Page 43 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Please.”
We’re both performing politeness with Oscar-worthy intensity, pretending yesterday’s tie incident didn’t happen. Pretending she didn’t have her hands pressed against my chest while I stood there experiencing a complete systems malfunction. Pretending I didn’t almost kiss her in broad daylight like some kind of madman.
“Nice tie,” she says quietly, and there’s something dangerous in her voice that makes my pulse kick. “Very... straight.”
The word ‘straight’ shouldn’t sound like sin, but from her lips, it does.
“Thanks. I managed it myself this time.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“I can see that.” Her eyes meet mine, and for one electric second, I see her remembering exactly how it felt to straighten it for me. How close we were. How her breath hitched when I looked down at her like she was something precious.
The espresso machine hisses and gurgles while she works, and I try not to catalog every tiny movement—how she taps the portafilter, checks the extraction time, adjusts the grind withfocused attention. She genuinely cares about getting every detail right.
“So.” I clear my throat. “Big meeting tonight.”
“Committee meeting.” She doesn’t look up from steaming milk. “Should be productive.”
“Michelle—”
“Grayson, please.” Her eyes finally meet mine, and the vulnerability there hits me hard. “Can we just... not? Just for this morning? Before everything gets complicated again?”
She’s right. Tonight we’ll sit across from each other at a conference table, discussing development modifications and community impact stuff. Tonight we’ll pretend yesterday didn’t change anything between us.
And I’ll try not to remember the way she felt in my arms, how her body curved into mine like we were made to fit together.
But right now, we’re just Michelle and Grayson. Coffee shop owner and customer. Two people who are rapidly discovering that comfort and attraction make a combustible combination that could burn down everything we’ve both worked to build.
“Just this morning,” I agree, my voice rough with restraint.
Her smile—the first real one since yesterday’s wardrobe crisis—transforms her entire face and sends heat shooting straight through me. She slides my espresso across the counter, and when our fingers brush during the handoff, the contact burns like a brand.
“Have a good day, Grayson,” she says, and there’s something in the way she says my name that makes it sound like a promise and a warning all at once.
“You too.”
I should leave. Walk out, get in the truck, spend the day reviewing committee materials instead of lingering by the counter. Instead, I watch her interact with other customers,wondering when morning coffee became the highlight of my day for reasons that have nothing to do with caffeine.
Mrs. Spencer shuffles up to order her usual decaf with extra foam, shooting me a look that suggests the entire town has opinions about whatever’s happening between Michelle and me.
“Morning, Mrs. Spencer.”
“Morning, dear. You look very put-together today. That tie is perfectly straight.”
Michelle’s quick smile behind the espresso machine sends warmth spreading through my chest despite my growing anxiety about tonight’s meeting.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Of course, yesterday was quite the sight. Michelle taking such good care of you. Very sweet, very... intimate.”
Michelle’s face goes pink, and she suddenly becomes laser-focused on steaming milk with the intensity of a brain surgeon.
“It was just a tie emergency,” I say weakly.
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Spencer pats my arm with motherly authority. “In seventy-three years on this earth, I’ve never seen a tie emergency that romantic. You should ask her out properly.”
“Mrs. Spencer?—”
“Life’s too short for perfect timing, dear. Sometimes you have to create your own opportunities.”
