Page 61 of Brewing Up My Fresh Start
“Last night?—”
“Was complicated,” I interrupt, because self-preservation has finally returned from its coffee break. “We got caught up in the moment. Committee work, late hours, autumn atmosphere. It doesn’t change the basic situation.”
His expression shifts, recognition replacing uncertainty. “Doesn’t it? Because it changed everything for me.”
My heart performs another gymnastics routine, this time with floor music and definitely questionable scores from the Russian judge.
“Grayson—”
“I know this complicates things. I know we’re supposed to be on opposite sides of this development issue. But I can’t pretend that kiss didn’t happen, and I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something.”
Don’t you dare hope,I warn myself.Don’t you dare think this could be real.But my traitorous heart is already imagining conversations that don’t end with professional distance. Partnership instead of opposition. What it might feel like to trust a guy with my dreams again, even though the last person I trusted with them stole everything and left me financially devastated and emotionally resembling a war zone.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds, considering my internal organs are currently performing interpretive dance.
“I’m suggesting we stop pretending we’re just committee members who happen to work well together. I’m suggesting we explore what this is between us.”
“And the development project?”
“We figure it out. Together. There has to be a solution that works for everyone, including the community you’re trying to protect.”
The change in my chest deepens—strength and vulnerability weaving together in ways I’d never considered before last night when my entire worldview got thoroughly kissed into submission.
The bells chime again with what I swear sounds like ominous foreshadowing, and Hazel Sanders bustles in wearing her book club expression—the one that suggests she’s spotted real-life romance plot development and is prepared to interfere with the dedication of a professional matchmaker armed with advanced degrees in meddling.
She surveys the two of us with romance-novel-trained eyes and practically beams with the intensity of a small sun. “Hey, guys! What’s with the sparkling eyes and ridiculous grins on your faces?”
Caroline looks up from her textbook at her stepmom. “They’ve been disgustingly flirting with each other all morning.”
“Hey, Hazel,” Grayson says smoothly, apparently unaware that we’re now living in a reality show calledWatch Michelle’s Love Life Become Public Property.“Just grabbing coffee before work.”
“Oh, that’s what they call it!” Hazel winks at me with all the subtlety of a carnival barker. “I’ll have my usual chai latte, girl.”
I focus on steaming milk and pretending my face isn’t broadcasting romantic developments to anyone with functioning eyeballs.
“By the way,” Hazel continues casually, like she’s lobbing emotional grenades, “Ellen’s been asking if you and Grayson are getting married. I told her these things take time, but she’s five and is obsessed with true love.”
Caroline rolls her eyes and deadpans, “Well, that’s not awkward or anything.”
I nearly drop the milk steamer. “Ellen askedwhat?”
“Oh, you know five-year-olds—they haven’t learned the fine art of emotional self-sabotage yet,” Caroline says with mock sympathy.
“Ellen takes one look at two people practically combusting with attraction and thinks, ‘Why don’t they just kiss already?’ Kind of refreshing, actually,” Hazel says.
Grayson makes a choking sound that might be laughter or actual suffocation. Both seem reasonable responses to having your romantic life dissected by a five-year-old with apparent psychic abilities.
When Hazel leaves twenty minutes later with her tea and several knowing glances that could power the town square, Caroline looks at me with barely contained curiosity that’s achieved critical mass and might actually be visible from space.
“So?” she asks the moment Grayson leaves with his coffee and a promise that we’ll continue our conversation later, which sounds both thrilling and terrifying.
“So nothing. We’re colleagues working on a community project.”
“Colleagues who look at each other like they’re starring in a romance novel.”
I busy myself wiping down the already-spotless counter. “It’s complicated.”
“The best relationships are.” Caroline sips her coffee. “You know what I think?”
