Page 73 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“The woman who left because I was emotionally unavailable. But that’s incomplete information.”
Michelle settles into the corner of the couch, tucking her legs under her in a way that makes the space feel even more intimate. “Complete information?”
“Miranda didn’t leave because I couldn’t love her. She left because I was too afraid to try.” I remain standing, pacing slightly because sitting feels too casual for this level of emotional excavation. “She said loving me was like trying to embrace concrete. That I used work as a weapon against intimacy.”
“Accurate assessment?”
“Devastatingly. I confused providing for her with being present with her. Turns out those are completely different concepts.”
Michelle sips her wine, studying my face with the careful attention she usually reserves for complex espresso machine repairs. “And now?”
“Now I’m standing in your living room with discount flowers because you make me want to try presence instead of absence.”The admission feels like stepping off a construction scaffold without safety equipment. “You make me want to be here, available, all the terrifying territories Miranda needed that I was too much of a coward to explore.”
“What changed?”
“You changed everything.” I stop pacing and look directly at her. “How you fight for this place, defend this community. How you make me want to earn you.”
She sets down her wine glass with careful precision. “Earn me?”
“Michelle, you’re brilliant and passionate and brave enough to declare war on municipal policy when developers threaten your world. I’m a divorced contractor who spent decades hiding behind professional detachment because emotional availability felt too expensive.”
“You’re also the man who redesigned an entire development project because I asked you to consider community impact.”
“That wasn’t community consideration. That was me realizing I’d rather build things that make you happy than things that make investors wealthy.”
The silence that follows is loaded with the kind of tension that makes the air feel charged. Michelle stands up and walks to her bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines with nervous energy.
“Can I share something about David?” she asks without turning around.
“Anything.”
“David didn’t just steal my business concept. He stole my confidence in my own judgment.” Her voice maintains steady control, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. “I built everything with him—business plans, financial projections, dreams of what our coffee shop could become. When I discovered he’d taken it all to Atlanta and left me with debtinstead of partnership, I questioned every decision I’d ever made.”
“Including coming back here.”
“Including coming back here. Including believing I could rebuild. Including thinking I had enough strength for second chances.” She turns to face me, and the vulnerability in her expression makes me want to cross the room and gather her against me. “When you appeared with demolition paperwork, it felt exactly like David’s playbook. A guy I trusted and was starting to care about, trying to destroy everything I’d rebuilt.”
The parallel hits like structural failure. “That’s why you fought so hard.”
“That’s why I fought so hard. And that’s why yesterday terrified me.” She moves closer, though her hands tremble slightly. “Because somewhere between zoning permit arguments and kissing you outside my coffee shop, I realized I was falling in love with you.”
Relief floods through me. “Confirmed?”
“Confirmed. Which is inconvenient timing, considering you’re supposed to be my professional nemesis.”
“I was never your enemy. I was just too stubborn to recognize I was falling in love with the most attractive woman in Twin Waves.”
She laughs, but the sound carries nervous edges. “Most attractive woman in Twin Waves?”
“Most attractive woman I’ve ever met, who happens to create perfect coffee and argue municipal policy with the passion most people reserve for professional sports.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I’m oddly specific about most subjects. Especially when those subjects involve you.”
I cross the room then, closing the distance between us because standing on opposite sides of her living room feels likeunnecessary emotional architecture. She tilts her face up to look at me, and the sparkle in her eyes is even more pronounced in the soft apartment lighting.
“Grayson,” she says quietly. “What are we doing?”
