’re supposed to be enemies.”
We’re both frozen there—him kneeling between my legs with coffee-soaked towels in his hands, me looking down at him with my heart hammering against my ribs and heat pooling in places it shouldn’t. The jazz has shifted to something slow and intimate, and the moment feels electric.
“Grayson—”
My phone explodes into Jessica’s ringtone—”I Will Survive” because she has a sense of humor about her dating disasters—shattering our bubble of inappropriate tension.
We spring apart like teenagers caught by parents. Grayson shoots to his feet, putting careful distance between us while I fumble for my phone with shaking hands.
“I should take this,” I apologize.
“Michelle?” Jessica’s voice carries the edge that means blood, fire, or her dating life has imploded. “I need you to prevent me from committing landlord murder.”
“What happened now?”
“Pipe burst in the bookshop. Water everywhere. My entire romance section is drowning.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“You don’t need to abandon your evening?—”
“Jess. I’ll be right there.”
Grayson stands when I hang up, gathering our scattered documents with efficient movements.
“Emergency?” he asks.
“My friend’s shop is flooding. I have to?—”
“Go.” He hands me my jacket, then hesitates. “Do you need help? I know about water damage.”
I stare at him. Three months ago, this man represented everything threatening my carefully constructed life. Now he’s offering to spend his evening rescuing romance novels from plumbing disasters.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Michelle.” His voice carries gentle firmness that makes my knees weak. “Let me help.”
The walk to Jessica’s shop takes two minutes, during which I’m hyperaware of Grayson’s presence beside me as we walk. Her place is set to be demolished as well, since she’s on the same city block.
Jessica meets us at her door looking as if she wrestled a garden hose and lost. Her usually perfect auburn hair resembles a disaster movie victim, and her vintage dress bears water stains that suggest the battle was both recent and decisive.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” she says, relief flooding her voice as she takes in both of us. “I’ve been trying to reach my landlord, but he’s not answering his phone. The pipe burst and I didn’t know what to do about the water shutoff and?—”
She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she really looks at Grayson.
“Wait.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, her gaze darting between us with a dawning realization. “You’re here. You’re both here. Together.”
The moment stretches between all three of us. Jessica’s expression cycles through surprise, understanding, and something that looks suspiciously like delight despite her crisis.
“Sorry, my phone was on silent,” Grayson says quietly, pulling the device from his pocket. His voice carries a hint of embarrassment. “I was...”
His eyes flick to me, and heat crawls up my neck as Jessica’s gaze sharpens with unmistakable interest.
“You were together,” Jessica breathes, and despite her destroyed bookshop, a small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Of course you were.”
I catch Grayson’s expression—somewhere between mortification and the dawning realization that he’s walked into Jessica’s emotional minefield while she’s actively shipping us despite wanting to strangle him.
