Page 86 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
The name lands low. Stomach drops. A high, thin ring sparks in my ears like a saw blade catching a nail.
“I’m nothing like him.” It comes out too fast, too sharp. Shame burns up the back of my neck.
“Aren’t you? Professional partnership that suddenly becomes too risky when real intimacy develops? Business decisions that prioritize profit over people? Using my trust to advance your own interests and then cutting me loose when the relationship becomes inconvenient?”
I steady my hands on the counter edge until the knuckles blanch. Sweat beads under my collar despite the draft sneaking under the door.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Air thins. Every instinct is to tell her about Norris; every calculation says that truth detonates what little trust she has left. Goosebumps lift along my forearms while heat prickles beneath them, a body at war with itself.
So I choose the lie that might save her business over the truth that would definitely break her heart.
“It’s me realizing that I’m not ready for the kind of relationship that can survive professional complications.”
The sentence tastes like metal on my tongue. The moment it leaves my mouth, the room goes quiet and heavy.
The words hit her like a slap. I watch her face close down, watch every wall I’ve spent weeks carefully dismantling slide back into place.
“I see.” Her voice goes flat, professional. “Well. Thank you for clarifying that before I made any additional emotional investments.”
“Michelle—”
“I think you should go.”
I flinch. Fingers curl against the chair back, then release. Heat drains out of my skin and leaves a clean, cold shake in its wake.
“We can still work together professionally. The project doesn’t have to?—”
“Get out.”
The finality raises a ripple along my scalp. The only smart move left is obedience.
I set down my untouched coffee and head for the door, feeling like I’m walking away from everything that matters for the sake of protecting it. The jamb is cool under my palm—steady, unlike the pulse thudding at my throat.
“Honestly,” I say from her doorway, “last night was real. What we built together was real.”
My voice is low and rough. An apology shatters before it can clear my teeth. Breathing stays shallow; shame still burns hot at the base of my skull, even as goosebumps pebble my arms.
“No,” she says without turning around. “Real things don’t disappear because of timeline changes and professionalcomplications. What we had was exactly what you said—personal feelings that couldn’t survive contact with your actual priorities.”
I leave her apartment knowing I’ve just made the most devastating mistake of my life in service of potentially saving hers.
By the time I reach my truck, my phone is buzzing with a text.Norris: Looking forward to visiting Twin Waves next week. Heard wonderful things about the local business community.
I’ve protected Michelle from one betrayal by delivering another.
The question now is whether she’ll ever forgive me enough to let me explain the difference.
Dawn breaks over the Atlantic with all the subtlety of a freight train, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and pink. The cold wind whips across the beach with enough force to make my eyes water, but I need the punishment of salt air and burning lungs more than I need warmth.
My feet pound against the packed sand in a rhythm that matches the chaos in my head.Idiot. Coward. Destroyer of everything good.
The sound of paws thundering across sand behind me breaks through my self-flagellation. Scout comes barreling past like he’s been shot from a cannon, a blur of golden fur and boundless energy that makes my own pace look pathetic.
“Morning to you too,” I call after him, grateful for the distraction.
