Page 70 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“Where else would I be?”

“Anywhere. You could be anywhere. But you’re here.”

We’re standing close enough now that I can see the exact moment his walls start to crack. The way his expression shifts from careful to something more vulnerable.

“Amber—”

“I’m not asking for promises,” I say quickly. “I’m just saying I’m tired of being afraid. Of letting other people decide what’s too risky or too complicated or too much.”

“You’re not too much,” he says quietly.

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been looking for reasons to run since the day I met you, and I’m still here.”

The admission hangs between us, honest and a little raw.

“Is that supposed to be romantic?” I ask, trying to lighten the moment.

“It’s supposed to be true.”

And somehow, that’s better than romantic. It’s real.

I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “So what do we do now?”

“Now we build our restaurant. We show the council what this town actually needs. And we see what else we’re building together.”

“In that order?”

“In whatever order makes sense.”

I smile. “I can work with that.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even when Penelope brings bigger guns?”

“Especially then.”

Standing there in my flour-dusted kitchen, holding hands with a man who makes me want to be braver than I’ve ever been, I realize something important: I’m not the same woman who was too scared to ask for what she wanted. I’m not the same person who let other people define what was possible for her.

I’m someone who’s building something worth fighting for. With someone worth fighting beside.

And for the first time in years, that’s enough.

SIXTEEN

BRETT

My phone buzzes with a text as I’m reviewing supplier contracts for the third time this week.

Amber: Found a restaurant on Hatteras worth checking out. Family-owned, local sourcing, exactly what we’re trying to do. Want to scope out the competition this weekend?

I stare at the message, coffee mug halfway to my mouth. After our cooking session last week—after holding her hand in her flour-dusted kitchen and admitting I wasn’t going anywhere—I thought we’d figured out where we stood. Partners building something together, both professionally and personally.

Apparently, she’s still thinking about business strategy while I’m wondering if she meant what she said about being tired of being afraid.

Me: Sure. What time?