Page 38 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

TWENTY-FOUR

brETT

S tanding in this beach pavilion feels like witnessing the aftermath of a very small, very personal tornado. All remaining: our shut-down food truck, disappointed neighbors heading to their cars, and the kind of silence following when a girl’s dreams get publicly demolished.

I’m watching Chad’s silver sedan disappear down the coastal road, my hands still clenched into fists wanting very badly to introduce themselves to his smug face.

Every protective instinct I have screams to follow him and explain, in terms he’ll understand, exactly what happens when he messes with Amber.

The remaining beach walkers disperse with sympathetic looks and confused murmurs. Some seem genuinely sorry for us. Others look suspicious, as though maybe there really was something wrong with our food. Chad’s timing was absolutely perfect, the snake.

Amber’s still standing by our food truck, looking like Christmas was canceled and her puppy ran away. The sight of her shell-shocked expression makes the protective fury flare up all over again.

But then I remember what Jack told me about relationships and how Hazel needed a partner, not a white knight and the best action he ever took was standing beside her instead of in front of her.

Right. Partnership. Not heroics.

“Are you okay?” she asks, which is so perfectly Amber I almost laugh despite everything. Her entire business got torpedoed by her vindictive ex, and she’s checking on me.

“I should be asking you this,” I say, moving closer but giving her space to breathe. “How are you holding up?”

She nods, but I can see the shock lingering in her eyes. The slight tremor in her hands she’s trying to hide. “I can’t believe he actually did this. Filed a fake complaint to watch us fail.”

“He’s counting on us giving up,” I say, settling onto the picnic table bench. “Bad calculation on his part.”

My phone buzzes with a text.

Mom: Just got to Twin Waves! Perfect timing for New Year’ s. Where are you?

Me: Beach pavilion. Fair warning. We’re having a crisis.

Three dots appear immediately, then.

Mom: Should I bring wine or bail money?

“Was your mom texting?” Amber asks, reading my expression.

“She arrived in town for New Year’s. About to get the full disaster report.”

“At least your timing runs consistent,” she says with a weak smile. “Crisis management seems to be our specialty.”

I can practically see Amber’s brain spinning through worst-case scenarios. It’s one of the qualities I love about her—how thoroughly she thinks through problems. It’s also one of the qualities keeping her awake at three in the morning worrying about disasters that might never happen.

“What if Chad can drag this out for months, though?” she says, sinking onto the bench beside me. “We don’t have deep pockets for legal battles, Brett. The restaurant opening alone stretches us thin.”

And here’s where I need to be honest with her. Because we’re partners, and partners don’t keep secrets about the important stuff.

“Actually,” I say, taking her hand, “we’re in better shape than you realize. The property investments with Jack have been doing really well. We can afford the best lawyer in the state if we need to. ”

She nods, some tension leaving her shoulders. “Good. Really good.”

“Chad can drag this out until he’s old and gray. We’ll still be standing.”

My mom’s Subaru Outback—the same car she’s been driving for at least a decade—pulls into the parking lot.

Mom climbs out looking like a woman who drove seven hours expecting to celebrate and instead found a disaster zone. She takes one look at our shut-down food truck and Amber’s expression, and her face shifts into full maternal problem-solving mode.

“I came as soon as I got your text,” she says, marching over with the determination of a woman about to fix everything through sheer motherly force. “What kind of crisis are we dealing with?”

“Health department complaint,” I explain. “Anonymous tip about food safety violations. We’re shut down pending investigation.”

Mom’s face cycles through several expressions before settling on righteous indignation. “Well, nonsense. Who would do such a thing?”

“Amber’s ex-husband,” I say grimly. “Chad Peterson. He showed up right after the complaint went through, looking very pleased with himself.”

“Ah.” Mom’s expression darkens in a way I remember from childhood when neighborhood bullies made the mistake of messing with her kid. “One of those.”

Mom starts organizing our scattered napkins and unused condiment packets, because apparently family crises are the perfect time for aggressive tidying. It’s a genetic trait I definitely inherited.

“Well,” she says, somehow making napkin-folding look therapeutic, “the health inspector sounded about as convinced as someone reading a grocery list. Very by-the-book, zero personal investment.”

Amber lets out a shaky laugh. “You think so?”

“Honey, I’ve been dealing with bureaucrats since you were in diapers. He was following procedure, not passion. There’s a difference.”

My phone buzzes again. Unknown number this time.

Hope you enjoyed today’s preview. This is just the beginning. - A friend

My blood turns to ice water. I show the text to Amber, watching her face go pale.

“Someone else is involved,” she whispers.

Before I can respond, another text comes through. This one with a photo attached.

It’s a picture of Amber and me kissing outside her cottage last week.

“Brett,” Amber’s voice is barely steady now. “Someone’s been watching us.”

A third text: Pretty little pictures. Wonder what the town council would think about their potential caterer’s... personal arrangements.

A cold and dangerous anger settles in my chest. Every protective instinct I have goes into overdrive.

“Someone’s been stalking us, Amber. Taking pictures, building a case, trying to show we aren’t stable enough to build this restaurant together.

” I scroll through the messages, each one making me angrier. “This is coordinated. Planned.”

She stares at the photos on my phone like they’re evidence of some terrible crime. Which, honestly, they are. “Those are from last Monday after we had dinner. We were followed home.”

