Page 24 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

FOURTEEN

brETT

T he door swings open hard enough to rattle the window frames. I don’t even have time to look up from the supply invoice I’m reviewing before dress shoes click across our newly installed floors with the kind of stride that’s trying too hard to look important.

I’ve never met Chad Peterson, but I know who he is the second he walks in.

Off-the-rack suit that he’s trying to pass off as tailored—the shoulders don’t quite fit right.

Watch that’s shiny enough to catch attention but probably came from a department store.

Hair gelled with the kind of precision that says he spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror this morning practicing his “successful businessman” look.

He looks like every mid-level manager I’ve ever worked with who thinks watching Suits makes him Gordon Gekko.

“Amber.” His voice carries that particular tone of someone who’s rehearsed this conversation. “You haven’t been returning my calls in a timely manner.”

She straightens slowly from where she’s been arranging sample place settings on the bar counter. “You called once, Chad, yesterday. And left a thirty-second voicemail saying you ‘might have some time this week.’ That’s not exactly urgent.”

His gaze sweeps the space—taking in our worktables, the sample menus taped to the walls, the obvious signs of a business being built from the ground up—and I can practically see him calculating how to position himself as the expert in the room.

“I see you’ve expanded your advisory team.” The pause is deliberate, like he thinks it makes him sound thoughtful instead of condescending.

Amber moves slightly, and I notice she’s positioned herself between us without even thinking about it. “Brett’s my business partner. We’re renovating this space together.”

Chad’s laugh is the kind that’s meant to sound knowing but comes across as patronizing.

“Business partner. Interesting choice of words.” He adjusts his sleeve—probably checking that fake Rolex—and continues.

“I have to say, I’m curious about the financial structure of this venture.

Are we talking about equal investment, or is this more of a. .. charitable arrangement?”

The words are meant to sound casual, but there’s calculation behind them. Like he’s fishing for information he can use later.

I set down the invoice, keeping my movements deliberate and calm. “The financial arrangements are between partners.”

His smile has the practiced quality of someone who’s spent a lot of time in front of a bathroom mirror. “Of course. I’m simply concerned about the stability of ventures that blur the lines between personal and professional relationships.”

“Our business relationship is completely appropriate,” Amber says, but I can hear the edge creeping into her voice.

“I’m sure it is. Absolutely sure.” Chad straightens his tie with the exaggerated gesture of someone who thinks it makes him look authoritative.

“I’m just thinking about the optics. The kids’ friends, other parents.

Small communities can be unforgiving when it comes to certain types of arrangements. ”

Something dark and protective flares in my chest before I can stop it. The urge to explain exactly what kind of arrangement involves a deadbeat father questioning his ex-wife’s business decisions is almost overwhelming.

“The kids are proud of what their mom’s building,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the anger building behind it. “They should be.”

Chad’s assessment of me shifts slightly, like he’s trying to figure out which approach will work best. “Of course. Community development is admirable. I just hope Amber understands the risk factors involved in restaurant ventures. The failure rate is substantial. Particularly for establishments without significant capital backing or established market penetration.”

He’s throwing around terms like he’s presenting to a board of directors, but they don’t quite connect. Like he memorized phrases without understanding what they mean.

“Every business involves risk,” Amber says, and I can hear her trying to stay calm.

“True. But not every risk affects my children’s stability when it goes wrong.” Chad’s voice takes on that patient tone of someone explaining basic concepts. “Their education, their housing, their security—all of that becomes collateral when personal aspirations override practical considerations.”

And there it is. Underneath all the business speak, he’s still doing what he’s always done—making her feel like wanting anything for herself makes her a bad mother.

The anger that’s been building in my chest since he walked in finally finds its voice.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” I ask, and my tone has gone from level to something considerably less friendly.

Chad turns that practiced smile on me. “I appreciate your... investment in this project. I’m just wondering what the contingency plan is if this partnership becomes complicated.

Workplace relationships can be challenging when they reach their natural conclusion.

Particularly when significant financial investments are at stake. ”

He’s clearly proud of that sentence. Probably practiced it on the drive over.

“We’re business partners,” Amber says firmly. “Nothing more.”

Chad’s eyes light up like he’s scored a point. “Exactly. Which is why I wanted to discuss some alternative financing options. Traditional lending, investor partnerships. I have professional connections that might be beneficial.”

Professional connections. Right. Like his supervisor at the insurance office is going to bankroll a restaurant.

“That’s generous,” I say, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “But we’ve got the financing handled.”

“I’m sure you do. Just want to make sure all options are being considered.” Chad checks his watch with the obvious gesture of someone who wants you to notice he’s important enough to have a schedule. “I should get back to my other commitments. Just wanted to check on the operational progress. ”

After he leaves, the space feels different. Like his presence somehow made everything smaller and less legitimate.

Amber sinks onto one of the construction stools, staring at the sample place settings she’d been arranging before he arrived.

“Well,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, “that was fun.”

That gets a small smile. “He’s always done that. Uses big words when he’s trying to sound important. Usually gets them slightly wrong.”

“‘Market penetration’? ‘Operational progress’? Who talks like that?”

“Someone who thinks if he uses enough corporate buzzwords, people will forget he processes insurance claims for a living.”

I sit down across from her, studying her face. “He got to you.”

“He always does. Even when I know better.” She sighs. “But he’s not wrong about everything. The restaurant business is risky. Partnerships can get complicated.”

“Yeah, but he’s not concerned about legitimate business risks. He’s concerned that you’re building something without him.”

