Page 47 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“The remoulade,” Mom adds. “What’s your secret?”
“Grandma’s base recipe with a few tweaks. Capers, fresh dill, and a touch of Old Bay.”
Brett appears at my elbow with a plate for the kids, his expression marginally less grumpy. “Thought they might like the fish tacos better. Less... fancy.”
The way he saysfancymakes it sound like I’ve been serving caviar instead of crab cakes.
“They’re crab cakes, not fine dining,” I say under my breath.
“Could’ve fooled me with all the ceremony.”
Mason takes a cautious bite of the fish taco, then his eyes widen. “It’s like fish sticks but magic!”
“That’s the goal, buddy,” Brett says, and for the first time today, his smile seems genuine.
He turns to Crew, who’s been studying him with the intense focus of someone conducting an interview. “Interesting lobster you’ve got there.”
“This is Larry,” Crew announces solemnly. “He’s a rescue lobster.”
“A rescue lobster?” Brett nods like this is perfectly reasonable, though I catch the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “What happened to him?”
“He was trapped in the claw machine for three whole days. Dad says that’s practically a lifetime in claw machine years.”
I wince at the casual mention of Chad, but Brett doesn’t miss a beat. If anything, his expression gets more serious, like he understands the weight of that reference.
“That’s traumatic. How’s Larry adjusting to freedom?”
“Better. He gets nervous around loud machines, but he likes riding in my backpack.” Crew looks up at Brett with the earnest expression of someone sharing classified information. “Did you know real lobsters can live for like a hundred years? And they don’t actually scream when you cook them. That’s just steam.”
Brett raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed despite himself. “You know a lot about lobsters.”
“I’ve been reading about marine stuff. Grandpa taught me most of it.” There’s a protective edge to Crew’s voice that I recognize—he’s establishing territory. “He takes me fishing every Saturday. We caught a red drum last month that was twenty-three inches.”
“That’s impressive. Your grandfather sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”
“He does.” Crew hugs Larry closer. “He knows all the best spots. And he taught me how to tie proper knots and everything.”
Dad’s watching this exchange with interest, and Ican see him evaluating Brett’s responses. The way he doesn’t try to one-up a kid’s fishing stories and acknowledges Crew’s relationship with his grandfather instead of trying to insert himself.
Brett, meanwhile, looks like he’s being subjected to a particularly thorough inspection and isn’t entirely comfortable with it.
Mason bounces over, drawn by the serious lobster discussion. “Brett! Try my fish taco! But be careful. It might be too spicy for grown-ups!”
Brett takes a tiny, cautious bite, then immediately starts fanning his mouth with his hand. “Whoa! That’s got some heat! How do you handle this level of spice?”
Mason giggles so hard he nearly falls over. “It’s not spicy at all! You’re being silly!”
“Silly? Me?” Brett clutches his chest in mock offense, and for a moment the grumpy facade cracks completely. “I’ll have you know I once ate an entire jalapeño.”
Mason scrunches up his face. “What’s that?”
Brett smiles. “It’s a spicy pepper.”
“You ate the whole thing?” Mason’s eyes widen with something approaching reverence.
“Well, half of one. Okay, a quarter. Fine, I licked one once and immediately regretted my life choices.”
The boys dissolve into laughter, and I feel warmth spread through my chest. But underneath it, there’ssomething else stirring. A flutter of panic that has nothing to do with the festival crowd and everything to do with how easily Brett fits into this moment when he’s not trying so hard to keep everyone at arm’s length.
