Brewing Up Romance, page 20
part #1 of Pinevale Valley Series
BREWING UP ROMANCE
PINEVALE VALLEY
GLORIA ZAHLER FERGUSON
Copyright © 2025 Gloria Zahler Ferguson
Edited by Emily Harmston
Cover and Formatting by: Glowing Moon Designs
Published by First Coast Romance Writers, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a fiction work. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.
CONTENTS
About Brewing Up Romance
About FCRW
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Other Books By Gloria Ferguson
About the Author
ABOUT BREWING UP ROMANCE
When interior designer, Monica Hoover, is hired by her former sweetheart to redo the interior of his family’s century-old building and convert it into a coffee shop, she gets more than she bargained for. Lots of late hours working with her team, along with her client’s pressing deadline, stifles Monica’s creativity. But she needs the work to keep her home improvement business afloat, and wealthy client, Grant Dupre, will pay top dollar for her expertise.
Best laid plans can go awry, and they do. A chandelier falls, barely missing Grant. Then an unknown intruder sneaks into the job site overnight, spraying graffiti on freshly painted walls, bringing Monica to tears. Could the culprit be her competitor, Grant’s recent ex, or someone else? Monica is determined to bring her design plans to fruition on time while revealing the wrongdoer’s identity.
As they work together to create Café Dupre, not only the building’s interior is undergoing rehab. Sparks rekindle between the couple at the Liberty Ball and July 4th parade. Monica and Grant learn to open their hearts to the unimaginable, and let go of life’s past hurts and disappointments for a chance at love again with someone neither of them could forget. At the cafe’s grand opening, the pair finds working together closely is just the beginning of their relationship. They are falling in love, again. And what better place to brew up a romance than in magical Pinevale Valley, where love blooms when least expected?
ABOUT FCRW
The First Coast Romance Writers are happy to present the Shared World Series of Pinevale Valley. This is a multi-genre small-town romance series, and each book will be available for at least one year from publication. Don’t miss your chance to purchase this romance novel while it’s available.
Proceeds benefit First Coast Romance Writers, an independent non-profit organization that helps writers hone their craft and expand their knowledge of the publishing industry.
1
Monica Hoover stared across the table past her best friend, Sibyl Jones. Every other Sunday they ate breakfast at the Kisselton Inn, though Monica could barely afford it. As her best friend chatted on, Monica thought she was seeing things.
Sibyl bobbed her head toward a dark corner near the breakfast nook. “Not to change the subject, but have you noticed Mr. Undercover sitting all alone over there, wearing that Yankees’ ball cap to hide his eyes?”
“I see him.” Monica pulled her gaze away from the man to concentrate on cutting into the
world’s best chocolate chip pancakes. Mrs. Kisselton had outdone herself again. “But I’m not in the market for a guy, remember?”
“That’s why you haven’t found the love of your life like I have. You’re not trying.”
“There'll be plenty of time for love later on, after I’m a successful interior designer.”
Sibyl sighed. “Love often strikes when you least expect it.”
“You’re channeling that fortune-telling thing again.”
“That’s because I am one; at least when I read coffee grounds. And if I find out that man is single, I’ll add him to my list of eligible bachelors for you.”
Monica crossed her arms. “Stop trying to find me Mr. Right. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Fine.” Sibyl leaned in closer, her dark eyes growing bright. “I heard some hot gossip.”
“What’s that?”
“Rumor has it that some rich New York City banker bought the Dupre Building. I wonder what he’s going to do with it.”
“Maybe he’ll fix it up and flip it,” Monica said thoughtfully. “Real estate prices are rising in Pinevale Valley, and there’s money to be made.”
“Why go through all that trouble if he can just tear it down and build something new?”
Monica hoped the building’s new owner would preserve the past, not discard their town’s history. “It’d be a shame to replace all that century-old wood and stone for a modern monstrosity that won’t fit into our beloved community.”
“On second thought, I agree. But Waldo Mason and the rest of the town council won’t let him get away with that. Would they?” Sibyl’s raven eyes grew large.
“For the right price, they may. There’s so much elegant architecture in that building. Someone needs to preserve it for future generations.”
Sibyl flipped a strand of dark brown hair from her cheek and drained the coffee from her cup. “You should’ve bought it.”
“With what? My interior design business is barely off the ground. I couldn’t have scraped up a measly down payment.”
“Which brings up a point. Just how long can you go on living in that broken-down RV behind your dad’s garage? It's not good for your image. In your line of work, image is everything."
