Page 59 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Fair enough.” She steps back, creating necessary space, but her gaze never leaves mine. “But Grayson? Whatever we decide about the development, whatever complications this creates with the committee, whatever Frank decides to destroy next—I want you to know something.”
“What?”
“I’m glad we finally stopped pretending we didn’t want to do that.”
The admission hits me square in the chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. “Michelle?—”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she says quickly. “Don’t tell me this changes everything unless you’re prepared for it to actually change everything. But don’t pretend it didn’t happen either.”
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. “It happened. And tomorrow, when we both panic about what it means, I want you to remember something.”
“What?”
“I’d rather complicate everything with you than keep things simple without you.”
Frank squawks his approval, then hops to the window and somehow manages to unlatch it with his beak.
“Show-off,” Michelle mutters, but she’s smiling.
Outside, October air carries the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of storms. I sit in my truck afterward, engine running, trying to process the fact that everything just shifted in ways I didn’t see coming.
My phone buzzes.
Scott:How did the late meeting go? Any progress?
I stare at the message, then type.
Me: It’s complicated.
Scott: With the timeline or with the coffee shop owner you’ve been obsessing over for seven years?
Me: Both.
Scott: Remember we have deadlines and people depending on us.
The reminder should stress me out. Six months ago, it would have sent me into damage control mode. Now I’m wondering when investor expectations started mattering more than the wayMichelle Lawson looks at me—like I’m worth fighting for instead of against.
Me: I know. We’ll figure it out.
Scott: We?
I set the phone aside without answering, because I don’t know what “we” means yet. I don’t know if Michelle and I are a “we,” or if tonight was just years of attraction finally boiling over into one lapse in judgment witnessed by a granola-stealing seagull named Frank.
What I know is that Michelle Lawson drives me absolutely crazy, and for the first time since my divorce, that feels less like a problem and more like possibility.
Tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to navigate “kissing your supposed enemy while a deranged seagull provides color commentary.”
Tonight, I’m remembering the way she said “good” when I told her she drives me crazy, and the fact that complicated doesn’t necessarily mean impossible.
The best things usually are complicated. And for once in my careful, controlled life, I’m ready for complicated.
THIRTEEN
MICHELLE
My reflection stares back from the bathroom mirror, looking exactly like a girl who’s been thoroughly kissed by a man who’s supposed to be my opponent in all things development-related. The careful walls I’ve built around my heart have apparently staged a rebellion and decided to embrace complete chaos.Get it together, Lawson.But my traitorous heart has signed up for advanced rebellion classes and refuses to listen to reason.
The memory of Grayson’s mouth on mine sticks around like a song you can’t get out of your head—impossible to ignore and humming through my entire body at frequencies that should probably be illegal. My lips still tingle with the ghost of his kiss, and there’s this ridiculous smile trying to take over my face.
