Page 80 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
The tender look that passes between them makes something flutter in my chest. This is what love looks like when it’s sure of itself.
“So where are we headed?” Grayson asks as we board the ferry, his hand settling at the small of my back with casual possession.
“The Back Porch Restaurant,” Brett says. “Amber researched it extensively.”
“By extensively, he means I read every review and studied their menu for two hours,” Amber admits cheerfully. “But it’s supposed to have the best seafood in the Outer Banks and the most romantic sunset view.”
As the ferry pulls away from shore, the four of us find a spot at the railing. The wind whips through my hair, and I’m acutely aware of Grayson standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Beautiful evening for this,” he murmurs, but when I glance at him, he’s not looking at the water. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“The sunset should be spectacular,” I manage, though my voice sounds strangled.
“Already is,” he says quietly, and the sincerity in his voice does dangerous things to my composure.
“You two are adorable,” Amber observes with barely contained glee. “Watching you discover each other is like watching a romantic movie in real time.”
“We’re still figuring things out,” I protest, though Grayson’s thumb stroking across my knuckles suggests he’s figured out exactly how to make me lose my mind.
“Some things don’t need figuring,” Brett says, his tone knowing. “Some things just are.”
The forty-minute ferry ride passes in a blur of salty air, wedding planning chatter from Amber, and increasingly charged glances between Grayson and me. By the time we dock at Ocracoke, I’m wound tight as a spring from the combination of his proximity and the anticipation crackling between us.
The Back Porch Restaurant sits right on Silver Lake Harbor, all weathered wood and twinkling lights that reflect off the water like scattered stars. Our table on the deck offers an unobstructed view of the sunset painting the sky in shades of coral and gold.
“This is perfect,” Amber sighs, settling into Brett’s side. “Romantic enough to make me forget we’re technically here to interrogate Michelle’s boyfriend about his business intentions.”
“Amber,” I warn, heat creeping up my neck.
“What? It’s true. We all know why we’re really here.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Jessica sent me a very detailed text about the bookstore situation.”
Grayson straightens slightly, though his hand remains linked with mine. “Which gives me the perfect opening to explain before anyone starts planning my exile from Twin Waves.”
“We’re listening,” Brett says, and there’s something in his tone that suggests he takes protecting the people he cares about seriously.
“The letter Jessica received wasn’t a threat. It was an invitation.” Grayson’s voice carries confidence. “To partner with me on a historic preservation project that would secure her building’s future permanently while creating something that serves the entire community.”
Amber leans forward with obvious interest. “What kind of partnership?”
“The kind where we apply for those grants Michelle’s been researching.” He turns to face me fully, eyes brightwith excitement and something deeper. “Historic tax credits, community development funding, preservation grants—there’s enough available money to not just repair the flood damage, but to restore the entire building to its original glory while upgrading it to modern standards.”
My pulse quickens as the implications sink in. “You want to create a community hub.”
“I want to create something that proves development doesn’t have to mean destruction.” His thumb traces across my knuckles with devastating precision. “Something that preserves history while serving the future. Something we build together.”
The way he says ‘together’ makes my insides flutter dangerously. “And Jessica gets to keep her bookstore?”
“Jessica gets a twenty-year lease at below-market rates, the building gets landmark protection, and Twin Waves gets a model for how historic preservation and sustainable development can work in harmony.” His eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes breathing difficult. “The coffee shop you and I discussed becomes the anchor tenant, with the bookstore maintaining its current space plus an expansion.”
“That’s brilliant,” Brett says, leaning forward with obvious admiration. “Historic preservation funding is huge right now, especially for projects that demonstrate community partnership.”
“It’s not just brilliant,” Amber adds, fanning herself dramatically. “It’s romantic. Building something together, preserving the past while creating the future... that’s basically the plot of every good romance novel ever written.”
“It’s not a romance novel,” I protest, though my voice lacks conviction because the way Grayson is looking at me suggests he might disagree.
“Isn’t it?” he asks quietly, voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. “Because from where I’m sitting, it feels like we’re writing our own love story. One grant application at a time.”
The heat in his voice makes my breath catch. Before I can formulate a response that doesn’t involve melting into a puddle of romantic sentiment, our server arrives.
