Page 9 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
Hazel stands with the kind of determination that probably terrified her children into exemplary citizenship. “Count me in completely. This town raised my family. No developer destroys it under my watch.”
Agreement buzzes through the bookshop, plans crystallizing, women volunteering for specific tasks with the enthusiasm of neighbors who’ve discovered a common cause worth fighting.
Then Mads delivers the cold water of reality.
“According to Grandma Hensley, Grayson Reed isn’t some faceless corporate villain,” she points out gently, voicing the complication I’ve been avoiding. “Half our families hired him for home renovations. He’s coached Little League, donated to the fire department, and delivered soup when grandmothers got sick.”
Uncomfortable silence settles. Everyone knows Grayson’s local reputation. Charity events, volunteer contributions, the kind of community involvement that transforms contractors into neighbors.
Who apparently spent years planning to demolish my life’s work.
“That makes it infinitely worse,” I say, sharper than intended. “He understands exactly what this place means to people. He knows precisely what he’s destroying, and he’s choosing corporate profit anyway.”
“Michelle—” Jessica starts.
“No compromise with betrayal.” The words emerge harder than intended, but momentum carries them forward. “You don’t negotiate with a person who’s been lying to your face for who knows how long. You fight back with everything available.”
Because eight years ago, trusting the wrong person cost me everything I’d built. My business partner and fiancé decided my coffee shop concept was brilliant enough to steal while I wasn’t valuable enough to keep around. Left me financially devastated and emotionally shattered, questioning every instinct about people and trust and whether I could build anything worth preserving.
Never making that mistake again.
“I need to return to the shop,” I announce, gathering papers and dignity remnants. “Regular customers don’t know yet. They deserve to hear it from me instead of the town gossip network.”
Jessica catches my arm at the door. “Michelle. Are you handling this okay?”
Am I okay? The business faces demolition in fifty-five days. My morning routine was exploded by the revelation that my most reliable customer has been the enemy all along. I’m about to fight the biggest battle of my adult life with a ticking clock and growing suspicion that part of me feels more hurt than angry.
“I will be once we save this place.”
The walk back to Twin Waves Brewing Co. takes exactly three minutes, but my mind replays details I never analyzed. How Grayson always chose the table with perfect counter visibility. How he timed visits to avoid rush crowds, allowing actual conversations. How he’s the only customer who knows I take my own coffee with two sugars and vanilla creamer.
Details that either prove Mrs. Hensley’s romantic theories or confirm my worst suspicions about recon disguised as friendship.
The afternoon rush arrives precisely on schedule, providing blessed distraction from thoughts spiraling toward emotional territories I refuse to explore. Muscle memory takes control—espresso shots pulling and milk steaming to perfect temperature.
“You look worse than my sister Ellen after a grocery store tantrum,” Hazel’s daughter, Lila, observes, sliding onto her usual counter stool next to Caroline with effortless energy. “What happened?”
“Reed Development wants to tear down the building. Sixty days notice.”
“Reed Development?” Lila’s forehead wrinkles as her mental database processes local connections. “Wait. Grayson Reed? Your grouchy regular who tips like he’s apologizing for existing?”
Welcome to small-town life, where everyone knows everyone else’s business, family history, and preferred coffee modifications. Charming until it becomes terrifying.
“The same dude,” Caroline says to her stepsister, Lila. “You should have seen him the other day when Michelle realized it was him who wanted to decimate this place.”
“Wow. That’s...” Lila hesitates like she’s searching for adequate vocabulary. “Awkward doesn’t remotely cover this situation.”
Understatement of the millennium. “He claimed genuine surprise when I confronted him the other day. Says he didn’t realize I owned this place.”
“Oh, whatever,” Caroline says, rolling her eyes.
“Can’t analyze this now,” I say, focusing on the espresso machine instead of Lila’s concerned expression. “Need to strategize fighting this development.”
“What if you relocate somewhere?” Caroline asks.
The question I’ve been avoiding hits uncomfortably. “Relocate where? Have you seen any affordable commercial space in Twin Waves? This building works because it’s old and quirky and the plumbing makes interesting noises. Everything else costs triple what I can afford.”
“What about a business partnership?” Lila suggests. “Like get someone else to help out with the expenses and whatnot.”
