Page 133 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“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 ofwedding 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.”
