Page 43 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

“You’re a bitter ex-husband trying to sabotage your ex-wife’s success,” I say quietly, but my voice carries. “And everyone in this room knows it.”

A few people nod in agreement. Jack’s mom actually gives me a thumbs up from her corner table, which is both encouraging and slightly terrifying.

The words land like a slap. Chad’s face goes red, his facade of civility cracking.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snarls. “This restaurant will fail within six months. The whole town knows Amber can’t handle running a real business. She’s in over her head, and when this place crashes and burns, don’t come crying to me. ”

“Daddy?” Crew’s voice cuts through the tension as he appears beside us, confusion written all over his face. “Why are you being mean to Mom?”

The entire confrontation stops. Chad’s face goes pale as he realizes his son heard everything.

“Chad.” Amber’s voice cuts through his rant like a blade, and I can see she’s spotted Crew too. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get out of my restaurant. Now.”

“You can’t kick me out. I’m a paying customer?—”

“You’re trespassing,” I say firmly. “The owner has asked you to leave. You need to go.”

For a moment, it seems as though Chad might actually try to escalate this into a physical confrontation. His hands shake with rage, his face purple with humiliation. But then he glances around at the crowd of people watching, phones potentially recording, witnesses everywhere.

And then he sees Crew.

For a second, something flickers across Chad’s face—maybe shame, maybe regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

He throws his napkin down and stands up abruptly. “Come on, Kayla. We’re leaving.”

“Actually,” his date says quietly, not moving from her seat, “I think I’ll stay for dessert. The menu looks amazing.”

The final humiliation. Even his own date is choosing Amber’s restaurant over him. I’d almost feel sorry for Chad if he weren’t such a complete waste of oxygen.

Chad stares at her for a moment, his gaze darting once more to where Crew stands pressed against my side. Then he storms toward the exit without another word. The door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.

Crew lets out a shaky breath. “He didn’t even say goodbye,” he whispers.

For a moment, the entire restaurant is silent.

Then someone starts clapping.

It’s Mrs. Sanders, Jack’s mom, from the knitting club, slowly applauding from her corner table. Then Jack joins in, then Hazel, then my mom from her corner table. Within seconds, the entire dining room erupts in applause and cheers.

“About time someone told him off!” someone calls out.

“Good riddance!” another voice shouts.

“Best dinner theater in town!” a third adds.

“Better than Netflix!” someone from the back calls out, which gets a laugh from the entire room.

Amber stands in the middle of it all, tears streaming down her face, but she’s smiling. Really, genuinely smiling for the first time tonight.

Then she spots Crew, and her expression shifts to concern. She crosses to us quickly, kneeling down to his level .

“Hey, buddy,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

Crew nods, but his lip is trembling. “Why does he always have to ruin everything good?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But he can’t ruin this. Not really. Survey this.”

Crew glances at the dining room full of people who chose to stay, who chose to support them.

“They’re all here for us?” he asks.

“That’s right,” Amber confirms. “Well,” she says loudly enough for everyone to hear, “who’s ready for dessert? Tally’s chocolate lava cakes are getting rave reviews, and her lemon tart just made Mrs. Denton cry happy tears.”

The crowd cheers again, and our grand opening is back on track. Better than before, actually. We’ve stood up to the town bully, and everyone witnessed it. Plus, we provided entertainment with dinner. That’s value-added service right there.

As the evening winds down and the last customers trickle out, all raving about the food and especially Tally’s desserts, I find Amber and Crew in the kitchen.

She has her arm around him while he helps organize the dessert plates, both of them finally breathing normally.

Tally’s at her station, carefully packing up the leftover pastries with the focused precision of someone who takes her craft seriously.

“So,” I say, joining them, “that went well. ”

Crew studies me with serious eyes. “Do you think Dad will come back and try to cause more problems?”

“I don’t know, buddy,” I answer honestly. “But if he does, we’ll handle it together. All of us.”

“Even if he says mean stuff about Mom again?”

“Especially then.”

Amber pulls him closer. “Crew, I need you to know that nothing your dad said tonight was true. And more importantly, none of this is your fault. Okay?”

He nods, but he’s still processing everything that happened.

“We stood up for ourselves,” I continue. “In front of the whole town. And they chose us.”

“They did, didn’t they?” Amber says.

I move closer so I can see her face. “Amber, you were incredible tonight. You didn’t back down or let him intimidate you. You chose to fight.”

“We chose to fight,” she corrects. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Yes, you could have. But you didn’t have to.”

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, and it tastes of victory and partnership and the promise of everything we’re going to build together.

“So what happens next?” she asks when we break apart.

“Tomorrow, we deal with whatever legal nonsense Chad throws at us. And next week, we keep building on tonight’s success. ”

“Did you see how many people asked for our card?” Amber says, eyes bright. “And that food blogger from Wilmington? She took notes the entire time. Said she’s never had fish prepared quite like Grandma Rose’s recipe.”

Crew tugs on my shirt. “Brett? Do you think more people will want to come eat here now that we showed Dad we’re not scared?”

“I bet they will, buddy. You did a great job explaining those fishing displays to everyone.”

His face lights up—the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him since his father walked in tonight.

“And they’ll definitely want to feature Tally’s desserts,” Amber adds, glancing over at her daughter with obvious pride. “Three people tonight asked if we cater weddings just because of her chocolate work.”

“Mom,” Tally says without looking up from her pastry cleanup, “you’re being embarrassing.”

“I’m being accurate. Your birthday dessert menu last month was basically a preview of tonight’s success.”

It’s true. Tally turned eighteen in early February, and instead of asking for a party, she’d requested to design and execute the entire dessert course for a family dinner. The results had been so impressive that Amber immediately offered her the pastry chef position.

As we turn off the lights and lock up our restaurant—our successful, packed, celebrated restaurant—I realize something important .

We’re not afraid anymore. Not of Chad, not of failure, not of the future.

We’ve got something stronger than fear or doubt or outside pressure.

We’ve got each other. And after tonight, that feels like everything.