Page 108 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“Will fighting be enough?” My voice cracks. “Brett, if we can’t prove we’re safe, we lose everything. Who’s going to trust us after this?”

Before he can answer, Maggie Denton reaches us, glowing from the walk. “Perfect timing! The chowder smells amazing.”

“Maggie,” I start, my throat tight. “I’m so sorry, but we can’t serve food today. There’s been a situation with the health department.”

Her smile dies. “What kind of situation?”

“Anonymous complaint about food safety. We’re shut down pending investigation.”

I watch disappointment replace excitement on her face. Other walkers gather now, hearing pieces of our conversation. I see confusion, concern, and worst of all—doubt creeping into faces trusting us moments ago.

“This is ridiculous,” Maggie says immediately. “Your operation runs spotless.”

But damage spreads like spilled oil. People whisper now. Maybe we really aren’t as safe as we thought and the anonymous tipster was right.

A familiar silver sedan glides into the parking lot like a shark circling wounded prey.

Chad Peterson steps out wearing an expensive wool coat and the kind of smile that used to charm me but now makes my skin crawl. He approaches our group with the confidence of a man who holds all the cards.

“Heard there were… complications with the food truck,” he announces, voice carrying across the pavilion. “Such a shame when amateur operations can’t meet basic safety standards.”

The pieces slam together with sickening clarity. Chad didn’t simply file the complaint—he timed his arrival to watch our public humiliation.

Brett steps forward, his entire body coiled with protective fury. “You did this.”

“I reported legitimate safety concerns,” Chad says smoothly. “As any responsible citizen would do.”

“Based on what?” Brett’s voice turns dangerously quiet, and I can see him struggling to control his temper.

“Based on what I observed during my previous visit. Questionable temperature controls, unsafe storage, contamination risks.” Each word delivers a calculated blow designed to destroy our reputation. “I’d hate for anyone to get sick.”

“You’re lying,” I say, but even to me my voice sounds weak.

“Prove it,” Chad challenges with his familiar smirk. “Oh wait—you can’t. Because you’re shut down.”

I feel everything crumbling—the restaurant opening, the catering opportunities, and the life Brett and I were building. Worst of all, I see doubt in some faces around us—people who don’t know us well enough to be certain Chad’s lying.

But then Chad makes his biggest mistake yet. He steps closer to me, his hand reaching out like he’s going to touch my arm in some mockery of comfort.

“You know, Amber, if you’d listen to me from the beginning?—”

Brett moves.

I’ve never seen him like this. One second he’s standing beside me, jaw tight with barely controlledrage, and the next he’s inserting himself between Chad and me with the kind of lethal grace that reminds me he spent years in the military.

“Don’t.” The word comes out low and dangerous, and Chad’s hand freezes mid-reach. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Chad tries to play it off with a laugh, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Relax, Walker. We’re talking.”

“No, we’re not.” Brett’s voice could cut glass. “You filed a false complaint to sabotage her business.”

My heart does something complicated watching Brett defend me like this. Part gratitude, part swooning, part terror—this confrontation makes everything worse.

“I think you’re misunderstanding the situation,” Chad says, but his confident mask starts slipping.

“I understand perfectly.” Brett’s stance stays protective but controlled. “You can’t stand that she’s building something without you. So you’re trying to tear her down.”

Despite the nightmare unfolding around us, Brett Walker defending me makes my chest flutter. Which probably isn’t the appropriate response when my business dies in real time.