Page 22 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“What?”

“That business proposition you mentioned the other day?”

My chest tightens. “What about it?”

“The offer still open?”

I study her. There’s something different in her expression now. Less defensive, more curious.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “It’s still open.”

She nods slowly. “I might... I might want to hear more about it. When you have time.”

It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no either. And right now, that feels like everything.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay.”

We sit there for a moment, the weight of possibility hanging between us. Then Mason’s shriek of laughter breaks the spell.

“Duty calls,” she says, standing andbrushing sand off her legs. “But, Brett? Thanks. For the sunscreen reminder. And... other things.”

She heads back toward the water, and I watch her go, my shoulders still warm from her touch.

Maybe Amber Bennett’s worth figuring out how to stay.

Maybe I’m finally ready to try.

That’s when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Well, well,” a voice drawls from nearby. “What do we have here?”

I turn to see Grandma Hensley setting up a beach chair about ten feet away, complete with umbrella and what appears to be her own romance novel.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Hensley.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘Mrs. Hensley’ me, young man. I’ve got eyes, and I saw that whole little interaction.” She adjusts her enormous sunglasses. “About time you two stopped dancing around each other.”

“We’re not dancing around anything.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m not seventy-eight.” She opens her book and settles in. “Mark my words, boy. That girl’s going to be the best thing that ever happened to you, once you stop being too stubborn to see it.”

I grab my boogie board and stand up, suddenly needing to be anywhere but under Grandma Hensley’s all-seeing gaze.

“Going somewhere?” she calls after me.

“The water,” I mutter.

“Good idea. Maybe it’ll cool off that thick head of yours.”

Her laughter follows me down to the surf, where Amber and the boys are building an elaborate sand castle. When she sees me coming, she grins and waves me over.

“Perfect timing! We need someone tall to help with the towers.”

And despite every instinct telling me to keep my distance, I find myself wading into the shallow water, taking orders from a preschooler about proper sand castle architecture, and actually having fun.

By tomorrow morning, half of Twin Waves will know that Brett Walker spent Labor Day weekend building sand castles with Amber Bennett and her boys.