Page 34 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

“No, it’s fine. I get it. You think I’m impractical and naive, and I think you’re cynical and controlling. Good thing we’re just business partners, right?”

“Is that what we are?”

The question hangs in the salt air between us. Because we both know we crossed out of “business partners only” territory weeks ago, probably around the time he started showing up at my house for dinner and staying to help with homework.

“I don’t know what we’ve become,” I admit. “But I know I’m tired of defending every idea to you.”

“And I’m tired of you thinking I’m the villain for asking practical questions.”

We stare at each other, both frustrated and neither entirely wrong.

“This explains why workplace romances constitute a terrible idea,” I mutter.

“Who said anything about romance?”

“Brett. We kissed. Multiple times. In front of my children.”

“So?”

“So we’re either having a workplace romance or you’re really committed to confusing my kids.”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “When you put it that way...”

“Look,” I say, leaning against the rail. “I like you. Obviously. But I need to know you respect me as a business partner, not just tolerate me because you want to date me.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I think you’ve spent three weeks questioning every decision I make.”

“Because I care about making this work.”

“For the business or for us?”

“Both.”

The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. “Brett...”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says quietly. “Mix business with personal feelings. I’m probably handling it badly.”

“You are handling it badly.”

“Thanks for the confirmation.”

“But so am I,” I admit. “I keep expecting you to either dismiss my ideas or disappoint me. It’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because Chad used to do this thing where he’d agree with me to my face, then undermine my decisions behind my back. So when you question me directly... it makes me defensive.”

Brett processes this. “I’d rather argue with you than lie to you.”

“I know. It’s actually one of your better qualities, even when it drives me crazy.”

“Good to know I have better qualities.”

“A few. ”

We fall into comfortable silence, watching the harbor approach. The morning’s tension hasn’t disappeared entirely, but it’s shifted into something more honest.

“Can I ask you something?” Brett says eventually.

“Sure.”

“Are you really ready for this? Opening a restaurant, dealing with suppliers and staff and health inspectors and all the chaos that comes with it?”

I consider the question seriously instead of getting defensive. “No. I’m terrified. But I’m ready to try.”

“That’s all anyone can do.”

“Even a person as impractical as me?”

“Especially a person with your heart for it.”

The compliment surprises me. “Was that an actual nice thing you just said?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But he almost smiles when he speaks, and I catch a glimpse of who Brett might become when he stops protecting himself so fiercely from disappointment.

“There’s something I need you to know,” I say as we near the dock. “About my decision-making process.”

“Okay.”

“I do think with my heart sometimes. But I also think with my brain and my experience and my knowledge of this community. When I choose relationship-based suppliers, it’s not just sentiment. It’s because I know these people will show up when I need them.”

“Even when it’s inconvenient?”

“Especially then. That’s what relationships mean here.”

Brett considers this. “I’m still going to want contracts.”

“And I’m still going to want handshake deals with people I trust.”

“This is going to be interesting.”

“Very.”

As we dock, several familiar faces wait on the pier. Jack’s parents from the hardware store, Mrs. Clarkson from the library, other townspeople I recognize.

“Word travels fast,” Brett observes.

“Small town,” I say, waving at the gathering crowd. “Probably half the town knows we went fishing this morning.”

We unload gear and the day’s catch. Janet hurries over, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Amber! How did it go?”

“Better than expected,” I tell her, holding up my napkin full of notes. “Fresh fish lined up for the next six months.”

“See?” I murmur to Brett. “Relationships.”

“Don’t gloat,” he murmurs back. “It’s unattractive.”

But he’s definitely almost smiling now.

Their enthusiasm proves infectious. It’s one thing to dream about restaurant success, another to see actual excitement in people’s faces .

“The knitting club needs a new meeting place,” Mrs. Sanders says thoughtfully. “Once you’re open, would you consider hosting us monthly?”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

“Of course! Support local business, enjoy good food, work on our projects. Perfect combination.”

Brett squeezes my hand. “Community events could be regular revenue.”

“I’d love that.”

More people gather as we load fish into coolers. The mayor appears, wanting to discuss permits and grand opening possibilities.

“This is really happening,” I whisper to Brett.

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees. “The whole town’s invested in your success.”

“ Our success,” I correct. “They’re rooting for both of us.”

“Even when we argue in public?”

“Especially then. They like a good show.”

L ater, I work on the promised clam chowder recipe in my kitchen while Brett sits at my island with his laptop, working on supplier contracts. Mason builds an elaborate Lego castle at our feet, providing running commentary.

“This tower needs to be really tall so the princess can see pirates coming,” he announces, adding another level to his architectural marvel. “And it needs a secret escape tunnel in case the pirates have cannons.”

“Smart planning,” Brett says, glancing down at the construction project. “Always good to have an exit strategy.”

“Do you have an escape plan?” Mason asks with directness.

Brett pauses, fingers hovering over his keyboard. “For what?”

“For when you marry Mommy and become our dad.”

I nearly drop the ladle I’m holding. Brett’s face rotates through several interesting color changes.

