Page 35 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

TWENTY-TWO

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T he sun barely kisses the horizon when I hit the beach for my run. Yesterday’s boat trip keeps playing on repeat—the way Amber looked when she talked about her family’s fishing traditions, the moment her hand slipped into mine, the kiss at the bow where everything else disappeared.

And then her father’s warning echoes: She’s been through a lot. Her ex-husband was never present.

“Real smooth yesterday, Walker,” I mutter as my feet hit the packed sand. “Kiss the woman senseless, promise her father you’ll never let her down, then wonder if you’re ready for this.”

But this morning’s different. Time to stop overthinking and start proving I meant every word I said to her dad.

I’m halfway through my mental battle plan when paws thunder across the sand behind me. Scout comes barreling past like he’s been shot from a cannon.

“Morning to you too,” I call after him.

Jack’s voice carries over the waves. “Scout! Get back here, you maniac!”

I slow down to see Jack jogging toward me, hair sticking up in seventeen different directions. “He spotted a seagull,” Jack pants as he catches up. “Decided it was his personal mission to make friends.”

“How’d that go?”

“The seagull declined his offer.”

We fall into step together, Scout racing ahead to investigate every piece of seaweed.

“You’re up early,” Jack says. “Everything okay?”

“Actually, yeah. For the first time in a while, everything’s exactly where it should be.”

Jack gives me a sideways look. “Dangerous words.”

“Best decision I ever made.”

“Want to grab breakfast at Hazel’s?” he asks. “She’s probably wrestling Ellen into daycare clothes as we speak.”

T wenty minutes later, we’re in Hazel’s warm kitchen. Ellen wears a pink tulle skirt over her regular clothes and what appears to be every piece of plastic jewelry she owns, and Hazel looks like she’s already fought seventeen battles before seven AM.

“Ellen Marie, you cannot wear a tiara to daycare,” Hazel says.

“But I’m a princess!” Ellen protests, touching her sparkly crown. “Princesses wear tiaras!”

“How about the tiara stays in your backpack, and you can wear it during your outdoor play time?” I suggest.

Ellen considers this seriously. “Okay. But I need my pretty shoes too.”

“Deal.”

Jack moves around Hazel’s kitchen with the confidence that comes from eighteen months of gradually claiming space here.

He still checks before opening certain cabinets—old habits from when this wasn’t his home too—but ease flows through his movements now.

His coffee mug sits in the sink, and his glasses rest on the counter next to a book about sustainable fishing clearly not Hazel’s speed.

He’s been slowly moving belongings over, preparing for their wedding. A few shirts in her closet. His favorite skillet claiming real estate next to her good pans. The careful integration that happens when two people have already done the hard work of building something solid.

They worked on this house together back when it was a disaster zone, and now they’re working on a life together with the same patience and absolute certainty they’re building something worth the effort.

It’s exactly what I want with Amber. A solid, secure relationship.

Both girls eventually head out the door. Hazel collapses against the counter.

“I need coffee. Stat.”

“I’ll make breakfast,” Jack offers.

“So,” Hazel says, settling with her coffee. “How was yesterday? You look like a man with a mission this morning.”

“Yesterday was perfect. Today’s about building on it.”

Jack glances over from the stove. “The fishing trip went well?”

“Better than well. Amber lined up suppliers for six months. Her whole family loves the restaurant idea. And...” I pause, grinning. “Let’s say the personal side went pretty well too.”

Hazel nearly chokes on her coffee. “About time! I was starting to wonder if you two would dance around each other until the restaurant opened.”

“We’re past the dancing stage.”

“Thank goodness,” Jack mutters. “You’ve been driving me crazy with all the pining.”

“I don’t pine.”

“You absolutely pine,” Hazel says. “Remember last week when she texted about needing help with permit paperwork? You spent twenty minutes analyzing what she meant by ‘thanks for everything.’”

Okay, so maybe I pine a little.

Jack starts cooking eggs. “So what’s the plan now? You two official?”

“Getting there. But I want to do this right. She’s got three kids and a business to consider. I’m not rushing anything.”

“Smart man,” Hazel says. “Though from what I saw at the school fundraiser, those kids already adore you.”

The words hit me right in the chest, and I think about Crew teaching me about different fishing knots, Mason showing me his Lego creations, and even Tally, with her teenage eye-rolls, including me in family conversations.

