Page 90 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
The question I’ve been avoiding. Because Grayson and I developed those grant applications together. Our collaboration created solutions that could save my coffee shop while serving his development goals. Walking away means losing access to everything we built together.
But staying means accepting that I’m disposable when convenient and essential when useful.
“I’ll figure it out on my own. Like I should have done from the beginning.”
Jessica settles beside me on the floor, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“You don’t have to figure everything out today,” she says, her voice gentle now that the initial fury has passed. “You just have to get through today. Tomorrow we can plot revenge or world domination, whatever feels more therapeutic.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Revenge sounds exhausting.”
“World domination it is then.”
We sit in comfortable silence while the afternoon light shifts across my apartment, highlighting coffee stains that will require professional cleaning and emotional damage that will require significantly more time and energy to repair.
“Jess?”
“Yeah?”
“I really thought he was different.”
“I know, honey. I did too.”
The admission hits harder than expected because Jessica’s judgment in people is usually excellent. If she thought Grayson was genuine, if she believed our connection was real...
“What does that say about us?” I ask. “That we both read him so wrong?”
“Maybe we didn’t read him wrong. Maybe he’s reading himself wrong.”
“You think he’s lying to himself about his motivations?”
“I think people do stupid things when they’re scared. And Grayson Reed strikes me as a guy who’s very, very scared of needing people.”
The observation settles uncomfortably in my chest because it explains too much. The careful emotional distance. The way he pulled back whenever our collaboration became too intimate. The clinical language he used to end things between us.
But understanding his fear doesn’t excuse the choice he made. Doesn’t change the fact that when forced to choose between professional safety and personal risk, he chose exactly what I expected him to choose.
What every man in my life has chosen when the stakes got high enough.
“Maybe,” I say finally. “But scared people who hurt other people to protect themselves are still people who hurt other people.”
“True.”
My phone buzzes again. Then again. The concerned messages pile up as Twin Waves’ unofficial communication network spreads news of whatever drama people witnessed between Grayson and me.
“We should probably make an appearance downstairs,” Jessica says, reading my expression. “Let people see that you’re functioning before the gossip gets completely out of hand.”
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to. Just smile and make coffee and let everyone see that Michelle Lawson is exactly as strong as they’ve always known her to be.”
The suggestion terrifies me because I’m not sure I am that strong anymore. Seven years of rebuilding my independence, my confidence, my ability to function without relying on anyone else for emotional stability, and Grayson managed to undermine all of it in a few weeks of coffee shop collaboration and heated glances that apparently meant nothing.
But hiding won’t help. In a town this size, absence gets interpreted as weakness, and I can’t afford to look vulnerable when my business relationships depend on community confidence in my stability.
“Ten minutes,” I say, pushing myself off the floor. “Just long enough to prove I haven’t completely fallen apart.”
“You haven’t fallen apart at all,” Jessica says firmly. “You’ve been reminded that some people aren’t worth the risk. There’s a difference.”