Before Monica could defend herself, the man Sibyl had described approached their table. “Excuse me, ladies. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I’m staying here at the Inn through mid-July, and I refuse to keep you in suspense any longer.”
“Go on,” Sibyl urged.
When he removed his cap, revealing his wavy dark brown hair, the toe of Monica’s shoe received a nudge from Sibyl. Monica’s heart pounded. She nearly gasped. IT WAS HIM. “Hello, Grant Dupre.”
His smile faltered. He didn’t act like he remembered either of them. “Hello, yourself. You may’ve heard how my grandparents lost the Dupre Building in bankruptcy two decades ago. I’m the new owner.”
Unable to look away, Monica studied Grant’s bright green gaze, the same one that had made her tingle in high school. She flashed back when they’d dated, before he left town to seek an education and fame and fortune, rather than relying on his parents’ money and influence. She knew the exact date she’d last seen him. It was on the day before he left for Harvard, August twenty-sixth, twelve years ago. He came by her parents’ house to tell her he couldn’t take her to live in Massachusetts with him like he had hoped. He’d let his parents talk him out of their plan for her to get a waitress job there while he attended classes. Heartbroken, Monica had stayed behind with a fistful of shattered dreams.
From the looks of things, he had done well. His short-sleeved dress shirt and tailored slacks complimented classy loafers, not to mention his gold Rolex. The asking price on the Dupre Building hadn’t been cheap either—nearly half a million dollars, and that was only because it had fallen into disrepair.
What did her former crush plan to do with the Dupre?
Sibyl stuck her hand out for Grant to shake. “Didn’t you go to high school here? I’m Sibyl Jones.”
“I did, though I was certainly glad to move on,” he said with a grin. “Good to see you again.”
Sibyl smiled. “Welcome home. It’s always a pleasure to reconnect with a former Pinevale Valley High classmate.”
Monica swallowed the anger bubbling inside, still feeling the sting of abandonment, even though a dozen years had passed. “Go Bulldogs,” she mumbled half-heartedly.
The man had the tenacity of a bulldog. When Grant wanted something, he didn’t let go until he got it. Now he had the Dupre Building in his clutches. He’d outbid their former PVH classmate, Rochelle Whittier, who’d hoped to buy it to house her hair salon and spa.
“So, what’re you going to do with the property?” Monica asked.
“Oh, I’ve got big plans.” A twinkle graced his eye.
“You’re not tearing it down, I hope.” She couldn’t help but voice her concern.
He laughed from deep in his belly. “Goodness, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”
Sibyl shot her a sideways glance. “Monica sometimes thinks the worst possible thing will happen, instead of focusing on the positive.”
For a long moment, he stared at Monica. Then he nodded slowly. “Monica Hoover, right? I believe I remember that character trait in you,” he said with a nod.
Monica glared at her friend, who didn’t need to remind Grant about a weakness she’d been trying to improve. Not everyone could be Mary Poppins, floating through the air with an umbrella, belting out songs.
Grant looked directly at Monica. “Actually, I want to convert the building’s bottom floor into a coffee shop and call it Café Dupre. I’d like to serve my grandparents’ special European brew there, and the townspeople could use it as a hub and meeting place.”
“What a great idea,” Sibyl said.
Trouble was, would the residents welcome a coffee shop created by a man who’d not only left Monica behind, but them and the town too? Grant was now an outsider in a way.
“Well, it’s good to see you two again,” he said. “What do you do for a living?”
Sibyl smiled. “I’m a seamstress, and believe it or not, Monica renovates interiors. She’s the best around. Perhaps you could use her design services.”
He shrugged. “I may. How can I get in touch with you, Monica?”
She reached into her purse, slid a business card from its leather case, and handed the card to him. “Here you go.”
He glanced at the card. “Maybe you could come by my building first thing in the morning to discuss what I had in mind.”
“Why not?” Sibyl replied, giving Monica a reassuring glance.
Anxiety rolled through her. It would be terrific to add a new customer to her short roster of clients, but Grant was headstrong and may’ve made up his mind about what he wanted to do with the place. His plans might clash with her creative vision. And still more importantly, she didn’t know if she could work with the man who’d put her heart through a coffee grinder and then went on living as if nothing had happened.
Yet. The customer was always right. Weren’t they?
The trick at her company, Redesigning Spaces, was to convince each client that Monica’s ideas for a space were exactly what the customer wanted all along. That way they always got what they wished for.
For now, she wished he would leave, because he was beginning to make her feel even more uncomfortable.
