Page 79 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if I’m right.
Tonight, I’ll research grant applications and dream about collaborative solutions and try not to think about how much I have to lose if I’m wrong about Grayson Reed.
Again.
I stroll down the street to the other end of the block where my apartment sits over my shop.
Maybe Jessica’s right. That happiness counts for something, and trust can coexist with caution.
And the man who asked to be my boyfriend while fixing my electrical problems might be exactly the partner I need to fix everything else that’s broken.
Tomorrow, I’ll find out if I’m right.
Tonight, I’ll research grant applications and dream about collaborative solutions and try not to think about how much I have to lose if I’m wrong about Grayson Reed.
Again.
The next evening arrives warm and breathless, and I’m on outfit number four when my phone buzzes.
Grayson: Fair warning: Amber’s researched “the most romantic waterfront restaurants in the Outer Banks.”
My pulse quickens at the casual intimacy in his text, the way he includes me in plans like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days. The thought of being trapped on a ferry with Grayson and a newly engaged couple feels simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.
Me: How do you feel about being interrogated about your real estate intentions while surrounded by water with no escape route?
Grayson: Terrified. Pick you up in twenty?
When Grayson’s truck pulls up, I’m waiting on the outdoor seating section of the coffee shop in a sundress that Jessica assured me strikes the perfect balance between “community leader” and “woman who definitely kissed her boyfriend senseless last night.” The memory of said kiss makes my cheeks warm as he unfolds from the driver’s seat, all lean muscle and confident stride until he spots me and stops cold.
His intake of breath is sharp enough to hear from the porch. “Sweet mercy,” he murmurs, just loud enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Is that your professional architectural assessment, Mr. Reed?” I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than intended.
He climbs the steps with predatory grace, eyes never leaving mine. “My professional assessment,” he says, voice dropping to that gravelly register that turns my knees to water, “is that you’re going to be a dangerous distraction tonight.”
The heat in his gaze makes my skin flush. “Dangerous how?”
“The kind that makes a man forget he’s supposed to be having serious conversations about business partnerships.” His hand finds my waist, thumb tracing a small circle that sends electricity shooting through my entire nervous system. “The kind that makes him want to skip dinner entirely.”
“Grayson,” I breathe, and his eyes darken.
“Say it again.”
“We should go,” I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.
By the time we reach the Cedar Island ferry terminal, I’ve managed to remember basic conversation skills, though the charged silence in the truck suggests Grayson’s having similar difficulties. Amber and Brett are already waiting in line, Brett’s arm wrapped possessively around Amber’s waist as she gestures animatedly about something.
“There they are!” Amber calls, practically bouncing with excitement as we approach. “Look at you two looking like the perfect couple!”
Heat floods my cheeks, but Grayson’s hand finds mine with casual confidence that makes my heart skip.
“Can I see your ring again, Amber?”
“Of course.” She sticks her hand out for me. I’ve seen it many times already, but now it’s somehow different.
The vintage solitaire catches the late afternoon sun. “It’s beautiful, Amber. Really.”
“Isn’t it?” She holds up her hand, and the ring sparkles with the kind of light that only comes from genuine happiness. “Brett found it at this antique shop in Beaufort,” she tells Grayson. “He said it reminded him of me—classic but with unexpected depth.”