“The feeling’s mutual,” I say quietly.

My phone buzzes with a text. Amber: Can you meet me at the restaurant site? Want to show you something before the contractors arrive.

Perfect. Time to see what she’s got planned.

“I should go,” I say, standing. “Duty calls.”

“Go get your girl,” Hazel says.

“Already got her,” I reply, surprising myself with how good that sounds. “Now I’m keeping her.”

A n hour later, I’m heading to what will soon be our restaurant. Amber waits by the front windows, clutching a manila folder and looking like she’s barely containing excitement.

Which, knowing Amber, means she’s got some brilliant plan that’s about to change everything.

“You’re glowing,” I say, approaching her. “What’s going on?”

“I had an idea. Several actually.” She opens the folder. “Last night after we got back, I couldn’t sleep. I kept returning to what you said about building something that feels like home.”

She spreads architectural drawings across the hood of my truck. “What if we didn’t simply serve the fishing community? What if we celebrated it?”

I lean in to study her sketches. She’s drawn additions to our original plans—display cases along one wall, a photo gallery area, space for rotating exhibits.

“Local fishing history,” she explains, pointing to different sections. “Photos of the fleet through the decades. Maybe rotating displays of different families’ traditions. A place where the community can see their stories told.”

My chest goes tight with something I can’t name. “Amber, this is incredible.”

“There’s more.” Her eyes are bright with possibility. “Mrs. Samuel mentioned the knitting club needing a meeting space. What if we created a community calendar? Monthly events, local groups, maybe even cooking classes?”

“You want to turn the restaurant into a community center.”

“I want to turn it into home. For everyone.”

This is the reason I’m falling so hard for this woman. She doesn’t simply want to run a business—she wants to create something meaningful.

“The construction costs?—”

“Already calculated,” she says, flipping pages. “It’s an investment, but Jack’s friend Josh estimates we can do most of the display work ourselves. And the community events? Those are pure profit once we’re established.”

I study her face, seeing the careful hope there. She’s brilliant, but she’s also scared I’ll consider her impractical.

“What do you think?” she asks quietly.

“I think you’re going to change this town.”

Her shoulders relax. “Really?”

“Really. But I have one condition.”

Her eyebrows raise.

“We do this together. Full partners. I don’t want you carrying this vision alone.”

She steps closer. “I wouldn’t want to.”

“Good.” I reach for her hand. “Because I have some ideas too. ”

“Such as?”

“Corporate sponsorships. The Keith family I grew up with? They have a foundation supporting community development projects. This could qualify for funding.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Plus, I’ve been considering the food truck strategy. What if we use it for catering community events? Double revenue stream, built-in marketing for the restaurant.”

She stares at me like I solved world hunger.

“Brett, that’s genius.”

“We’re a good team.”

“The best team.”

Something in her voice carries a certainty that makes my pulse quicken. Like she’s not talking about business anymore.

“Amber,” I start, then pause. How do you tell a woman she’s become your entire future without scaring her away?

“What?”

“Yesterday, when your dad pulled me aside...”

“I heard,” she says softly. “I heard what you promised him.”

“I meant every word.”

“I know.” She steps closer, close enough for me to smell her vanilla shampoo. “I also heard what you said to me. About wanting to be there for soccer games and school plays.”

“I do want that.”

“Good. Because Mason has a Lego competition next week, and Crew’s got a fishing derby he’s been preparing for all month. And Tally...” She pauses, smiling. “Tally informed me this morning you’re ‘acceptably cool for a grown-up’ and I should ‘probably keep you around.’”

My heart does something acrobatic. “High praise from a teenager.”

“The highest. She doesn’t approve of many people.”

I reach up to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “What about you? Do you approve?”

“I more than approve,” she whispers. “I’m falling in love with you, Brett Walker.”

Everything stops. The world, my breath, my ability to think coherently.

“Yeah?” I manage.

“Yeah. With your contractor knowledge and the way you remember Mason likes his sandwiches cut diagonally. With how you listen to Crew’s fishing theories like they’re the most important discoveries in the world. With how you don’t try to win Tally over—you let her come to you on her terms.”

She pauses, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“I’m falling in love with how you make me feel safe enough to dream big again.”

I kiss her then, soft and deep and full of promises about the future we’re building together. She melts into me, hands fisting in my shirt, and I think this might be what people mean when they talk about finding your person.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.