Page 102 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“I don’t pine.”
“You absolutely pine,” Hazel says. “Remember last week when she texted about needinghelp with permit paperwork? You spent twenty minutes analyzing what she meant by ‘thanks for everything.’”
Okay, so maybe I pine a little.
Jack starts cooking eggs. “So what’s the plan now? You two official?”
“Getting there. But I want to do this right. She’s got three kids and a business to consider. I’m not rushing anything.”
“Smart man,” Hazel says. “Though from what I saw at the school fundraiser, those kids already adore you.”
The words hit me right in the chest, and I think about Crew teaching me about different fishing knots, Mason showing me his Lego creations, and even Tally, with her teenage eye-rolls, including me in family conversations.
“The feeling’s mutual,” I say quietly.
My phone buzzes with a text.Amber: Can you meet me at the restaurant site? Want to show you something before the contractors arrive.
Perfect. Time to see what she’s got planned.
“I should go,” I say, standing. “Duty calls.”
“Go get your girl,” Hazel says.
“Already got her,” I reply, surprising myself with how good that sounds. “Now I’m keeping her.”
An hour later, I’m heading to what will soon be our restaurant. Amber waits by the front windows, clutching a manila folder and looking like she’s barely containing excitement.
Which, knowing Amber, means she’s got some brilliant plan that’s about to change everything.
“You’re glowing,” I say, approaching her. “What’s going on?”
“I had an idea. Several actually.” She opens the folder. “Last night after we got back, I couldn’t sleep. I kept returning to what you said about building something that feels like home.”
She spreads architectural drawings across the hood of my truck. “What if we didn’t simply serve the fishing community? What if we celebrated it?”
I lean in to study her sketches. She’s drawn additions to our original plans—display cases along one wall, a photo gallery area, space for rotating exhibits.
“Local fishing history,” she explains, pointing to different sections. “Photos of the fleet through the decades. Maybe rotating displays of different families’ traditions. A place where the community can see their stories told.”
My chest goes tight with something I can’t name. “Amber, this is incredible.”
“There’s more.” Her eyes are bright with possibility. “Mrs. Samuel mentioned the knitting club needing ameeting space. What if we created a community calendar? Monthly events, local groups, maybe even cooking classes?”
“You want to turn the restaurant into a community center.”
“I want to turn it into home. For everyone.”
This is the reason I’m falling so hard for this woman. She doesn’t simply want to run a business—she wants to create something meaningful.
“The construction costs?—”
“Already calculated,” she says, flipping pages. “It’s an investment, but Jack’s friend Josh estimates we can do most of the display work ourselves. And the community events? Those are pure profit once we’re established.”
I study her face, seeing the careful hope there. She’s brilliant, but she’s also scared I’ll consider her impractical.
“What do you think?” she asks quietly.
“I think you’re going to change this town.”
