Page 19 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“Thanks, Brett. Very neighborly of you.”

Amber tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, managing a small smile. “Thank you. Really.”

“No need,” I mutter, already regretting drawing attention to the situation.

She gathers the boys, ruffling Mason’s hair. “Come on, beach bums. Let’s go find some waves.”

Outside, the parking lot shimmers with heat waves. I catch up as she buckles the kids into her minivan.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she says, meeting my gaze with those bright eyes.

“I know.”

She closes the door gently, then turns to face me with that smile that could power the entire town. “But I’m glad you did. The boys have been planning this beach day all week.”

“They’re only flip-flops,” I say gruffly.

“To you, maybe. To them, they’re the difference between a perfect beach day and disappointed faces.” She laughs. “Mason’s been practicing his ‘beach walk’ all morning. Apparently, there’s a specific technique.”

My mouth almost twitches. “Beach walk?”

“Very serious business. Involves a lot of arm swinging and dramatic stomping.” She demonstrates with a few exaggerated steps, and I have to turn away before she catches me almost smiling.

“Sounds complicated.”

“Everything’s complicated whenyou’re four.” She pauses, studying my face. “You know, you’re not nearly as grumpy as you pretend to be.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Too late. I’ve already seen evidence to the contrary.” She opens her car door, then glances back. “Thanks again, Brett. For everything.”

Ithought coming to the beach would clear my head after that parking lot conversation. Turns out I was wrong.

Here I am, twenty minutes later, stretched out under the umbrella I bought, with my brand-new boogie board still in its plastic wrapper. And all I can think about is the way she appeared when she said she’d pay me back.

That’s when I spot them coming down the boardwalk.

Mason’s practically bouncing off the wooden planks as though powered by pure sugar. Crew’s behind him, adjusting his fishing tackle box with serious focus. And Amber? She’s managing both boys while carrying that massive striped tote bag, appearing as though she’s got everything under control even though I can tell she absolutely doesn’t.

I should turn away. Give her space.

But I can’t seem to manage it.

“Stay close!” she calls to Mason, who’s alreadyplotting his next escape route. “And don’t you dare face-plant in the sand again!”

The kid giggles, which even I know spells trouble.

That’s when it happens. Mason stops short. Amber trips over him. Crew stumbles into the mix. And suddenly all three are going down in what can only be described as a family pile-up of epic proportions.

I’m on my feet before I think about it. But then I catch myself. Because the last thing she wants right now remains me swooping in to help.

So I stand here, watching her sit up and spit sand, appearing thoroughly disheveled.

“Are you going to swim?” Crew asks, already peeling off his shirt.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” She laughs, still brushing sand off her legs. “But when life gives you sand in uncomfortable places, you might as well rinse it off in the ocean!”

Mason giggles. “You said uncomfortable places!”