Page 47 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Why did you really agree to work with the oversight committee? Your original plans would have been easier to implement without community input.”
“Easier isn’t always better.”
“But why? What changed your mind?”
I study her face, trying to decide how honest I can be without completely derailing our professional collaboration. The truth is complicated: I changed my approach because of her. Because watching her fight for what she loves made me want to fight for her instead of against her.
“You did,” I say finally. “You changed my mind.”
Her breath catches. “Grayson?—”
“Michelle, Grayson!” Hazel Sanders appears beside us with supernatural timing. “How great to see you two suddenly so... collaborative.”
She waggles her eyebrows, and I swear I hear Michelle groan.
“Evening, Hazel,” I say, wondering if there’s a polite way to ask the town’s unofficial intelligence agency to give us five minutes of uninterrupted conversation.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says with the kind of smile that suggests she’s already planning our wedding menu. “I’m just documenting this historic moment when our resident coffee shop warrior and the big bad developer discovered they speak the same language. Who would have thought?”
“We’re just discussing the project,” Michelle interrupts, her cheeks flushing pink in a way that makes my pulse kick into overdrive.
“Right. Just like Romeo and Juliet were ‘just discussing’ poetry on that balcony.” Hazel’s eyes sparkle. “Although I suppose in your case, it’s more like... municipal zoning codes over a candlelit dinner?”
“We should probably head out,” Michelle interrupts, her cheeks pink. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Of course. But before you go—” Hazel produces her phone with a flourish. “Just one picture for the community newsletter? Documenting our collaborative spirit?” She gives us a megawatt smile.
Before either of us can object, she’s positioning us closer together, and Michelle’s arm brushes mine as she adjusts her blazer. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, and when I glance down at her, she’s looking back with an expression that makes my heart forget how to maintain a steady rhythm.
“Perfect!” Hazel snaps several photos while we stand frozen, probably looking like deer caught in headlights. “Such a lovely couple—I mean, partnership! Such a lovely partnership!”
She bustles away, leaving Michelle and me standing closer than professional collaboration typically requires.
“We should go,” Michelle says quietly, but she doesn’t step away.
“Probably.” I don’t move either.
“People will talk if we stand here much longer.”
“They’re already talking.”
“Mrs. Spencer texted me during the meeting about the betting pool. You know, the one guessing whether we’ll end up together?”
“Who’s winning?”
“Jessica put money on us figuring it out by Halloween. Amber thinks it’ll take until Thanksgiving.” Michelle’s smile is soft and slightly dangerous. “Caroline bet on this weekend.”
“Caroline might be optimistic.”
“Or perceptive.”
The comment hangs between us, loaded with possibility and completely inappropriate timing. We’re in a church basement, surrounded by committee members gathering their papers and discussing city procedures. This is not the moment for personal declarations or romantic revelations.
But Michelle’s looking at me with an expression that suggests timing might be overrated. And I’m looking back with heat spreading across my chest.
“Michelle—”
“I know,” she says softly. “I know.”
