Page 52 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“That’s physically impossible.”

“And yet, somehow, you managed it.” Caroline waves her purple nails dismissively. “Go. Bond. Keep it outside where the rest of us don’t have to witness the testosterone festival.”

We head out to the patio, which overlooks the backyard. There’s a hammock strung between two trees and a fire pit in the center with half-burnt logs from the night before. I take a beer from the cooler and settle into one of the Adirondack chairs.

Jack drops into the chair beside me and stretches out. “So. I saw your face when Mason roared at you with that dragon paint.”

I grunt and crack my beer open. “That kid has zero volume control.”

“Better get used to it. Those boys have already decided you’re part of the family.”

“That’s... presumptuous of them.” I take a long pull of my beer, trying to ignore the way the comment makes my chest tight. “We’re business partners. Nothing more.”

“Right. Business partners.” Jack’s tone suggests he’s not buying it for a second. “That why you looked likeyou were about to adopt Crew when he started explaining lobster psychology?”

“I was being polite. Kid knows his marine biology.”

“And Mason challenging you to a spice tolerance contest?”

“Kids say things. Doesn’t mean anything.”

But even as I say it, I can’t shake the memory of Mason’s delighted giggle when I pretended his fish taco was too spicy. Or the way Crew’s whole face lit up when I asked questions about his stuffed lobster instead of dismissing it as silly kid stuff.

Jack nods slowly. “Right. Kids say things.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Amber’s doing a good job with them.”

“She’s...” I pause, searching for words that won’t reveal too much. “She handles it all well. The mom thing.”

“The mom thing?” Jack raises an eyebrow. “That’s what we’re calling raising three kids as a single parent while building a business?”

“You know what I meant.”

“I know you’re being careful not to say anything that sounds too interested.”

I scowl at him. “Because I’m not. Interested, that is. We’re building a restaurant together. Professional partnership.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the evening air thickwith cicadas and the weight of things I’m not ready to examine too closely.

“She doesn’t make it look easy,” I say finally, surprising myself. “Yesterday at the festival, watching her manage all three kids while running our booth... I don’t know how she does it.”

“Practice. And desperation.” Jack’s voice turns more serious. “Single parenting isn’t a choice she made, you know. It’s a situation she’s handling.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because sometimes people look at single moms and think they chose the hard way instead of recognizing they’re making the best of a bad situation.”

The comment hits closer to home than I’d like. Because maybe I have been thinking of Amber’s situation as something she chose rather than something that happened to her.

“Chad’s an idiot,” I mutter.

“That he is. But that’s not your problem to solve.”

“I’m not trying to solve anything. We’re business partners.”

Jack snorts. “Right. Business partners. That’s why you bought her kids’ flip-flops and looked ready to throw down with anyone who criticized her crab cakes.”

“Those were good crab cakes.”