Page 64 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
I gesture for privacy, but Scott just grins and settles deeper into his chair. Clearly, my romantic crisis has become his primary source of entertainment.
“Amanda.”
“You sound different.” My sister’s voice carries that particular blend of legal precision and sisterly nosiness that makes me want to hang up. “Happy different. When’s the last time you sounded happy?”
“The project’s progressing well?—”
“I’m not talking about work, and we both know it.” Papers shuffle in the background. “Who is she?”
Sisters possess an unnatural ability to detect romantic developments across state lines. “There’s no she.”
“Grayson Reed. You called me last month to debate grout ratios for twenty minutes. Today you sound like you remember what joy feels like.” Her voice takes on that patient tone she uses with difficult witnesses.
“Michelle.” Her name escapes before I can stop it, softer than I intended.
“The coffee shop owner? The one who makes ‘exceptional espresso’ and ‘maintains professional service standards’?”
Have I been talking about Michelle for months without realizing it? “We started as adversaries. She opposed the development.”
“And now?”
Now I can’t walk past her shop without my pulse quickening. Now I find excuses to attend every committee meeting just to watch her argue with passionate intensity that makes my chest tight. Now I lie awake replaying the way she said my name against my mouth.
“Now it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? Did she challenge your color-coding system?”
“She made me realize that some things matter more than profit margins.” The admission feels dangerous, like confessing to a fundamental character flaw. “She makes me want to be worth her attention.”
Amanda’s silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call dropped. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle. “Grayson, you already are. You just needed someone who could see past your emotional barricades.”
In the background, a child’s voice pipes up with startling clarity: “Mommy, why does Uncle Grayson sound weird? Did he eat bad milk?”
“No, sweetheart,” Amanda’s muffled response carries parental exhaustion. “Uncle Grayson is having feelings.”
“Eww! That’s yucky!”
“Very yucky,” Amanda agrees into the phone. “But the good kind of yucky.”
After I hang up, Scott eyes me with undisguised amusement. “So. Feelings, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Never. This is the most entertainment I’ve had since you tried to schedule spontaneity into our project timeline.” He pauses, expression shifting to something almost serious. “She’s good for you, you know. You’ve been less of a control freak since she started arguing with you.”
My phone buzzes before I can respond to that assessment.
Jessica: Emergency book club meeting tonight. Michelle said you know about wine. Help?
I stare at the screen. Michelle told Jessica I know about wine? My expertise extends to “red with steak, white with fish, and expensive when trying to impress.”
Me: Define “know about wine.” I can identify colors.
Jessica: Perfect. Wine shop in an hour?
Scott watches me type with barely contained laughter. “Wine consultation? Please tell me you’re not going to explain viticulture using architectural principles.”
“Why would I do that?”
