Page 60 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“People are starting to talk. About us. About whether this is just business.”

Brett’s expression becomes carefully neutral. “And that’s a problem because...?”

“Because it could affect how people see the restaurant. How seriously they take us as business owners.”

“Or it could be good for business. People love a story.”

“Is that what this is to you? A story?”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I expected. “It’s a complication I didn’t plan for.”

Ouch. “A complication.”

“That’s not...” He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t. Are you saying you regret going into business with me?”

“I’m saying I didn’t expect...” He pauses, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I didn’t expect to care this much about making it work.”

“The restaurant?”

“All of it.”

The admission hangs between us, honest and a little raw. I watch his face, looking for signs of the panic I’ve come to recognize when he thinks he’s revealed too much.

“Brett.”

“I know it’s not smart. I know mixing business with personal feelings is asking for trouble. But pretending there’s nothing between us isn’t working anymore.”

My heart does that skippy thing it’s been doing around him for weeks. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t know how to bejust your business partner anymore. And I don’t know if that’s fair to either of us.”

Part of me wants to lean into this moment, to admit that I’ve been having the same struggle. But the practical part of me—the part that’s been burned before—puts on the brakes.

“What if it doesn’t work out? What if we try and it ruins everything we’re building here?”

“What if we don’t try and spend the next six months dancing around each other while trying to run a restaurant?”

It’s a fair question. But it’s also terrifying.

“I can’t afford to get this wrong,” I say quietly. “Not with the kids counting on me. Not with everything we’ve invested here.”

“I’m not asking you to get anything wrong. I’m asking if you’re willing to see what’s already happening between us.”

I look around our restaurant—at the space we’ve created together, at the dream we’re making real through stubbornness and hard work and something that feels suspiciously like partnership in more than just business.

“I need time to think about it.”

Brett nods, though I can see disappointment flicker across his face. “Fair enough.”

“And we need to be careful. Professional. At least until we figure out what we’re doing.”

“Professional,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Right.”

“I’m not saying no,” I clarify quickly. “I’m just saying... not yet. Not until I’m sure.”

“Sure of what?”