She looks at me carefully. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we should ignore the valid points buried under all that corporate speak.”

“Like what? ”

“Like the fact that mixing business with personal feelings is asking for trouble.”

And there it is. The wall going back up, the careful distance she puts between us whenever someone reminds her that wanting something could mean losing everything.

“Amber—”

“No, he’s right about that part. We need to keep things professional. Focus on the restaurant, not on... us.”

The words hit like a slap, probably because they’re exactly what I would have said a month ago. Before I started caring more about this partnership than any business venture I’ve ever been involved in.

“Right,” I say, because what else is there to say? “Professional.”

“It’s better this way. Safer.”

“For who?”

“For everyone. For the business, for the kids, for us.”

I want to argue with her. Want to point out that the only reason Chad’s opinion matters to her is because she’s still letting him define what’s safe and what’s risky. But I can see the walls going up in real time, and I know better than to push when she’s in protective mode.

“Fine.” I stand. “Professional it is.”

“Brett—”

“No, you’re right. It’s better to keep things simple.” I grab my clipboard and head toward the kitchen area. “Speaking of which, the electrical inspector is coming tomorrow. We should make sure everything’s ready.”

W e spend the next hour reviewing permit applications and construction timelines, but something’s shifted.

There’s a careful distance where there used to be easy partnership.

We’re both trying so hard to prove Chad wrong about the personal complications that we’re accidentally proving he was right about everything else.

“Hand me that measuring tape,” Amber says, not looking at me directly.

“Which one?”

“The one by your elbow.”

I pass it over, making sure our fingers don’t touch. Professional. Safe.

“We need to finalize the bar layout,” she says, unrolling the tape. “The bar stools are being delivered next week.”

“Right. Bar layout. Very important.”

She shoots me a look. “Are you going to be weird about this?”

“Weird about what? I’m being professional. Just like you wanted. ”

“That’s not what I—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

We measure in silence for a few minutes. It’s the most awkward we’ve been since our first day working together, when we were still trying to figure out if we could stand each other.

“You know,” I say finally, “Chad’s an idiot.”

“I know that.”

“But you’re still letting him get in your head.”

“I’m being practical.”

“You’re being scared.”

She straightens up, measuring tape still in her hands. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re letting your ex-husband dictate how you run your business because you’re scared of what people might think.”

“I am not?—”

“He shows up here with his fake watch and his rehearsed speech about risk management, and suddenly you’re ready to put walls up between us that weren’t there an hour ago.”

“Those walls should have been there from the beginning.”

“Why? Because you might actually want something for yourself?”

The words come out sharper than I intended, but I’m tired of watching her shrink herself down to make other people comfortable .

“That’s not fair,” she says, but there’s less conviction in her voice.

“Isn’t it? You built this place from nothing. You’ve got suppliers lined up, investors secured, a vision that’s going to blow away everything else in this town. But the second someone questions your judgment, you start second-guessing everything.”

“I’m not second-guessing the restaurant.”

“Just us.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with all the things we’ve been trying not to say.

“There is no us,” she says quietly. “We’re business partners.”

“Right. Business partners who finish each other’s sentences and know how each other takes their coffee and can work together for hours without saying a word because we don’t need to.”

“That’s just... familiarity. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything. And the fact that you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise because your ex-husband made you feel guilty about it just proves my point.”

She stares at me for a long moment, measuring tape forgotten in her hands.

“What do you want me to say, Brett?”

“I want you to stop letting him decide what’s safe for you. I want you to stop apologizing for building something amazing. And I want you to stop pretending that what’s happening between us is just business. ”

“And what if it doesn’t work out? What if we try, and it ruins everything we’ve built here?”

“What if we don’t try and spend the rest of our lives wondering what might have been?”

It’s the same argument we had yesterday, but it feels different now. More urgent. Like Chad’s visit forced us to realize we’re running out of time to decide what this partnership really means.

“I need to think about it,” she says finally.

“How much thinking do you need to do? Either you trust me or you don’t. Either this matters to you or it doesn’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You’re just making it complicated because someone convinced you that wanting something means you’re going to lose it.”

She sets down the measuring tape and looks around our restaurant, at the space we’ve created together, the dream we’re making real through stubbornness and hard work and something that seems like more than just business.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

“Of me?”

“Of caring too much and getting it wrong again, and Chad being right about me making decisions with my heart instead of my head.”

“What if your heart’s smarter than he is?”

“But it might not be. ”

I move closer, not close enough to touch but close enough that she has to look at me instead of the measuring tape.

“Then we figure it out. Together. Like partners do.”

“Professional partners.”

“All kinds of partners.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can see her wrestling with the decision. The part of her that wants to play it safe versus the part that’s tired of settling for less than she deserves.

“Okay,” she says finally.

“Okay?”

“Okay, let’s see what we’re building together. But carefully. And if Chad’s right about any of this?—”

“He’s not.”

“But if he is, we protect the restaurant first. Always.”

“Deal.”

She smiles then, the first real smile I’ve seen since Chad walked in. “You realize this means we’re about to become the talk of Twin Waves.”

“Good. Let them talk.”

“You say that now, but wait until Grandma Hensley starts offering relationship advice at the grocery store.”

“I can handle Grandma Hensley.”

“Famous last words.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe we’re about to make everything more complicated than it needs to be. But looking at her in this space we’ve built together, I realize I’d rather have complicated with her than simple with anyone else.

Even if it means dealing with Chad’s corporate buzzwords and the entire town’s opinions about our business.

Some things are worth the complications.