Page 37 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
We’re both grinning now, caught up in the absurdity of our situation and the tension crackling between us like live wire. Committee members who can’t stop flirting while discussing the destruction of one person’s livelihood. It should be tragic.Instead, it feels like the beginning of something that could be incredible if the timing weren’t so terrible.
But then Michelle shifts again, and suddenly her mouth is so close to mine that I can feel her breath against my lips, and every rational thought in my head evaporates like morning mist.
“So what do we do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I have absolutely no idea,” she admits, but her hand comes up to trace my jawline with fingertips that leave fire in their wake. “But I vote we figure it out tomorrow and pretend to be responsible adults.”
“Tomorrow we should probably focus on actual committee work instead of emotional breakthroughs and furniture disasters.”
“Should,” she says, but she’s smiling in a way that suggests tomorrow night will be exactly like tonight—professional obligations abandoned in favor of the conversation we should have had years ago and the attraction we should have acknowledged before it reached critical mass.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask, knowing I should let her up, knowing I should restore some professional distance, knowing I should do a dozen responsible things that will keep us from making a mistake that could destroy everything.
Instead, I tighten my grip on her waist just slightly, just enough to keep her exactly where she is for another few seconds.
“Same time tomorrow,” she agrees, and when she finally pushes herself up and away from me, the loss of contact feels like physical pain.
I help her turn off the lights and lock up, hyperaware of every casual touch, every shared glance, every moment when she moves just close enough to remind me how perfectly she felt pressed against me. Walking to our cars in the empty parking lot, everything has changed and nothing has changed.
Tomorrow we’ll still be on opposite sides of this development. Tomorrow Scott will still expect progress reports, and the town will still expect results, and we’ll still be two people whose timing couldn’t be worse if we’d planned it deliberately.
But tonight I learned that Michelle has been falling for me while I’ve been falling for her, and that vulnerability doesn’t have to mean complete destruction. Tonight I learned that maybe I’m not as broken as I thought—maybe I just needed a girl who made falling like flying.
“Grayson?” Michelle calls as I reach my truck, her voice carrying on the autumn breeze like a siren song.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we finally had this conversation. Even if we’re both making terrible decisions that will probably destroy us.”
“Me too,” I say, meaning it with an intensity that should probably alarm me. “Sweet dreams, Michelle.”
“Sweet dreams.”
I drive home through the quiet streets of Twin Waves, thinking about sparkly looks and imaginary weddings and how falling for someone you can’t have might be the most honest thing I’ve done in years. Tomorrow we’ll go back to being enemies engaged in professional warfare.
Tonight, with the taste of possibility still lingering on my lips and the memory of her weight against me burned into my skin, I’m not afraid of what that means anymore. I’m terrified of it—and I’ve never wanted anything more.
NINE
MICHELLE
I’m putting fresh croissants on the shelf when Grayson walks through the door. His clothes look like he got dressed in the dark during a storm. His tie hangs crooked in a way that hurts my eyes. The morning breeze follows him inside, carrying the salty smell of the ocean and the promise of another beautiful day in Twin Waves.
The sight makes my heart jump around like a rabbit.
We had one honest talk about our feelings yesterday, and now my heart thinks we’re about to get married. This is crazy. My heart has no respect for my plans.
“Morning,” he says, walking to the counter like he’s asking for help. “Double espresso and maybe a miracle?”
“I’m out of miracles, but I can make good coffee.” I turn to the espresso machine, happy to have something to do that doesn’t make me look at his messy clothes. “You look like you fought with a tornado. And lost. Twice.”
“Town council meeting is tonight. Turns out my construction degree didn’t teach me how to give speeches. Or how to fix ties.”
I look back and wish I hadn’t. His hair looks perfectly messy in that way that probably takes other guys hours to do. His grayeyes look worried, and it makes me want to fix everything wrong in his whole life.
This is dangerous thinking.
“Your tie looks like modern art,” I say, pushing his coffee across the counter with maybe too much force. “The kind people stare at and wonder if it’s upside down.”
