Page 88 of Cooking Up My Comeback

“Cobbler!” she announces. “Do you want some? It has ice cream!”

Spencer gives her a polite but distant smile. Mads crouches to Ellen’s level with genuine warmth. “That sounds amazing, sweetheart. I’ve been dreaming about dessert all day.”

The difference between them is stark. Mads gets it. Kids need to feel seen. Spencer’s counting the minutes until he can leave.

“The boutique keeping you busy?” I ask Mads as we move toward the kitchen.

“Crazy busy. Holiday season is insane, but I love it.” Her face brightens. “We got this shipment of vintage jewelry that’s gorgeous.”

“Sounds like more than just retail,” I say, catching Spencer’s slight eye roll.

“It is,” Hazel says firmly. “Mads has good style, and she’s wonderful with customers.”

Spencer’s back on his phone. Mads looks over, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“Anyway,” she says, forcing brightness. “What’s this I hear about presents?”

Right. The gifts that could either show I’m thoughtful or prove I have no idea what I’m doing.

“If that’s okay with everyone,” I say, retrieving the bag.

“We love presents!” Ellen bounces.

I start with Hazel and Jack’s gift, pulling out a wrapped wooden box. “This is for your new family.”

Jack opens it and grins. Inside is a custom sign reading The Sanders Chaos Headquarters: Est. 2026with smaller text underneath:Population: 7 humans, 1 dog, and approximately 47 Lego creations.

“This is perfect,” Hazel laughs, holding it up. “Official documentation of the madness.”

“I figured you needed something that acknowledged the beautiful chaos,” I say. “Plus, it has hooks for keys. You know, for when you can find them under all the Lego.”

“Speaking of which,” Jack says, “Ellen, where did you put my car keys yesterday?”

“In the castle! For safekeeping!”

“Case in point.”

Everyone laughs. Something in my chest loosens. This is working. I’m getting it right.

Amber’s gift is next. My hands are suddenly sweating. I’ve been overthinking this for days.

“This is for you,” I say, handing her a small wrapped package.

She unwraps it carefully, like she’s trying to preserve the paper, and opens the box. Her breath catches.

It’s a necklace. Simple, delicate. A small pendant with three birthstones—one for each of her kids—set in a circle of white gold.

“Brett,” she whispers. “This is...”

“The stones are Tally’s, Crew’s, and Mason’s birthstones,” I explain, terrified I’ve overstepped. “I know it’s not much, but they’re the most important part of your life. I wanted you to have something that shows how beautiful that is.”

She’s quiet for so long I start to panic. Too much. Too intimate. Too presumptuous.

“It’s perfect,” she says softly, eyes bright with tears. “Would you help me put it on?”

Relief floods through me as I move behind her chair. My fingers fumble with the tiny clasp. Her hair smells like vanilla and something floral that makes me dizzy.

“There,” I manage.