Page 45 of Cooking Up My Comeback (Twin Waves #1)

Twenty minutes later, we’ve restored some semblance of order to the Hensley House family room and relocated the wedding preparations back to the master bedroom. Brett’s been de-petaled, and the coffee table has been pronounced a casualty of pre-wedding enthusiasm.

Now I’m standing in Hazel’s living room, observing Brett through the window as he helps Jack load wedding supplies into the truck. He moves with his usual efficient grace, but there’s still something careful in the way he glances toward the house.

Toward me.

“You’re overthinking again,” Hazel says, appearing beside me with her full wedding regalia somehow still perfectly intact.

“He’s acting as though I’m made of glass.”

“Maybe because you’ve been through a lot lately? Your ex-husband publicly humiliated himself at your restaurant opening. You’re dealing with legal threats and starting a new business. Some people might consider that calls for gentle handling.”

“I don’t want gentle handling. I want my partner.”

“Have you told him that?”

Before I can answer, the back door opens and Brett walks in, having traded his petal-covered jacket for a clean one Jack apparently keeps on hand for wedding emergencies.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

We exit through the kitchen to the back deck and out to the beach in comfortable silence, but the careful distance between us feels like a physical presence. By the time we reach the ceremony site, my patience is officially exhausted.

The Hensley House’s private beach setup is absolutely perfect.

White chairs arranged in neat rows on the sand, an arbor draped with flowing fabric and flowers, the ocean stretching endlessly behind it all painted gold by the afternoon sun.

Everything looks designed by someone who specializes in seaside romance.

Including the man standing beside me who’s apparently decided we’re business associates instead of whatever we were becoming.

“Flowers look good,” Brett says as we take our positions for the processional .

“Mm-hmm.”

“Jack seems nervous but happy.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Weather’s perfect.”

I turn to face him fully. “Brett, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re giving me weather updates. You never give weather updates unless you’re avoiding something.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

“You’ve barely touched me in three days.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’ve been through enough lately without me adding pressure.”

“Pressure?”

The music starts before he can answer, but the conversation is far from over. It simmers between us as we take our places, as Hazel walks down the aisle appearing absolutely radiant, as Jack’s face transforms into something so pure and joyful it makes my throat tight.

But even while observing my best friend marry the love of her life, I can’t stop considering the man standing three feet away who apparently considers touching me would constitute pressure.

The ceremony is beautiful. Perfect. The kind of wedding that makes you believe in happily ever after even when your own love life feels complicated.

“Jack,” the officiant says, “do you take Hazel to be your wife, to love and honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Jack says, his voice rough with emotion. “Forever and always.”

“Hazel, do you take Jack to be your husband, to love and honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Hazel says, tears streaming down her face. “With everything I have.”

They kiss, everyone cheers, and I’m crying the happy tears that come from witnessing love win. But I’m also hyperaware of Brett standing beside me, so close I could reach out and touch him but feeling as though there’s an ocean between us.

The reception flows seamlessly into evening inside the Hensley House, with dancing and laughter and the kind of joy that comes from witnessing two people who absolutely belong together celebrate their future.

I dance with Crew, who insists on demonstrating his “advanced” fishing knot techniques while we waltz, and with Mason who mostly bounces to the beat while I try to keep up.

During a quiet moment between songs, Lucas’s wife, Anabelle, finds me near the cake table, glowing with the kind of happiness that comes from good news.

“Amber!” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Can you believe we’re back here again? It feels like yesterday that Lucas and I were getting married on this same beach.”

“Has it really been almost two years?”

“Twenty-two months,” she says with a laugh. “Nolan keeps track of everything. He says it’s been the best twenty-one months of his life since Lucas became his stepdad officially.”

I smile, remembering how Lucas had been Nolan’s soccer mentor before falling for his mom. “How is Nolan? Still dominating on the soccer field?”

“Absolutely. And he’s about to become a big brother.” Anabelle’s face lights up as she places a hand on her still-small bump. “We just found out we’re having a girl.”

“Anabelle! That’s wonderful news!”

“Lucas is already planning to build her a rocking chair. Nolan wants to teach her soccer. I’m just hoping she sleeps better than her brother did at that age.”

But I don’t dance with Brett.