“Mason,” I manage, “that’s not... we’re not...”

“But you like him,” Mason continues with the ruthless logic of a preschooler. “And he fixes things and brings us presents. That’s what dads do.”

“Some dads,” Brett says carefully. “But your mom and I are business partners.”

“Tally says business partners don’t look at each other like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“Like ice cream,” Mason says matter-of-factly. “All melty and happy.”

The domesticity of it should feel weird—we had a fight this morning, after all—but instead it feels right. This represents what partnership looks like: disagreeing about methods while working toward the same goal, with a preschooler providing unsolicited relationship advice.

“Grandma Pearl’s famous clam chowder,” I announce, ladling soup into bowls. “Fair warning—this recipe has caused marriage proposals.”

Brett raises an eyebrow. “Threat or promise?”

My cheeks heat. “Poor word choice. I didn’t mean...”

He stands and comes around the island. “Relax. I know what you meant.” He pauses, eyes twinkling with rare humor. “But if this chowder lives up to its reputation, I might reconsider my timeline.”

“Timeline for what?”

“For deciding whether your relationship-based business model actually works.”

“Very romantic.”

“I’m a practical man.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s part of your charm.”

“I have charm?”

“Hidden under layers of grumpiness, but yes.”

He tastes the chowder, and I watch his expression change. His eyes close, and he makes a sound of appreciation that accelerates my heart rate.

“This tastes incredible.”

“Really? ”

“Really. I understand why your grandmother never wrote it down. This tastes like liquid magic.”

“The secret ingredient is patience.”

“I can taste it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Brett says eventually.

“Sure.”

“This morning, when we argued... were you testing me?”

I consider the question. “Maybe. I wanted to see if you’d back down when I pushed back.”

“And?”

“You didn’t. You stayed and fought with me instead of shutting down or walking away.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Chad used to just... disappear when things got difficult. Emotionally, I mean. He’d agree with whatever I said to end the conversation, then resent me for it later.”

Brett processes this. “I’d rather fight with you than ignore you.”

“I’m starting to figure that out.”

“Mom!” Tally calls from the living room. “Mason’s building a fort with the couch cushions again!”

“Forts are awesome!” Mason calls back, abandoning his Lego castle for apparently bigger architectural ambitions.

“Boys are weird,” Tally declares with seventeen- year-old authority. “Why do they build things they can’t actually live in?”

“Practice,” Brett calls back. “We’re planning for when we need real forts.”

“For what?”

“Zombie apocalypse. Alien invasion. Your mother when she finds out I taught Mason how to whistle.”

“You did what?” I demand.

Brett’s expression turns innocent. “Nothing. Hypothetically.”

From the living room comes the sound of Mason’s newly acquired whistling skills, off-key but enthusiastic.

I start to get up, but Brett stops me.

“Let me,” he says. “I should practice mediating family disputes. And maybe teach him how to whistle quietly.”

He heads to the living room. I hear him negotiating peace treaties about designated fort-building times and sacred cushion boundaries, his voice patient in a way that settles warmth in my chest. Then I hear him quietly teaching Mason the fine art of indoor whistling volume control.

I sit in my kitchen, listening to the man I’m falling for mediate between my children while giving whistling lessons, and think: This .

This represents what I want. Not romance alone, though the way he kisses me makes my toes curl.

But this easy partnership. This sense we’re building something bigger than either of us alone .

My phone buzzes with a text from Janet: Heard the fishing trip went well! Can’t wait to try that chowder at the restaurant.

Brett returns, looking slightly frazzled but triumphant. “Crisis averted. Mason gets fort time until dinner, when cushions will need to return to their designated furniture afterward. Also, he now knows the difference between indoor and outdoor whistling volume.”

“You’re getting good at this.”

“Your kids make excellent teachers,” Brett says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Even when they’re being difficult?”

“Especially then. Difficult people usually have the most interesting perspectives.”

I laugh. “Your way of calling me interesting?”

He shrugs. “Among other adjectives.”

“What other adjectives?”

“Stubborn. Passionate. Frustrating as heck.”

“You sure know how to charm a girl.”

He grins. “I’m working on it.”

I can see him struggling against instincts telling him to keep everyone at arm’s length. Letting people in doesn’t come easily for him. But he does it anyway.

“Brett? ”

“Yeah?”

“When I said you’re afraid to trust people?”

“Yeah.”

“I can tell you’re trying.”

“Yeah. I am.”

I reach for his hand. “That’s all I need.”

He kisses my knuckles, a gesture so gentle it makes my heart flutter. “Good thing I’m stubborn too.”

“The best thing.”

Outside, boats come in with the evening tide.

I smell salt air and possibility through open windows.

The restaurant opens in weeks, but the foundation feels solid now.

Not the business plan or the supplier relationships alone, but this.

Brett and me, figuring out how to become partners in every sense of the word.

Tomorrow we’ll probably argue about something else—arguing seems to be how we work through problems. But tonight, we’re here together, building something meaningful.

That’s the kind of promise I can believe in.