Page 91 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“She’s going to terrorize you next weekend.”
“I can handle it.” Amber dries her hands, steps closer. “Besides, I want to meet the woman who raised you.”
Something in my chest loosens. The idea that she wants to meet my mom. That she’s thinking about next weekend like we’ll still be... whatever this is.
“Want to sit on the porch for a few minutes?” she asks. “The kids will be distracted for at least an hour.”
We step outside into the soft evening air. December in coastal North Carolina is unpredictable—today it’s warm enough for just a sweater, with a gentle breeze carrying the salt smell from the ocean. The porch swing creaks as we settle onto it. I can hear distant waves beyond the dunes.
Amber leans into my side, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She fits perfectly.
“I don’t know what’s happening between us,” she says quietly.
“Me neither,” I admit. “But I want to find out.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “Even with all the chaos? The kids, the mess, the ex who shows up whenever he feels like playing dad?”
“Especially with all that.”
Because it’s true. The chaos doesn’t scare me. Herkids don’t feel like obstacles—they feel like the best parts of her, walking around outside her body.
“You know what gets me?” I say softly.
“What?”
“The way they just... included me. No questions, no hesitation. Mason handed me a spoon like I belonged there. Crew explained his ingredient theories like my opinion mattered. Even Tally’s sass felt like acceptance.”
Amber’s quiet for a moment. “They don’t get a lot of that. Adult men who stick around long enough to care about their theories.”
“Their dad’s missing out.”
“He is. But that’s their reality. So when you show up and listens to Crew’s explanations or asks Mason about his dinosaurs... it matters.”
I think about Crew’s face when I called his level cool. Mason’s excitement about his tools. The way they both assumed I’d want to see their treasures.
“I want them to know they matter,” I say. “All of them. Including their mom.”
She turns to look at me. “Brett...”
“I know it’s fast. I know it’s complicated. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Like I could love this. Love them. Love you.”
The words hang in the air between us,honest and terrifying.
“That scares me,” she whispers.
“Me too.”
I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, let my fingers linger on her cheek.
The kiss is soft. Gentle. Just our lips touching, no urgency, no demand. Just enough to say I’m here. I see you. This matters.
When we pull apart, she’s smiling.
“That was nice,” she whispers.
