Page 27 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)
“For research purposes?”
“Obviously. We need to understand local dessert preferences.”
We buy ice cream and find a bench overlooking the harbor, eating in comfortable silence while tourists take pictures and locals go about their Saturday afternoon business.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Amber says.
“Just thinking about what Joe said. About knowing who you’re serving.”
“And?”
“I think we’re serving the same community. People who want good food, fair prices, and a place that feels like home. ”
“Even when we disagree about how to get there?”
I look at her, remembering our conversation in her kitchen, the way she challenged me to think beyond just business metrics. “Especially then. We balance each other out.”
“Is that what we do?”
“Among other things.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m glad we came today. Not just for the research, but for this. Time to talk without worrying about permits or schedules or what Penelope’s planning next.”
“Speaking of Penelope, any word on when the council’s making their decision about waterfront development?”
“Not yet. But I have a feeling she’s not done trying to undermine us.”
“Let her try. After seeing this place, I’m more confident than ever that we’re on the right track.”
“Even with all my community-over-profit idealism?”
“Especially because of that.” I turn to face her fully. “You were right, you know. About caring being what makes it worth doing. I needed to remember that.”
“And you were right about needing solid business practices to make it sustainable. We need both.”
“Partners who balance each other out?”
“Partners who balance each other out,” she agrees.
But there’s something in the way she says it, something that suggests we’re talking about more than just business partnership. And when she reaches over to brush a drop of ice cream from my shirt, her hand lingers just a moment longer than necessary.
“We should probably head back,” she says finally, checking her watch. “Don’t want to miss the ferry.”
The ride back is different from the trip over. Quieter, but not uncomfortable. We stand at the rail as Hatteras Island shrinks behind us, as I process not just what we learned about running a restaurant, but what we confirmed about working together.
“Thank you,” Amber says as the mainland comes into view. “For being open to Joe’s approach today and not rolling your eyes when I got sentimental about community values.”
“Thank you for dragging me out here. For reminding me that business can be about more than just profit margins.”
“We make a good team,” she says.
“We do.”
And standing there on the ferry deck, watching the sun start its descent toward the horizon, I realize something has shifted. Not just in how we approach the restaurant, but in how we approach each other.
We’re not just business partners anymore. We’re not just friends who happen to work together.
We’re two people building something that matters, both professionally and personally. And for the first time in years, that doesn’t scare me.
It’s like coming home.
The ferry docks just as the sun disappears behind the mainland, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. We walk back to our cars in comfortable silence.
“Same time next week?” Amber asks as we reach her car, turning to face me in the soft twilight.
“You planning more market research?”
“I’m planning more time with my partner. The market research is just a bonus.”
“Partner,” I repeat, testing the word.
“Partner,” she confirms. “In every sense that matters.”
She’s standing close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes and that the evening breeze carries the scent of her shampoo. Something shifts in her expression—softer, more vulnerable—and this is the moment I’ve been waiting for without knowing it.
“Amber,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you suggested this trip.”
“Me too.”
“And I’m really glad you’re not the kind of person who gives up when things get complicated.”
“Are we complicated?” she asks, but she’s smiling.
“Completely.” I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my hand lingering against her cheek. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her breath catches slightly. “Brett?—”
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, because after everything we’ve shared today, everything we’ve built together, I need to know this is what she wants too.
“I was wondering when you’d ask,” she whispers.
I lean down slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but she rises up to meet me halfway. When our lips touch, it’s gentle at first—tentative, sweet, like we’re both afraid this might be too good to be real.
But then she sighs softly against my mouth, and her hands find the front of my shirt, and suddenly there’s nothing tentative about it. The kiss deepens, warm and sure and full of all the promise we’ve been dancing around for weeks.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing a little unsteadily. I rest my forehead against hers, trying to memorize this moment—the way she looks in the fading light, the way she fits perfectly in my arms, the way this seems to be the most natural thing in the world.
“Wow,” she says softly.
“Good wow or bad wow?”
“Definitely good wow.” She laughs, and the sound makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Though I should probably get home before Tally sends out a search party. ”
“Probably,” I agree, but neither of us moves to step away.
“Brett?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For today. For being patient with me while I figured out what I wanted.”
“Thank you for figuring it out.”
She reaches up to brush her thumb across my bottom lip, and I have to resist the urge to kiss her again. “Drive safe, okay?”
“You too.”
I watch her get in her car and drive away, her taillights disappearing around the curve toward home. But this time, instead of feeling like an ending, it’s like a beginning.
Because we are partners in every sense that matters now. Business partners, sure. But also something more. Something that’s worth the risk of staying, worth the possibility of building a life instead of just a project.
Something worth everything.