Page 10 of Cooking Up My Comeback

Hard to argue with that logic.

By the time Crew gets home from Aaron’s house, the kitchen smells like snickerdoodles and the recipe box is sitting on the counter next to my pile of bills. Crew’s got that childlike energy that suggests his afternoon involved either sugar or mild destruction.

“Ooh, cookies!” He drops his backpack and makes a beeline for the cooling rack.

“One,” I say firmly. “We’re having real dinner first.”

“But they smell so good. And I’ve been working really hard on my volcano project.”

“How’s the volcano coming along?”

“Great! Jake’s mom let us use her good baking soda, and we figured out how to make the lava different colors.” He takes a bite of his allocated cookie and closes his eyes dramatically. “These taste like when you hug me after I have a bad dream.”

There’s that phrase again. Food that tasteslike comfort, like safety, like love.

“Mom,” Tally says, appearing in the doorway with her work uniform draped over her arm, “Hazel called. She wants to know if you can babysit Ellen tomorrow night while she and Jack go to some contractor meeting. She’s paying twenty-five dollars.”

“Of course. Did she say what kind of meeting?”

“Something about that old restaurant building near the pier. Apparently, Brett’s the one fixing it up.” She pauses with a knowing look. “She also said to tell you that your ‘favorite grumpy customer is single and very easy on the eyes,’ which I assume is her way of being subtle about matchmaking.”

My cheeks warm. Of course it’s Brett. “Hazel means well, but she has zero subtlety.”

“Do you like him?” Crew asks with the directness that only kids can manage.

“We’re just... friendly. He was a regular at the diner.”

“He seems nice,” Tally says diplomatically. “He always asks how you’re doing when he stops by the ice cream shop.”

He asks about me? I file that information away for later examination. Or possibly for ignoring completely, depending on my mood.

“Can we invite him for dinner?” Mason pipes up. “I want to show him my dinosaur collection.”

“We’re not inviting anyone for dinner,” I sayquickly, though the idea makes my stomach do this flutter thing that I’m choosing to ignore.

“But Mama, you always say food makes people happy. And he looked sad when he ordered praline pecan last week.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Brett did look sad. Comes with the grumpy territory, I suppose, but Mason’s right—there was something deeper there. Something that made me want to fix it with a good meal and maybe a slice of pie.

After a dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup, because some nights you just need comfort food that doesn’t require thinking, I’m loading the dishwasher when my phone buzzes.

Hazel: Meeting got moved to tomorrow afternoon instead. Can you still watch Ellen?

Me: Of course! What time?

Hazel: 2:00. And I may have mentioned to Brett that you make amazing cookies...

I stare at my phone. Of course she did.

Me: Hazel.

Hazel: What? I’m just being neighborly! He’s working so hard on that restaurant project. Everyone needs cookies.

Me: You’re incorrigible.

Hazel: I prefer ‘invested in my friends’ happiness.’ See you tomorrow!

I set my phone down and catch my reflection in the kitchen window. My cheeks are pink, and there’s a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth that I can’t quite suppress.