Page 80 of Cooking Up My Comeback

EIGHTEEN

BRETT

Amber’s already at The Salty Pearl when I arrive, surrounded by what looks like the aftermath of a bureaucratic explosion. Vendor contracts sprawl across our makeshift table, her laptop balances precariously on a stack of health department forms, and she’s got the phone against her ear.

She looks up when I walk in, and her expression shifts from harried relief to something more guarded. Three weeks since our kiss, three weeks of her challenging every business decision I make, and we’re still dancing around each other like teenagers afraid to admit they like someone.

“Please tell me you brought coffee,” she says, ending whatever call she was on with obvious frustration.

“Michelle’s finest.” I set down two cups, noting theway she immediately relaxes when she takes that first sip. “Double shot for you, regular for me.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” She pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve been on hold with licensing for forty minutes. Apparently, our food truck permit application needs three additional forms that no one mentioned when I filed the original paperwork.”

This is exactly the kind of bureaucratic mess that usually sends my blood pressure through the roof. But watching Amber tackle it with determined efficiency—the same way she’s tackled every challenge I’ve thrown at her since she decided to stop letting me get away with shortcuts—makes me want to handle every annoying detail so she doesn’t have to.

Which is dangerous thinking for someone who’s supposed to be keeping things professional.

“What’s the damage?” I ask, settling into the chair across from her.

“Two weeks’ delay, minimum. Unless we want to pay expedited processing fees that cost more than our entire marketing budget.” She pulls up another tab on her laptop. “Which, before you ask, I already calculated. The food truck idea you texted about three weeks ago? It’s looking less like Plan B and more like Plan A.”

I lean back in my chair, letting the familiar irritation wash over me. “Of course. Because why would government offices make anything simple?”

“Don’t start,” she says, not looking up from herscreen. “I’ve already heard your thoughts on bureaucratic incompetence. Twice this week.”

Right. Because I’ve been particularly vocal about permit delays and holiday office closures. Three weeks of equipment testing and staff training, and I’m still finding new ways to complain about things outside our control.

“It’s not that bad,” she continues, pulling up another website. “I found this food truck company in Wilmington that can work with our timeline. Look.”

She angles the screen toward me, showing photos of gleaming mobile kitchens with professional wraps and commercial-grade equipment. Her enthusiasm radiates off her despite the morning’s frustrations, and I find myself caught between admiration for her resilience and relief that we’re finally past the equipment testing phase.

“The beauty is we can start building our customer base now,” she continues, clicking through more photos. “Test our systems, make actual money while we wait for permits. And after three weeks of working out the kinks in our mobile setup, I think we’re actually ready.”

“You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.” A slight flush colors her cheeks. “I couldn’t sleep, so I researched food truck logistics until three in the morning. Again.”

“Again?”

“I may have done this twice since you suggested it. The first time, I was too stubborn to admit it was a good idea.”

The mental image of her up late solving problems while I was lying awake thinking about that kiss—and the way she’s pushed back on every decision since—makes something twist in my chest. We’re both losing sleep, but for completely different reasons.

“Show me the specs,” I say, because focusing on equipment details is safer than wondering what she was wearing at three in the morning.

She walks me through the options with the kind of thorough preparation that would impress a military strategist. Full commercial kitchen on wheels, flexible parking arrangements, revenue projections that actually make sense—all refined from the past three weeks of equipment trials and staff training sessions.

“What about staffing?” I ask.

“That’s the best part. Our core team is already trained on the mobile kitchen setup. We’ve run three practice services, worked out the timing issues, and everyone’s excited about the New Year’s debut.”

“You really have thought of everything.”

“I’ve had a lot of coffee and Christmas anxiety. Plus three weeks of you questioning every detail of every plan I make, equipment malfunctions during our test runs, and staff training sessions that went way longer than expected. It’s forced me to be extra thorough.”

There’s a slight edge to her voice—not angry, but not entirely joking either. The memory of last week’s disaster when the fryer overheated during practice service still makes me wince.

She laughs, but there’s real stress underneath it. Dark circles under her eyes suggest the three-hour research session wasn’t her first late night this week.