The violation of it hits me like a physical blow. Someone has been watching us, turning our sweet moments into ammunition.

“I can’t do this,” Amber says suddenly.

“What?”

“This. Us.” She’s backing away from me like I’m suddenly dangerous. “If being with me means you get targeted, stalked, threatened... I won’t be the reason you get hurt.”

“Amber, no?—”

“Look at what’s happening, Brett. My ex-husband files fake complaints. Some creeper is following us around taking pictures.” Her voice starts to crack. “Your reputation, your business, everything you’ve built… it’s all at risk because of me.”

“I don’t care about any of?—”

“Well, I do!” The words come out fierce and broken. “I care about you too much to let my mess destroy your life.”

“This isn’t your fault?—”

“Isn’t it? Chad’s doing this because of me. Someone’s stalking us because of me. The health department shut us down because of me.” Tears start in her eyes, and each one feels like a knife to my chest. “Everything you touch gets poisoned when you’re with me.”

“Not true.”

“Look around, Brett. Look at what’s left of our beautiful day.” She gestures at the shut-down truck, the scattered supplies, the empty pavilion where an hour ago everything was perfect. “This is what being with me gets you.”

“Amber, please?—”

“I need to go.” She’s already walking toward the parking lot, and I can see her falling apart with every step. “Before I ruin anything else in your life.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t let them win.”

She pauses at her car, looking back at me with tears streaming down her face like something inside her breaks. “Maybe they already have.”

And then she’s gone, driving away and tossing my heart out the window.

Mom starts to say something, but I hold up a hand. I can’t handle well-meaning advice right now. Not when I watched the best thing in my life drive away because someone convinced her loving me makes me a target.

“Well,” Mom says finally, “could have gone better.”

“You think?”

“On the plus side, at least now you know exactly what you’re fighting for.”

I sink back onto the picnic table bench, staring at the empty parking space where Amber’s car was. “She thinks she’s protecting me.”

“She is protecting you. People do this when they love someone.” Mom starts packing up our unused supplies. “Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“She said she needs space.”

“She said she needs to go before she ruins anything else. Not the same thing.” Mom gives me a look that could cut glass. “Your father tried this same nonsense when we were dating.”

“Dad?”

“Thought some guys from his past were causing me trouble. Decided the noble action was breaking up with me for my own safety.” She shakes her head. “Took me exactly one day to track him down and explain I don’t need a bodyguard. I need a partner.”

“One day?”

“Would’ve been sooner, but I had to work that morning.” She looks at me pointedly. “Sometimes loving a person means fighting for them, Brett. Even when they’re too scared to fight for themselves.”

The sun’s starting to set over the water, painting everything in shades of regret and missed opportunities. Our food truck sits silent, shut down by Chad’s vindictiveness. Our restaurant opening is in jeopardy. And the woman I love thinks she has to choose between her happiness and my safety.

“So what do I do?” I ask.

“You figure out who’s really behind this. You prove running away doesn’t solve anything. And you show her the two of you are stronger together than apart.”

“And if she won’t listen?”

“Then you make sure she knows you’re not going anywhere. When she’s ready to stop running, you’ll be right here waiting to fight alongside her.”

Mom finishes packing up our supplies and heads toward her car. “I’m going to find a hotel for the night. You’re going to sit here and figure out exactly how to get your girl back.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I can’t protect her from all this? ”

She pauses at her car door, looking back at me with the expression she used to wear when I’d come home with scraped knees and wounded pride.

“Then you figure out how to face it together. Love isn’t avoiding the storm, honey. It’s learning to dance in the rain.”

And then she’s gone too, leaving me alone with a shut-down food truck and the most important mission of my life.

First things first. I pull out my phone and call the non-emergency police line. The stalking photos need to be reported, even if there’s not much they can do right now.

“Twin Waves Police, Officer Dunn speaking.”

“This is Brett Walker. I need to report harassment and possible stalking. Someone’s been taking photos of me and my business partner without our knowledge and sending threatening messages.”

“Can you come in to file a formal report? We’ll need to see the messages and photos.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.”

Next, I call Jack—because if anyone knows how to handle vindictive exes and small-town politics, it’s a man who’s been through his own complicated relationship battles.

Me: Need backup. Long story. Can you meet me at the police station in an hour?

Jack: On my way. Everything okay ?

Me: Will be. Thanks.

Then I call the one person in town who probably knows more about local gossip and business politics than anyone else.

“Hazel? It’s Brett. I need your help with something. We got hit with a bogus health department complaint today. Any chance you know a good lawyer who handles that kind of thing?”

“Oh honey, I was wondering when this would surface. George Lawson’s wife is a food service attorney. Want me to call her?”

“That would be incredible. And Hazel? There’s more going on than just Chad being vindictive. Someone else is involved, but I can’t get into details right now.”

“Whatever’s happening, don’t let Amber face it alone. That girl’s been carrying too much by herself for too long.”

As I hang up, I realize Mom was right. This isn’t about avoiding the storm—it’s about making sure Amber knows she doesn’t have to weather it alone.

Time to remind her what partnership actually means.

Even if she’s too scared to believe in it right now.

But first, I’m going to make sure whoever’s been stalking us knows they’re dealing with someone who fights back.