Her intuition told her that, if she did get this job, working with Grant Dupre wouldn’t be easy.
On Monday morning, Monica, tote bag in hand, crossed Main Street and looked up at the Dupre Building with its old-world charm. Its four Gothic columns proclaimed grand elegance, while a pair of wrought iron lanterns flanked tarnished brass doors. The three-story landmark sat smack on the east side of the fountain, just south of the lake. It had once operated as a restaurant and guesthouse, before becoming a bank with rented commercial space on the upper floors. Now, ivy strands covered much of the first floor’s exterior, and the second floor sported several broken windows. She’d heard the third floor was completely uninhabitable.
Several vagrants had taken over the ground floor of the building’s interior this past year, until Sheriff Sands drove them out, and a twinge of déjà vu tugged at Monica’s heart, reminding her of her own struggles. At least she’d known better than to occupy a building that didn’t belong to her and had instead called on her dad for help. She was satisfied to have a small camper—complete with a galley kitchen and tiny bedroom—to claim as her own, parked right behind his garage.
She knocked on the massive door, but no one answered. Then she turned the knob and found the door unlocked. Inside, she observed walls papered in a faded red velvet calico print, stained carpet, and dusty shelves. She ran her hand across a shelf and coughed at the cloud of dust she stirred up. With her allergies acting up, her eyes watered as she searched the large open space. Grant was nowhere in sight.
Where is he?
After their chance encounter at the Kisselton Inn yesterday, she thanked her lucky stars for this opportunity to meet him about a potential job. If she could find him. She needed every client she could muster, and if her expertise captured his interest, she may acquire him as a new customer. And not too soon. Overdue bills were piling up, causing her a mound of worry.
She glanced at her cell phone, which confirmed she was right on time. Was Grant working in another part of the building?
She headed toward the teller counter, which was divided into separate booths. Five booths in all. This would be a big project to convert into a coffee shop, but she’d done a stellar job on that general store last year, transforming it into a barber shop in neighboring Pine Cliffs. With her keen eye and artistic vision, along with a powerful design software program, she could create functional rooms with exact spatial dimensions. And work miracles. At least on her screen.
“Grant?” she called out. “Are you here?”
No answer.
Why would he plan to meet her to discuss her professional services and then not show up? And why was the front door unlocked?
She searched the room with its heavy gold brocade drapes framing oversized windows. She couldn’t help but imagine how much light would bathe the room after those hideous drapes were removed.
“Grant? Where are you?”
Suddenly, she heard a muffled sound coming from beyond a side door.
“Help me!” a strained voice called.
She recognized that voice.
She set her tote down and hurried to the door leading toward the sound.
“It’s me, Monica. I’m coming!”
2
“I’m over here,” Grant cried out.
In his peripheral vision, he glimpsed Monica, who’d just opened the door to the corridor where he’d fallen and lay sprawled on the stairway steps.
“I’ll be right there,” she called.
“Be careful.” Grant sat up slowly. A chandelier, which had hung high above the stairs, had fallen and narrowly missed him, causing him to fall. Crystal shards were scattered across the black-and-white tiled floor like hailstones after a thunderstorm.
“Hey! Who’re you?” Monica yelled past him. “Come out from under that stairwell!”
Grant turned. A young man with disheveled black hair, dressed in ragged jeans and a T-shirt, walked toward Monica. Vagrants had been reported squatting in the building, and it seemed he’d found another.
Grant pointed toward the teenager. “Did you tamper with that chandelier to make it fall?”
“No way, pal.” He backed toward a wall.
“You stay right there. I’ll deal with you later,” Grant commanded. To his surprise, the teen didn’t make a run for it.
Monica hurried toward Grant’s side and offered him her arm as he stood. “I hope you didn’t break anything.” She was dressed in a crisp white blouse, navy jacket, and skirt. The scent of jasmine wafted toward him. The genuine concern in her deep blue eyes lifted his spirits. Seeing her again made his pulse race. He’d been a fool to leave her behind years ago, rather than take her away with him.
She looked him over from head to foot; a honey-blonde lock dropped from her messy bun and lingered at the nape of her neck, tempting him to reach over and touch its silky strand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. This building is a booby trap, filled with surprises at every turn.”
She gazed upward and winced. “You’re lucky. It could’ve been worse.”
Grant hovered a good eight inches taller than her five-foot-four frame. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he headed toward the young man. “What’s your name?”
The boy looked down at his threadbare sneakers. “Danny.”
“Well, Danny Boy, what’re you doing here?” Grant asked.