He’s been perfectly polite all evening. Helped serve cake, made appropriate small talk with relatives, even laughed at Uncle Harold’s camping stories. But he hasn’t asked me to dance, stolen a quiet moment, or done any of the actions the Brett I know would do at a romantic wedding.

By the time the evening starts winding down, I’m frustrated enough to do something about it.

I find him at the edge of the Hensley House’s wraparound porch, gazing out at the water with a beer in his hand and that careful expression that’s been driving me crazy for three days.

“Okay,” I say, moving to stand beside him. “Time to talk.”

“About what?”

“About why you’re treating me like I’m radioactive.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, then says, “I saw your face.”

“What?”

“At the restaurant. When Chad was saying those awful words about you failing, about not being able to handle a real business. I saw your face, and for a second, you believed him.”

My stomach drops. “Brett?—”

“And I realized that I’ve been pushing. Moving fast, making assumptions about what you want, what you’re ready for.” He takes a sip of his beer, still not facing me. “Maybe you need space to figure out what you actually want instead of going along with what feels good in the moment.”

“What feels good in the moment? ”

“This. Us. Whatever this is.”

The words hit like physical blows. “You think this is just a moment for me?”

“I think you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to be another complication in your life.”

“A complication?”

“Someone else making demands, having expectations, adding pressure when you’re already dealing with enough.”

I stare at him, this man who’s somehow managed to get everything completely wrong while trying to be considerate.

“You’re an idiot,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“Brett Walker, you’re an absolute idiot.”

“I was trying to be thoughtful?—”

“You were trying to make decisions for me without consulting me. The same way Chad used to do.”

That gets his attention. He turns to face me fully, eyes sharp. “I’m nothing like Chad.”

“Aren’t you? Deciding what I can handle, what I need, what’s best for me without actually asking what I want?”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Protecting you!”

“From what?”

“From me!” The words explode out of him, raw and frustrated. “From falling for someone who might not stick around when things get complicated. From trusting someone who might decide you’re too much work.”

And there it is. The real fear underneath all his careful distance.

“You think I’m going to leave,” I say quietly.

“I think you’re smart enough to realize you have options now. The restaurant’s going to be successful. You’re building something amazing. You don’t need a grumpy contractor who comes with baggage and an ex-fiancée who died.”

“Brett—”

“You could have anyone, Amber. Someone without all the mess.”

I step closer, close enough to see the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide behind his protective walls.

“You want to know what I realized when Chad was saying those awful words?”

He nods, jaw tight.

“That I didn’t care what he thought. For the first time in my adult life, someone else’s opinion of me didn’t matter because I finally know who I am.

” I reach up to cup his face in my hands.

“And who I am is someone who loves you. All of you. The grumpy parts, the protective parts, the parts that think coffee table wrestling counts as wedding entertainment.”

“Amber— ”

“I’m not going anywhere, Brett. Not because I need you, but because I choose you. There’s a difference.”

“What if you change your mind?”

“What if you do?”

“I won’t.”

“Then trust me to know my own heart.”

For a moment, we simply study each other. The careful distance finally cracking, letting the real Brett emerge from behind his protective walls.

“I’ve been an idiot,” he says quietly.

“A well-intentioned idiot.”

“The worst kind.”

“The best kind, actually. Because it means you care enough to worry about doing right by me.”

He steps closer, his hands finding my waist with familiar certainty. “I do care. More than I probably should.”

“Exactly as much as you should.”

When he kisses me, it tastes of relief and promises and the sweet certainty of two people who’ve finally figured out how to trust each other completely.

“So,” I say when we break apart, both of us breathing hard, “no more careful distance?”

“No more careful distance.”

“Good. Because I have news.”

“What kind of news?”

I grin, pulling out my phone to show him the email I received this morning. “This influencer with over a million followers wants to feature us on her social media. Her name is MilliEats.”

His eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Apparently, our little restaurant and its dramatic grand opening caught some attention.”

“Think we can handle it?”

“We can handle anything.”

As the reception continues around us and the ocean waves provide the perfect soundtrack for new beginnings, I realize we’ve changed completely from the people who started this journey ten months ago. We’re stronger, braver, and absolutely certain that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

Even if it involves more coffee table casualties and flower petal explosions.

Especially then.