Page 120 of Cooking Up My Comeback

The defeat in her voice makes my chest ache. “Amber?—”

“Maybe I should take the deal.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s money, Brett. And if it means we can open without him turning this into some kind of small-town war...”

“It’s not about money. It’s you giving him power over something you built. Something we built together.” I step closer, and doubt battles determination in her eyes. “I refuse to let that man profit off your grandmother’s recipes.”

She turns to face me, and the war plays out behind her eyes. The same war that’s been raging since I mether: between the woman who dreams big and the woman who’s learned that people destroy beautiful things because they can.

“What if you’re wrong?” she asks quietly. “What if I bet everything on us, and we lose it all anyway?”

“Then we lose it fighting for something we believe in instead of handing it over to someone who thinks he can bully his way into everything you’ve worked for.”

“And what about the kids? What about their future if this fails?”

“What about their future if you teach them that giving in to bullies is easier than standing up for what’s right?”

The words are harsh, but they’re true. They hit their mark because her eyes fill with tears she’s trying not to cry.

“I need time to consider,” she says.

“How much time?”

“Until the soft opening. I’ll give him my answer then.”

I have three days to convince the woman I love that some risks are worth taking and prove we’re worth fighting for.

“Okay,” I say, because what else can I do? “But Amber? Don’t let him steal this moment from you. Survey what you’ve accomplished. Don’t let his threats make you forget how incredible this is.”

She does survey the space around us, and for a moment, the pride and joy return to her expression. The recognition of what we’ve built together.

“It is pretty incredible,” she admits.

“The best project I’ve ever been part of.”

“Even if it all falls apart?”

“Even then. Because at least we’ll know we tried. And also because I’ve never been part of anything that involved a boat-shaped bar before, so that’s a life milestone right there.”

Despite everything, she laughs—a small, watery sound that makes my heart do something acrobatic.

My phone buzzes with another text.

Crew: Mom says we can see the restaurant tonight! Mason’s already picked out his favorite table.

I show her the text, and despite everything, she smiles.

“I guess we’d better pick up that pizza,” she says. “Can’t disappoint our first customers. Especially since Mason will probably want to rearrange all the furniture anyway.”

“Does he do that everywhere he goes?”

“Only places he considers ‘his.’ Which, apparently, now includes your restaurant.” She pauses. “Our restaurant.”

“I love the sound of that.”

We lock up the restaurant and head to our cars. Noteverything is resolved. We still have Chad’s ultimatum hanging over us. But for the first time in months, I’m not afraid of what might happen.