Page 77 of Cooking Up My Comeback

My phone buzzes again.

Brett: Question—completely hypothetical—how do you feel about food trucks?

I dry my hands, grateful for the subject change.

Me: Depends. Are we talking about buying from them or competing with them?

Brett: Neither. What if we did a preview for the New Year’s First Day Beach Walk? Let people taste The Salty Pearl before we officially open.

I lean against the counter, considering this. The First Day Beach Walk draws hundreds of people every year—families working off holiday cookies, tourists embracing local traditions, locals making resolutions they’ll abandon by February.

It could be brilliant exposure. Or a complete disaster.

Me: That’s a big gamble. What if we’re not ready and the weather’s awful and nobody shows up?

Brett: But it could be exactly what we need to build buzz before opening.

Me: Easy for you to say. You’re not the one feeding hundreds of people with untested logistics in January weather.

Brett: We’d figure it out. Together.

There’s that word again.Together.It should be reassuring. Instead, it makes something twist in my chest.

Me: I’ll think about it.

Brett: That’s all I’m asking.

But it’s not, really. Because everything with Brett lately feels loaded with subtext, every business conversation tangled up with whatever happened on that ferry dock.

“Mom?” Crew appears in the kitchen doorway with his fishing magazine tucked under his arm. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Do you trust Brett?”

The question hits like a physical blow. “What makes you ask that?”

“Just wondering. Dad said he’d never hurt us, but then he did.” He says this with matter-of-factness that breaks my heart. “So I think maybe you should be careful. Just because someone’s nice sometimes doesn’t mean they’ll stay nice.”

The wisdom of a child who learned too young that people don’t always keep their promises.

“You’re absolutely right to think that way,” I tell him. “And thank you for looking out for me.”

“Someone has to. You’re too nice sometimes.”

After the kids are in bed, I settle on the couch with a book I can’t focus on because my mind keeps circling back to Crew’s question.

Do I trust Brett?

The honest answer is complicated.I want to trust the man who spent today being thoughtful and present. But I don’t trust that version to stick around when things get difficult.

My phone buzzes one more time.

Brett: Thanks for today. For challenging me to think differently. For not letting me get away with my usual shortcuts.

I stare at the message for a long time before responding.

Me: Don’t thank me yet. I have a feeling I’m just getting started with the challenging part.